A Small Business Owner's Prayer Request

Today is my husband's last day of work until next year.  Business is slow, so the holiday vacation is long.  Hopefully when our government gets this fiscal cliff taken care of that will change.  In my husband's industry, there is a large collective "hold your breath" party going on.

If everything government spends is cut by 10%, then they would know what to expect... however this continuous failure to make decisions has everyone concerned it may be more.  Knowing God has always taken care of me reminds me to not work myself into a worried state.  However, not every employee knows that, and some families already have lost one job.  So, my husband isn't sleeping well.  He was a major influence in helping me to not worry when we were younger, but this is an area where worry is hard for him to ignore.

Employees aren't exactly your children, but he does feel responsible for providing business and work for them so they're able to care for their families, pay their bills, and buy their homes.  We'll be praying hard for the people in Washington D.C. to put their egos aside and do what needs done so our people can continue to work.  It feels like they're playing chicken, but they're driving our cars, not their own.

If you could remember to add these concerns to your prayers, it would be a lovely Christmas gift for each of us.  Thank you.

Holiday Party Upcoming - Volunteers Needed

Saturday night we'll be hosting our Christmas party - this includes everyone my parents or Ed's parents consider their kids or grandkids, except R & K - they're out of state and just had a brand new baby!! :-) 

I should be studying right now, but I'm Googling ideas to entertain children at family parties.  I have come across some very good ones, but they require more volunteers for preparation than I have at my disposal. because that's pretty much - me.  Not that my husband isn't helpful... but my concept of a "great" idea is sometimes his idea of "my wife is just insane and wants to turn our house into Disneyland in 48 hours."  And that throws a wet blanket on things, doesn't it?

I have more confidence in people that he does.  Yes, I believe he IS able to rearrange an area in the basement for an art station by Saturday, and yes the grandchildren will of course keep play dough on the table, crayons in the coloring books, markers on the paper, game pieces inside the home.  They wouldn't dream of fighting over the remote control cars, or throwing hard toys within 10 feet of the television. They will sit perfectly fascinated as I put Mary Poppins or Home Alone on the DVD downstairs, and no one will run and fall and smack their head off the concrete floor.  There will be no wrestling between the 4 boys ages 6-8.

There are days I just don't understand his propensity for doom and gloom.  Doesn't he know it's Christmas?

Yep, I Finished the Pies Off Yesterday at Breakfast!

So... here I am, the Post Thanksgiving Me, a couple pounds heavier and happier for it.  Throughout the year I spend a lot of time NOT eating what I like.  This usually results in eating too much of stuff that's "ok".  The scale doesn't seem to move very much in response.

The other day, as I pulled a little lump of cold stuffing from a ziplock bag, my husband said, "Can't stay away from it?"

"It's sooo good. I haven't had good food in a long while. I'm so tired of eating crap all the time."  I really need to find a different word to replace "crap" in my vocabulary options.

I've increased my walking, or I'd probably be 10 pounds heavier, because I've finished 1/2 of a Pumpkin/cheesecake pie, and 1/3 of a pumpkin pie by myself over the weekend.  I also finished the homemade noodles, peas, corn and am working my way through the mashed potatoes.

RECIPE IDEA                    Cheesecake/Pumpkin pie

I use the recipe on the back of the Libby's Pumpkin can.  I use all the individual spices, not the easier (cheaper) version where you replace 3 spices with one.  I'm not near my kitchen right now, so I'll just trust that when you see the recipe you'll understand that reference.

THEN, I mix one 6 oz. pkg. of Cream Cheese with 1/3 cup of sugar and an egg.  I pour that into the bottom of my unbaked pie crust before topping off with the pumpkin mixture and bake as directed on the Libby's can. (I love Libby's.) This will result in at least 1/2 of your pie being cheesecake with a pumpkin pie layer on top.  You can split it between 2 pies if you like.  It usually leaves some mixture that won't fit in the pies. I put that into little custard cups and bake along with the pies until it tests "done" with the holiday "knife mark in the middle of the pie" tradition.

Food is such a significant part of tradition.  The last few years my husband has skimped on holiday dinners to lose weight.  This year he had a normal dinner.  I can't tell you the difference it made for ME.  Fixing the Thanksgiving dinner, with my Granny's recipe for stuffing, Libby's pumpkin pie recipe - mixed with the cheesecake recipe from my late mother-in-law, and my husband's recipe for mashed potatoes (saute 1/2 a large onion in a stick of butter and blend into potatoes after you've fnished them with the mixer) is a gift.  When someone chooses to diet, it feels like you've given a very special gift and it was promptly stuffed in the back corner of their attic.

I'm bored with eating meals of "sustenance" as my husband calls those uninspiring foods.  I'm also disgusted that with eating all that "sustenance" the bottom of my stomach still touches my leg when I curl up on the couch. I've decided good food is worth working for - I'm going to enjoy my meals without going into gluttony, and increase my exercise.

For some reason, yoga - which is not at all cardiovascular activity - makes a significant impact on my poundage.  So, I'll add at least 15 minutes of yoga into my day (which makes me feel taller, also) and get a good long aggressive walk in each day. This week I'm listening to The Railway Children by Edith Nesbit on my iPod as I walk.  It's a lovely story, and is free on Librivox.org.

Deer hunting season started on Monday here, so I'm sporting a sexy super-sized orange vest that belonged to my late father-in-law as I walk the trails around our house.

What are the foods that have special traditional meaning for your family?

Be Careful, That Thing's Sharp!

To be quiet.... ARGH!  It's one of the hardest things to do.  It's hard to listen to people getting it wrong, mischaracterizing you or even out and out lying. I wonder how Jesus did it.  Knowing he held the keys to the kingdom of heaven, how did he bear the slander and lies without putting on a lightning show the world would never forget and saying, "Do you get it NOW?"

I know I'd do that. I remember a few years ago someone was driving me crazy. He was looking for a fight. Well, not really a fight, as that would involve talking to me about the misunderstanding.  He wanted to talk to other people about it. I wanted to defend myself. I wanted to set it straight in a bitter manner and demand "Do you get it NOW?" I kept it no secret. I ranted and whined and practiced what I wanted to say until I'm sure my husband wanted a good piece of duct tape to stop the madness.

But from God I was hearing things like, "God is my champion, my defender, my deliverer, my help, my biographer. God knows the truth and sometimes that has to be enough." It was terrible in its wonderfulness.  I didn't know if I were spiritually mature enough to make it through this with dignity.

Sometimes a tongue is best used at rest. Otherwise it behaves like this:

James 3:9-12 "With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers and sisters, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water."

My tongue is the hardest thing for me to control and keep still. When I studied James last year, these verses were sort of like those you read past to get to something really meant for you. Today, it's importance astounds me.  'Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?' had to have been born from these verses.

I'm called to do good works that glorify God.  We're all called to bear that fruit. When I talk about God, I want to be believed. I wouldn't lie about God. I wouldn't insult you then try to talk to you about God - or would I?

Do you believe every news story from Fox News, MSNBC, or CNN? Why not? Yellow journalism isn't an oddity - it's the norm. Ever watch a report where they backpedal on everything they told you an hour earlier, because they jumped the gun? Or watch an anchor talk about someone's marital infidelity or divorce as though it's important for you to know? It isn't. It's trash and gossip, which used to be an embarrassing habit.

I was burned on a story about Taiwan a few years ago, and I'll never again share a big news story without doing a little research of my own first. Until it has a second source, I still consider it a rumor. News outlets have allowed their reputation to undermine their fundamental purpose.  To know what is newsworthy and to tell it truthfully.

Romans 1:18 "For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth."

I thought this meant to purposefully cover up the truth; doesn't it sound that way? Not allow Bible ownership, or religious worship.  Persecute those that convert to Christianity or participate in Bible study. Or, in our free country - forbid kids to wear Jesus T-shirts, start a battle against wishing people Merry Christmas, or change Christmas to "Sparkle Season."

But this week, it was brought home to me that these verses have everything to do with one another for ME. My unrighteousness suppresses the truth when I destroy the reputation of my tongue. If I've used it to gossip, humiliate, judge, or return hurtful remarks in an argument -  I've revealed a heart of cruelty, not compassion. Compassion is to have sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others. Who would glorify God in response to my tongue telling a sweet testimony of God's work, after it's spewed so much bitterness? Who would believe me?

Just as Fox News & MSNBC reveal their true character with the stories they cover, my tongue reveals the true condition of my heart with the things I allow it to say. Even the things I only desire to say are powerful warning lights on my spiritual dashboard. My tongue tells me so much more than it tells anyone else. Perhaps I shouldn't get so upset when I realize someone isn't listening to what I'm saying, if I'm not willing to listen to myself.

Oh, this growing thing is hard........

10 Things I Miss About My Teenaged Daughters

My three daughters are beautiful grown women now.  It's been years since they lived at home.  Today, I was reminiscing about those times.  Occasionally, I'm still very sentimental about them being all grown up.  It doesn't happen at Hallmark moments, but the freezer section at Wal-Mart, for some reason, has a  "make a mom cry" pheromone that rushes me through the balance of my shopping.

While you're surviving the emotional and physical growth of your kids through the teen years, take a little time to smile at what's blossoming before you.   Here are 10 things I'm missing about my girls.

1. The smell of them. Shampoo, perfumes and lotions. My home was so girly when my girls were still home. I have a bathroom closet that still smells like a conglomeration of their “products”. I dread the day it stops, and I don't allow that door to hang open and let it dissipate. 
2. The music. Trendy, new and fresh, sometimes bawdy,. I miss the music, the entertainment news, the chores being interrupted with an outburst of wiggling butts, rock star faces and a can of Endust becoming a microphone.
3. An honest answer to, “Does this look ok?” And frankly, someone who knows what looks OK, not that I'm insulting my husband, but when I walk around the house in shorts that expose my jiggly thighs – he's just happy I'm “showing some leg”. There's got to be some second guessing his fashion advice. And sometimes he doesn't even look before saying, “You look nice.” Teenaged girls NEVER do that.
4. Shopping companions. With a promise of a stop at Taco Bell, there was always a girl willing to help me grocery shop, chat with me on the way there and through the store and home.
5. Their holiday selves. Whether it was baking cookies, decorating the Christmas tree, watching the Thanksgiving parade, or helping me wrestle a slippery 22 pound turkey into a cooking bag – I loved getting ready for holidays with them.
6. Makeovers and trends. Every so often a girl I sort of recognized would emerge from the bathroom with hair or makeup that took my breath away. Sometimes it was lovely, sometimes hysterical. And for trends? Well, you just never knew what a magazine article could inspire a house of females to do. There was one time we wrapped ourselves in Saran Wrap to see if we really would wake up with skinnier torsos. I woke up with a Saran Wrap belt, as it all wiggled to the middle, and no I wasn't skinnier. I think my husband lost a few pounds during his laughfest, but that was about it.
7. The life their friends brought to our home. One boyfriend would call and play pranks on me, they were broke down with a flat tire 40 miles away so they'd be late. (actually sitting in our driveway) One who exchanged code names with me – I went by Penelope – I can't tell you his or I'd have to kill you. He's now my son-in-law. A girl who stayed with us a couple weeks while she sorted out issues with her mom and helped us feed a litter of orphaned kittens. 
8. Help with the litter box. (If I'm not going to be honest, what's the point?!)
9. A sprawling mass of hair and long legs that would occasionally still plop herself onto my lap. (And that just made me cry, so I'm glad this list is almost over.)
10. Companions in adventure. Whether it was Irish dancing on family night at Mullaney's Harp& Fiddle, a spontaneous “Let's try ice skating today” at a local park, watching Titanic a zillion times at the theater, touring the architecture of a nearby town, eating at a new restaurant, trying a new craft, or volunteering at a community meal... There was an eagerness to try new things and go new places.

Having teenagers was truly my favorite time of parenting my growing children. Seeing the unique personalities develop and strengthen into full fledged individuals was fascinating. They were funny, kind, loving, thoughtful, and creative in the midst of years that brought their share of angst, self doubt, and striving for independence.

It's easy to cover up the missing of them by remembering the ridiculous arguments over what the dentist said... EXACTLY, or the days when the entire world had more and did more than we did, or the lectures, or the normal tension of a young woman wanting to test the waters of the world and a mom trying to protect her – sometimes overly so, I'm sure. But the truth is – I'd trade anything to recapture a week of that time when my little birds were still in my nest.

If you've raised teenagers, what are your fondest memories? 

'Tis The Season of Excess & Stress - STOP!

I love Christmas. Everything about it - the Holy meaning of it, as well as the tree, lights, food, traditions, songs, baking, and smell of it.  My daughter's middle name is Noelle.  I got engaged on Christmas Eve.  Seriously... I love Christmas.

My mom was a single parent, and I longed for those traditional Christmases with both my parents, a real tree, a big house, sleigh rides (yes, in my 1970's childhood - sleigh rides were in all perfect families' Christmas memories) and everything absolutely Perfect.  So, I wanted to arrange perfect Christmases for my girls as they were growing up. BUT...

We didn't live in the perfect house for Christmas. The perfect Christmas house was featured on a Folgers commercial years and years ago when the college aged son came home for Christmas just in time – in the still dark hours of Christmas morning. There was a gorgeous staircase, a garland covered railing, and a huge window in the living room so the entire neighborhood could see they were having a perfect Christmas, now complete with their perfectly smart son.

We didn't have the perfect kitchen for Christmas. Ours was small and L shaped. The perfect Christmas kitchen was in the Walton's house. They also had the perfect Christmas horses to pull the perfect Christmas sleigh. They did NOT have the perfect Christmas grandmother, though. Wasn't she a cranky one?

We also didn't have the perfect Christmas budget. I can remember one especially tough Christmas. I had $20 to spend on each girl. It was the year of my divorce. They went to their dad's on Christmas eve and received a ton of gifts. I waited for them at home and cried.  After they were in bed I blew up a bunch of little balloons left over from birthday parties and summer water balloon battles, and scattered them across the floor to bring a festive illusion to our tiny Christmas.

So, those were my limitations... but we still had plenty of wonderful Christmas memories.  Collecting blankets for the homeless and distributing them on Christmas Eve morning.  Baking cookies and decorating them. Rooms full of gifts, even if they weren't very expensive ones. Candlelight church services. Opening gifts when the first child woke up and I was able to drag my husband out of bed, whispering, "It's Christmas... Be nice, be happy or be quiet." (Apparently his family got a decent night's sleep after wrapping gifts until 3 a.m. Then they ate breakfast before touching presents.  Weird weird family. And he's not a morning person anyway.)

My husband doesn't “do” Christmas. He typically watches me “DO” Christmas and occasionally assists with an extra pair of hands. We pick out our tree together, he gets it ready for the house and carries it in for me, and helps with the garland over the kitchen cabinets. 

Since we've moved, we now host a huge family Christmas party. We spend more money than we say we will... Every. Year. I always find some small early purchase a few months after Christmas because I forgot where I put it by the time Christmas gets here. It's a season of trying to fit our festivities around the festivities of every other person in the family – which is sort of like trying to pick a wedding date available for every single person on your guest list. With a growing family of in-laws and kids, people with work parties, friends that throw holiday parties, as well as everyone's Christmas To Do list, it's a complicated land mine of expectation and disillusionment. The space between that and the Perfect Christmas is vast and a place of sadness for this Christmas Girl.

So, to simplify and reclaim Christmas as something meaningful, not just months of build up, followed by an exhausted collapse onto the couch after we'd “done” Christmas – I started to look around at what other people did. Well, everyone in my circle was doing what I was doing, or it was such a nonevent that I couldn't possibly “go there.” I found a book. “Unplug the Christmas Machine” by Jo Robinson and Jean Coppock Staeheli. 

As we drove to Florida to visit my in-laws last December, I pulled the book from my tote and began to read portions to my husband. (Living with me must be similar to carrying your Kindergarten teacher around in your pocket. I'm always reading my husband a good book. No, he doesn't get to pick the story – did your kindergarten teacher let you pick the story? No! And it doesn't matter if she did, that isn't how we operate here.) I read to him this chapter “Men: The Christmas Stagehands.” For the first time we reminisced about his childhood Christmases and what a meaningful Christmas looked like to him. For years, he'd been doing Christmas in response to the one imagined in my head. He'd been living with a woman who wanted to make Christmas magical, but in reality she was exhausted, cranky, disappointed in the absence of “magic,” and irritated that no one was helping enough. (There are only 2 of us living in my house. My husband is an intelligent man, so when I roam the rooms ranting about “no one” helping me, he knows who “no one” is.) I don't understand why he never seems to have the Christmas spirit...

Last year, my husband put out the Christmas Village, which I'd given up on because I was too tired.  He also set up his Christmas Pyramid (Google these, they are darling.)  In fact, he participated in all sorts of things last year.  Turns out he wasn't a Scrooge, he was just married to the Ghost of Christmas Nightmares.

A couple weeks ago, I purchased my first gift. It's a farm set for my youngest grandson, Conner. A week later, I realized I was on Christmas autopilot again. It's early enough to chart a different course. 

What are your Christmases like? What are your most treasured memories and traditions? I'd love to hear about them. Do you have any pictures I could link to? I love to look at Christmas pictures!

My Mission - To Eat Our Food!

I promised to share a little of what Jen Hatmaker's book "7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess" has done to me inspired me to think about. I realized there are a few areas where I don't just have belongings, I have inventory!

Here are areas I thought of, off the top of my head, where I've acquired an inventory. Some I can donate, some I can use, and some is quite frankly... JUNK. 

Food – I grocery shop almost every week. I can barely fit anything into my canned foods cupboard. Yet, I bring home a little something for that cupboard every single week. My baking cupboard is equally full, though I only purchase stuff to shove in there between October and December 20^th. Except last week, when I bought a variety pack of orange sprinkles for Halloween cookies to bake with my grandchildren. I have a freezer in my basement. I “needed” this freezer to hold the large portion of beef I would buy - of better quality and price than supermarket beef. I also needed to store my garden harvests in there. Well, I've had the freezer for at least 4 years. I haven't bought that beef, and my garden harvest has been nil since 2010. However, my refrigerator broke down 3 times and this was my bestest friend on those days. So... this is revolutionary people... we are going to eat our food! REALLY? Yes, that's my first goal – to eat the food we have. Then, I'm going to unplug the basement freezer until I need it. I love to garden, so that may be next summer. Everything we need will have to fit into my refrigerator freezer.

Crafts & Sewing Items – I have drawers of good quality craft paint. Numerous boxes of plain glass Christmas ornaments. Yards of fabric. Several packages of quilt batting. I'm also behind on family quilt gifts. Three of the six grandchildren received a hand made quilt from me. This means, I still have 3 to make. An apology goes out to Luke, Grace & Conner for my malingering. I'd also like to give one to each of my daughters for couch snuggling. I could make at least 2 just from my stash of fabric. (more, if they'd like them made with Christmas fabric.) I have enough batting to make all of them. Plus I have ribbons, terracotta pots, candles to paint, various wood items to decorate and a HUGE bag of rice to make those snaky things that block drafts under the door. I have little pieces to make angel Christmas ornaments complete with long ringlet blonde, red or black hair. Christmas will have handmade gifts this year. I'll start now so I'm not shelving projects on December 20^th that are half done and running to the store to shop for gifts. I'm also going to make Kindle covers for upcoming giveaways on this blog. I mean... who wouldn't love a Kindle cover made with little snowman fabric?

The Attic – I moved from 840 sq. ft. plus 100 sq. ft. storage to 1780 sq. ft. on the first floor, plus 900 sq. ft. of attic storage and 1780 sq. ft. of basement space. There were 4-5 of us living in 840 sq. ft. 2 of us live in this new space. We also now have a shed and a garage. I have stuff in all those spaces and we've only lived here 8 years. We've stored baby toys, pieces of a crib that will never make a whole bed - but they're pretty and maybe I'll “do something with them,” decorations, furniture with sentimental value, boxes of china I bought at an auction, boxes of video games in languages my current computer doesn't even speak, the old computers that could speak that language, (and may have a component we could use one day – who throws away a computer, for crying out loud? – all said in my husband's voice) and a couple sets of encyclopedias because I always wanted a set and they are a STEAL on the last day of a yard sale. I'm a little sick when I think of what I have in the attic. I hate to throw away things that might have a use, (Yes, you've heard this a hundred times on Hoarders.) but right now its only use is as an obstacle course for the mice, and framework for spider webs. 

My husband's tools – Nope, not allowed to touch those!

Books – Oh, my beloved books. I have some that I don't even want to read, but I sold used books online for a few years and I know they have a value. I have a box of romance novels (not a fan) that I was hoping to make box lots from but I don't have enough of any one author to make them salable. One doesn't throw away old computers or old books around here, apparently.

I have 3 rolling pins. They are all the same, no special uses. One is sentimental. Yes, I have sentimental kitchen ware. I realize rolling pins don't actually deserve an entire paragraph of their own, so I'll add in.... a like-new electric griddle I haven't used in 10 years because I hate how it works, disposable mini bread pans I planned to bake some goodies in to give away, and cookbooks for foods I don't even like... OK, that's a paragraph.

So, I'm in the mood to simplify, reduce, not just reuse but USE, and share. I'm embarrassed about so many things in this article.. not just because I've laid it out there for everyone to examine with disapproval, but because I've allowed myself to look at the bits and pieces and not this entire excessive stash of MY stuff.

If you were to list one area that you have a stash of things... what would it be? What would it take to change that? Share, as it's impolite to let me dangle out here in my embarrassment all alone.

Come back Friday for my post – 'Tis The Season Of Excess and Stress

Making Him Think It's His Idea

“Less of me and my junk. More of you and your kingdom.” Jen Hatmaker

So, I've been following my husband around the house, reading him a “story.” No, he didn’t ask me to. No, it isn't a book that's required reading. It's a book that threatens to inspire me to change in ways my husband may see as radical, extreme or even worse – annoying.

Here's the background story -

This is our new patio, with our new patio furniture, and the new trellises. New new new.

This is the new mulch on the new landscaping fabric on the new dirt. Most is old and hand-shoveled but my shoulders were very very sore... so I paid money for one scoop of dirt at the landscaping store. Then I only had to rake it off the tailgate of my husband's pickup. Easier and hours faster! The old dirt was free, the new dirt was $35.

This was how we spent most of our income tax refund check. I wanted it, dreamed of it, longed for a civilized place to sit outside. A place that earwigs, spiders and bugs with names I don't know would look at and say, “Did you see that contemporary eyesore (everything's a contemporary eyesore to bugs that live in the woods) the neighbors put in?  Hideous!  I wouldn't be caught dead in that place!”

This is our 15 month old pool. We bought it at Walmart.com. Last year the top ring inflated with air as it was designed. This year it had a leak we couldn't find for a week. We finally sliced the ring open, jammed a bunch of pool noodles in there and enjoyed it all summer. It has to be drained each fall. It isn't matchy matchy with the patio. It doesn't have a deck. One with both those features would cost about 10 times as much.

We planned to use next year's tax refund for a new pool. One with a deck and steps that led from the beautiful patio to the new pool.

Now, Enter the book I just finished. 7:An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker. OMGoodness!

I was a poor kid, and a poor adult for many years. I've not only gone without health insurance, I've gone without car insurance. In some ways you can't tell.  I'm "passing” with people of stable financial histories. In other ways, I'm oddly frugal, and I'm sure those people think I just have no taste. My home came with curtains when we moved in 8 years ago. Other than the bathroom and kitchen, it has those same curtains up today. My husband has even remarked about getting new ones. I've tried, but have you seen how much curtains cost!? 

Actually, this is my living room.

Sometimes they have great sales, but they look like they've been ripped off a belly dancer. My house doesn't have the personality of jeweled and tasseled drapes. She just couldn't pull that off. Apparently many homes can, as those sparkling drapes are in every store. Mine is more like this: 

So... excess... too much... waste not want not. I'm sort of sensitive to the notion I have that and do that. In the past couple years, "The Hole in our Gospel" by Richard E. Stearns, "Wrecked" by Jeff Goins, and this new book I fondly refer to as "7" have reminded me of the difference between wants, needs and American Needs.

The patio is a fantastic place to read, eat, study, entertain, write, and enjoy a bit of less buggy outdoors. It's so comfortable and I'll absolutely use it – a lot. But it cost a pile of money.

Patio – Be still my beating heart.            Pool – Be still my husband's beating heart. 

     ME: “Do you think we really need to get a new pool next year?” 

     ED: “Why?” 

     ME: “Well, do we really NEEED it?  It's soooo much money!” 

     Silence 

     ED: “I knew this was coming when you read that book.”

So, I'm reading the book to him. When someone tries to take something from us, we tend to hold on tighter as it's pulled away. When eyes are opened and a heart is changed, the hands open up and offer it.  I think the patio is permanent, but there are other things.... (Expect pictures in the upcoming days.)

I do still have issues with peer pressure. I've started a book club so my girlfriends will read this book with me. I'm exposing my husband and my friends because I don't want them to think I'm weird without a reason. 

Stay tuned for updates on my response to “7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess.”

What book has impacted your daily life choices?

Hmmm, Delivered Safely by Being Murdered ?!

It's impossible to watch national news without being inundated with political news.  It's a presidential election fall.

I love the beginning of autumn.  Back to school sales help me stock my paper products, I'm ready for some cooler weather, making soup is beckoning me, the looming stack of firewood reminds me of coming into my warm home from the cold.  And the temptation to listen to the election stuff is strong.

I was a political news junkie and that's no exaggeration.  I was exhilarated by a well spoken presentation by my candidate of choice.  I'd swell with excitement and hope for my nation in the hands of a candidate I truly believed was a noble person.  I enjoyed the political banter and debate with my dad.  My sister and I were the source of much confusion for my poor dad, who just couldn't understand how we couldn't vote for his candidate.  But, I don't believe I can impact my world through political affiliation, and with a limited amount of time and energy, I can't afford to waste either on politics.

Last night my husband expressed his concerns about his business for the first time.  By spring of this year, orders and profits had shrunk to less than half of what they were in 2009.  The last few months have been worse, as there are always slowdowns in his industry before a national election.  It's as though they all hold their collective breath... and wait.

I have been poor and I have had more than enough - so I can make it through whatever we face in the future.  But last night, I was troubled when I went to bed.  The old habit of making mental contingency plans for financial disaster was niggling at the edge of my mind, tempting me to come up with solutions to all the "what ifs."  I thought about the election, then pushed it from my mind.

This morning as I started Bible study, I couldn't concentrate.  I needed to give this to God and get it out of my way.  I think for the first time ever, I let the Holy Spirit say to God what I had no words for.  I took a deep breath and relaxed. I closed my eyes and bowed my head and just placed myself in God's presence.

I said nothing, but could feel His spirit repair, soothe and calm me.  I'm still his daughter - regardless of what happens to our finances, my husband's business or the election.  Drawing close to God this morning, in this quiet way, I felt relieved and unburdened.

In 2 Timothy, Paul is writing just before his murder. He knew it was coming, "For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure." (vs. 6) What was his state of mind?  "The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen." (verse 18).

Paul remembered that his only valuable possession was his soul.  As long as that was preserved, he was safe.  He had no retirement plans, vacation dreams or car repairs that burdened him.  It was simple.  It is simple.

The election is a temptation for the old way of doing things.  The times when I thought it was essential that I monitored the things in my control and believed they were truly in my control.  I held so tightly to things I didn't want to lose, my hands were too full to receive what God wished to give me.

It's truly exhausting to think you're in charge of everything, that with enough force you can stop storms from touching you. We live on a stormy planet.  The rain falls on the just and the unjust, as it says in the Bible.  But there is an eye to the storm, a place of peace within it, that is beyond the imagination, and you've been invited to find rest there.

When have you felt that unimaginable peace while enduring a storm?

Sometimes It's OK to Quit... Maybe Even a God-Thing!

I was in a small group for almost 2 years. A lovely group of women and we learned so much. And then, something that seemed to go wrong went right. We were using the study “Cultivating a Life of Character” by Elizabeth George.

How It Began

We were studying Deborah, the prophetess from Judges 4 & 5.  Mrs. George noted that we, as women, probably wouldn't be used by God in the same way Deborah was.  Deborah saved a nation, after all.  I had no issue with that.  She then referred to 1 Timothy 5:9-10 and Titus 2:3-5 and said, "Do you think leading a nation is more important than loving a family? Do you think watching over God's people is more important than watching over your own family and home?" (p. 34)  

Guilt, responsibility, duty, reproach, stifling expectations.  These were my gut reactions to her questions designed to elicit a specific "right" answer.  But, if you put it that way, I don't think Deborah would've dared to do either - lead a nation or watch over God's people.  Sadly, too many Christian women have made that leap of connection - God will never call you to do anything beyond home and family.  God may ask you to sacrifice in order for your husband and children to follow God, but he will never ask you to do something that would require a sacrifice from them. 

The Escalation

After Deborah, we studied Gideon. (Judges 6:1-40)

“Your call - Gideon was called to be a judge and a warrior. As women after God's own heart, you and I possess a calling from God, too. And it's a high calling Read Titus 2:3-5 now and write out what your high calling from God is. And don't worry so much about whether you are married or single. Just look for the roles and character qualities that God calls us to.”  (Cultivating a Life of Character, E. George, p. 45)

Titus 2:3-5 Older women likewise are to be reverent in their behavior, not malicious gossips, nor enslaved to much wine, teaching what is good, that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be dishonored.

As I struggled with this paragraph in our group, my wise Bible study friends gave me some of their thoughts.

“It just seems like something else is going on here, that you're struggling with something.”

“Maybe you haven't gotten over something in your past and you need to deal with that.”

“You have daughters that you hope to impact, you have to sort this out.”

I was angry. I felt oppressed, rebellious, silenced and struggling to be understood - not by God, because I knew we were good - but by Christian women. But how could my lovely friends understand when I didn't understand myself. I took some time off from the study. I wasn't getting anything out of it at that point and I was disrupting the flow for everyone else.

Something was going on in response to this subject. I was raw and angry. Gideon was called to be a judge and warrior – none of which are mentioned in the Titus verses concerning men, yet the calling of every woman was being neatly buttoned up in appropriate outward behavior.. don't be a drunk, don't gossip, keep your house clean, love your family and teach other women to love theirs. That's it?! It doesn't even mention a relationship with God. 

I was angry with myself.  I was angry because what God called me to use and develop for over 20 years, I'd believed was a selfish distraction.

Relevant Today?

I know everyone has either heard or expressed this sentiment, “This part of the Bible is only relevant to the cultural setting of 'back then'. It doesn't apply the same way today.” I've never said that, but I am today. These particular verses were written at a time when I couldn't be dressed in clothes I didn't sew myself, while the washing machine washes my dirty clothes utilizing that handy indoor plumbing, the dryer dries our bedding, the dishwasher is doing its job, a loaf of purchased bread sits on the counter waiting for the roast, which cooks unattended in my self cleaning, temperature controlled oven. My backache isn't slowing me down because I took a couple Advil with breakfast - a bowl of cereal I simply poured from a box and topped with milk safely preserved for days in my fridge and a cup of coffee that took just a couple minutes to make.  In most cases it no longer takes ALL day to care for a home and family, though you may find yourself at a stage where it actually does... I said most cases, not all.

For some of us, these verses have actually kept us from our high calling. We've numbed the nagging sensation of something missing in our lives with exhausting part time jobs, excessively cleaning our homes, continually looking for needs to fill for our family members, taking up meaningless hobbies, scrolling Facebook, playing Angry Birds and watching reality TV. We've ignored deep desires that God gave us for years, believing they were our failure to be content in this “high calling.”

A New Place

And God pushed me out of the nest... out of this small group, which I did not wish to leave.  There was something going on, something God was dealing with me about, something I needed to get a grip on – just as those wise women said. He was about to open up a study that would impact my life like a freight train hitting a grocery cart.

One day my sister said to me, "Sometimes you feel pain or discomfort because it's the only way God can get you to MOVE!" God was saying something that I needed to hear... but I had to move to the place He was saying it.  A place where He was providing the direction I needed to move to the next place in our relationship.

We're all parts of the same body, but we're not the same part. We're all on a road trip with God, and it has similar checkpoints for all of us, the biochemist as well as the foster mom, the architect and the blog writer, the bakery owner and the grandmother raising a second generation. We're not all at the same checkpoint today.

Where are you in this road trip? 

• Building my relationship with God
• Wondering... Who am I?
• This is my passion but what do I do with it?
• I'm picking up momentum!
• Living it daily!
• Transitioning to something new
• or are you in a stage of consulting, mentoring and advising?

Share this post and leave a comment telling about your road trip. Give a description of the scenery where you are right now, and tell me where you've come from.

The Horror and Humor of Children's Church Music

This morning, I read this post – Singing with Gusto about Death and Destruction. Amy Young reflects on childhood memories of the song “I Wish We'd All Been Ready” and the feeling that it may not have been age appropriate worship music. Ahh, the 70's.

I remember this song. We had some interesting music at that time. It was the decade of such pop favorites as "Seasons in the Sun," "Billy Don't be a Hero," and "The Night the Lights Went out in Georgia." Seems we were quite the lovers of emotionally gripping music that decade. 

That post and the comments following it brought all sorts of songs to mind from my Sunday mornings in children's church.  Do you remember the song, “I'm in The Lord's Army?” I have to say I've taught it to my grandsons - not necessarily for the message of being in the Lord's "Army," but because they love all the physical movement. What exactly is the message of that song?

Speaking of physical movement, how about that odd song "Father Abraham"... "Father Abraham. had seven sons and... seven sons had father Abraham. and they never laughed and they never cried... all they did was go like this..." followed by lots of flailing arms and legs. I always wondered what was wrong with father Abraham's emotionless kids. 

And one that was my favorite, but I can't remember it all... just bits and pieces which seem unrelated. “The deacon went down, to the cellar to pray, he fell asleep and he stayed all day (repeats all that)... all my sins are washed away I've been redeemed" – in the same song had verses like – “Oh you can't get to heaven in a mini skirt... cause God don't like those girls that flirt”, AND “You can't get to heaven, on a set of skis, you'll ski right through St. Peter's knees.” Other ways to not get to heaven were on a stick of butter, in Batman's car, and on roller skates. 

Isn't it amazing what can get past us when put to catchy music? Really? “God don't like those girls that flirt?” He doesn't LIKE them?  He had no problem with boys, apparently because they had no verse of their own.

Personally, as a little girl, and even a teenager, I thought the songs about lots and lots of blood were a little disgusting. A fountain filled with blood where I'd be “plunged” sounded like a bad prom night for a girl named Carrie! Deep and Wide – same said fountain – I couldn't swim until I was 14! This wasn't really as reassuring as my Sunday School teacher was intending.

The Jewish people did not bathe in the blood of sacrificial animals.  It was a symbolic washing of their sins. Christians sang about it quite literally, even if we didn't plunge our earthly bodies into it. 

We sang songs about little red and black boxes where we'd respectively keep our Savior and the devil... occasionally taking Jesus out for a smooch and the devil out for a stomping! 

Safety could be found, however, in those songs about building your house on the rock - though the rains came down and floods came up and washed away the rest of the neighborhood. Also Noah's “arky” built from hickory “barky” was a good place to be in the rainy season. (A reference to an actual song, not just random “baby talk.”) 

So, what are your favorite childhood songs? And what ones are you seeing in a new light as an adult? 

I Don't Live in a Billboard Picture of a Beach Vacation

I read a story this morning, in a magazine called The Sun. It was about a young woman just before and years after her older sister disappeared at the age of 16. The sister was found, years later, murdered. 

The author expressed the emptiness, regret, horror, fear, suspicion, danger, loss, fragility of relationships – so perfectly to my own imagination it made me cry. This had been my greatest fear. I didn't want to feel this.  

More than 3/4s of my life I lived in that fear – what happened in this fictional story could truly happen to anyone. My mother was taken from me in my fearful, terrorized imagination many times as a child. But not in reality. My life has been filled with fear of the tragic taking someone from me. My mother, my dad, my husband, my little children, my teenaged children, my adult children, my grandchildren, my pets. 

Writing requires honesty, if you desire to share something meaningful. In the past, however, I haven't handled visits to my painful memories very well.  I thought perhaps I should avoid all thoughts of them. But, it isn't honest to share a picture of joy and spiritual freedom with no context. So, those painful fears are relevant. They are part of the story, the “before” picture, truth. If I refuse to “go there”, to recall what I've been delivered from... what I share will be as superficial and shallow as a billboard picture of a beach vacation. 

For many years, I believed that my fears and pain had to be someone's “fault.” Someone was responsible, if not for a direct action then for failing to take preventative measures. Blame was a close friend to me for decades. It was assigned to whoever was deemed the “root” of the pain I was experiencing. But, no one was truly able to insulate me from every discomfort. 

Most times, the people I held accountable were doing the best they could, with no desire to harm.  They had no control of the neuroses that could grow from nursing a tiny injury that I didn't seek to heal. Sometimes the smallest event can spread like a crazed fracture in a plate of glass tapped not so very hard but under just the right set of circumstances. 

Blame pours its inky black stain all over your images of that person. You cover them so thoroughly that their image no longer bears the truth. Nothing is able to shine through the opaque covering of a handful of actions or decisions amidst millions of intentions, actions and decisions that reveal the true character and identity of the ones you blame. 

So, while I must “go there” and remember where I began, that pot of ink is a boundary. I have no business opening it and no right to pour it over another. Yes, it hurt. But mine is not a life of stagnant victimization. It's a life of movement and growth, gaining strength and wisdom... which one cannot do if she covers every flawed human being in her history with the opaque black ink of blame. We are all flawed. Our decisions and actions may tap on another's pane of glass. Some of these are our children. If we teach them to blame, we help them to spill the ink, grow their fears, hide from wisdom and live at the mercy of the brokenness. 

We aren't whitewashing anything, just recognizing that the painful truths aren't the entire truth. Don't let your story end with ink stained hands, ink covered relatives, and bitterness and injury haunting you like wraiths. It isn't what God intended for you.

It Takes A Lot Of Preparation To Camp At This Age

We took 2 of our grandchildren camping last week. My husband was on vacation and we'd been planning this for months. It too one postponement and two tries to get it done. The postponement was because Declan was still recovering from the flu. We could have set up camp that day – mowing, prepping, setting the tent, finding out the mountain pie cooker we bought was structurally deficient for my husband's cooking methods. But, my husband was on vacation and we painted the office and played video games instead. 

So, on the day of our first attempt at camping, my husband mowed the clearing and I picked up groceries and the grandsons. The boys swam the afternoon away, struggling to remember the temporary “no splashing Granny's new patio and the men working on it” rule. 

With the truck loaded up with the big stuff of camping – chairs, tents, sleeping bags, air mattresses, coolers, etc., the boys set off for the clearing and unloaded. The fire was fed, the tent came out of its box for the first time, air mattresses were filled, sleeping bag zippers were fought with, and flashlights were distributed to all. 

The sentence, “Don't do that to your brother” covered a myriad of activities of the 5 & 7 year old siblings. It was followed with:

• “Don't shine your flashlight in Granny's eyes.”
• "There isn't any electric over here for video games."
• "No, we're not going to have a tornado."
• “Put that flaming stick back in the fire.” 
• “Why are you in Granddad’s truck?” 
• “Keep your shoes outside the tent.” 
• "Don't go in the tent with your shoes on.” 
• “Take your shoes off first.” 
• and “Yes you can have another cookie.”

At 7:50 I turned to my husband (with a queen sized, half inflated air mattress draped over my head at the front of his truck where the air pump was being powered by the battery) and said, “They want to go swimming. It's really hot out here. Let's order from the pizza shop, let them swim and if they suggest it... let's sleep in the house. I want air conditioning.”

“What about the mountain pies, the smores, the campfire?” 

“We can do it another night. I'm too tired to camp.” 

So... that's what we did. A couple nights later, after a threat of thunderstorms had passed and good weather was a sure thing, we camped. The boys and I were tired by 10:30. I told them stories of all the things we didn't have when I was a girl. The list and the memories made me feel as though my life started in the dark ages, but Drake was fascinated. He proudly carried the stories from one grandparent to the other, revealing that he knew all sorts of new secret information about these seemingly benign grandparents. 

 A short while later, Drake was out of the tent and chatting with Granddad at the campfire again. His brother followed but was back in his sleeping bag minutes later. I listened as they talked about dance moves. Knowing the uncontainable wiggly nature of my grandson and the unrestrained fun my husband expresses to music, I smiled at what was going on out at that campfire – just 500 feet from our house... where “normal” visits over years had not given a tenth in relationship building as these few days had.

Exposing My Secret Rituals

Each morning I perform a few rituals that guarantee my entire day is fulfilling. They energize me to tackle important tasks.  Doing them day after day builds my momentum and what feels insurmountable and uninspiring on Monday is simple to complete by Friday.

Some days I do all of these.  Some of these I do every day.  Some days I only do a couple.

Ritual #1  Get dressed. I don't have to do this - I live in a very private location, my husband goes to work and no one would even notice if I spent all day in my jammies.  I would feel sluggish, though.  Getting dressed makes me feel as though I'm getting ready to DO something.

Ritual #2  No phone calls before noon.  My mind gets a fresh start every day.  I present this canvas for fresh paint each morning.  Phone calls muddy my thinking.  What's going on in everyone else's mind or day will creep into my quiet time and compete with my own thoughts for my focused attention.  I also try to schedule all my appointments in the afternoon.

Ritual #3 Keeping a notepad with me for the next 3 rituals, I write down significant new information and inspiration.  Have you ever had a brilliant idea and then lost it completely in the recesses of your mind for a period of weeks or months - maybe forever?  A journal of these thoughts - kept in any sort of book - can reveal a connection and clear inspiration.  Without a written journal, you can and most likely WILL miss something significant.  It's an pivotal moment to see a recurrent theme where I expected only randomness.  God continues to bring certain topics to my mind over and over in my inspired moments and I can see it much clearer when it's in ink.  I prefer a little 4X6 spiral notebook, but am working through an inventory of composition books I purchased on sale last summer.  Back to school sales are on now, in case you're the thrifty sort.

Ritual #4  Reading, preferably nonfiction.  I like to learn something every day.

Ritual #5  Take coffee, pen and paper to a chair outside on the porch, in the yard or in the woods (or a comfy corner chair inside on bad weather days). Birds, breezes and solitude simultaneously relax and renew my mind and imagination.

Ritual #6  Bible study.  In all honesty, I'm not a frequent studier of my Bible all by itself, but I'm almost always using Bible study guides to explore a book of the Bible or a particular subject.  Right now they are Captivating: Uncovering the Mystery of a Woman's Soul & Judges/Ruth.

What about you?  What are your rituals?

Suggested Read: Ordering Your Private World by Gordon MacDonald.

Summer, Sunscreen, and Sadistic Swimsuits.

Arrgghh. I'm 48 years old. My face has completed a disappointing eight year run. It's worse when I wear my glasses, but if I take them off, I look as good as I did 5 years ago. I had a nightmare a few weeks ago that my entire cheek area resembled the wrinkly bottom of my big toe when I've spent too long in the tub. I slather on that 25 SPF cream from Mary Kay.

I'll guarantee you have rarely seen me dressed for the weather, if the temperature is above 78 degrees. Smaller clothes do not adequately conceal my upper arms, my thighs, or the relaxed nature of my muscle tone. When people have called me uptight – they weren't referring to my muscle tone.

I vow I'll be ready for summer this year, every year. My aversion to sweating tends to interfere with my lofty visions of the knockout body, however. It's July, and I'm not ready – again.

I've waited and waited. My husband, the King of Workout Willpower to my Queen of Next Week, I'll Do Cardio a Minimum of 3 Hours and Eat Only Vegetables, I Swear, lounges in our pool in self confident comfort. He plans tubing outings on the river while I consider the unflattering visual of a swimsuit.

Yes, the swimsuit – let's talk about that for a second. A swimsuit bottom is designed to hold onto your bones or hard muscle, no matter how deep into the flesh it must venture to locate it. When you're 10, you are jumping off diving boards – it's an important feature. At 48, I just don't want it to slide off when I climb the pool ladder. The swimsuit top, however, is less obvious in its intentions. The strap around my back is always good and tight; I spend a lot of time moving it to the most flattering location amidst the back fat. The strap around my neck is a no win situation, mostly because of the inadequacy of the cup area. The cup area relaxes in the lovely summer weather, apparently unaware that it isn't on vacation, it's ON DUTY. As a result, I have to really tighten that neck strap to keep the cup tops in a semi-modest location. About 20 minutes into this wardrobe debacle, the strap becomes part of the spinal cord at the base of my neck.

My husband enjoys telling the story of me walking out of the water at Hammonasset Beach with a big smile on my face declaring the water beautiful, my bosoms completely revealed thanks to failure of structural integrity in the straps of my brand new one-piece swimsuit.

I've decided I'm as beautiful as I make up my mind to be. Why not? It has to be the form of denial with the most positive side effects. In my mind, I look like Liz Hurley at 35, and I unleash beaming, posh British smiles on passing strangers. I possess NO back fat, and believe that my outfit appears just as it did at home – looking on from the front, with my shoulders back in perfect posture, stomach sucked in til I couldn't breath. When I walk away, I believe no one can see me if I'm not looking directly at them. Yesterday, I decided I look better in my underwear and bra than I look in a swimsuit and... so, after my walk, in the privacy of my own secluded back yard, I stripped of my shirt and Capri pants and jumped into the pool. Woo Hoo!

I informed my husband the rest of the world could deal with my lack of perfection, or divorce me... but I'm not missing out on summer this year. I have all these tank tops that are almost brand new, and I can buy shirts with spaghetti straps, and sundresses! I'm packing up my sunblock and my inner beauty and taking them everywhere I want to go.

He laughed and said, "Good, you're much more fun like this!"

In truth, I was quite relieved he responded that way, but I was committed to do this for myself regardless.

Judging the Judgmental and Our Moms

God managed to find us, even though we were rural, poor, and without a car.  We lived along a church bus route. I should have been thanking God for this for 38 years.  Embarrassingly, I've done more pouting than praising.  I can count the souls saved in our family alone at 19, all beginning with that church bus.  The vine tangles out into the world in many ways as we've each interacted and worked in ministries ourselves.


Embarrassment and shame breeds an ungracious heart, and after I left that church, my heart looked back with suspicion, mistrust and blame.  Some deserved, some imagined.  I carried embarrassment for sins committed by me as a young girl, and by my divorced parents.  I've harbored resentment for the legalistic atmosphere, and rarely expressed any words of gratitude for their part in my salvation.  I overlooked the incredible gift of a loving, generous and kind Sunday School teacher.  Mrs. Charlotte Ramsey was both beautiful and happy - and I still smile when I think of her.


Shortsighted, I allowed myself to dwell on the negatives. I was ungrateful for that church's willingness to reach lost kids like me, kids without a dime to put in the offering plate.  That church was where God courted the broken heart of a little girl, as though she mattered.


I've been the same in my recollections of my childhood family life.  We didn't have much, that's easy to remember.  The childhood hurts and disappointments were ugly raw wounds for a very long time, and I believed my parents could have shielded me from all pain.  In our family, this expectation was a tradition.


Those expectations foster woundedness and ingratitude.  I taught my own daughters to hold people accountable and protect themselves.  Apparently, I thought my experiences would make me into a perfect mother, able to fend off every injury for my own children - and thus be exempt from this ever coming back to bite me in the butt.  (In case you're still innocent enough to believe this is possible – it isn't.)


There is only one God.  Only he knows the secret workings of our hearts, the inner needs and the unspoken hurts.  Mothers don't.  (Churches don't either.) And not only do our children belong to God - so do our mothers.  I'm not my mother's judge.  As well as I think I know her, God knows her infinitely better.  She actually had a name before Mom, an identity that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with God, her creator. 


Over the past 5 years, the truth of my mother's identity has slowly become evident to me.  This year, I realized something shocking.  While Mom always accepted and loved me for who I am, I haven't done the same.  My approval was reserved for some sort of superhero - a woman capable of protecting me from every hurt, able to rid my childhood of vulnerability, wounds and disappointment, and supernaturally know me in a way only God could. I believed this SuperMom would customize her parenting style and abilities to be MY perfect mother.  Of course, my sister needed a different model, and my brother...

I don't want to be imprisoned in memories of disappointment, pain and injustice.  There is another option.  There are memories of joy, tenderness and laughter. I don't want my mother trapped in my judgments, feeling as though she owed me something I was cheated out of.  That's the work of the enemy.  I'm setting us both free.


Philippians 4:8  "Finally brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, let your mind dwell on these things."

My Telephone is Plotting Against My Sanity

16 months ago, we had a power surge that took out our computers, the motion sensitive light at the garage, our telephones and the satellite dish receiver.  Our neighbor lost his television and electric meter - he was closer to the impact point where a 65 foot tree fell onto power lines, crossing two major lines.

The electric company was not to blame because it wasn't rooted within their "right of way".  The property owner is the state of Pennsylvania and we all know responsibility has been removed from all dictionaries used by everyone with a position of power in the state or federal government.  Local government dictionaries still contain the word, but the responsibility always seems to be that of an unknown individual without an actual working telephone.  This person never picks up his or her messages.

My homeowner's policy doesn't cover electronics.  So, we purchased 2 new computers, new phone system, and Dish Network sent us a new receiver.  Around this point in time, everyone who called me on a Verizon cell phone started to experience an echo of everything they said.  I called the phone company... my cordless phone or "something else in the house" was at fault, they said.  I've replaced, unplugged, and done a variety of other home remedies in order to make it stop.  People became angry with me because this echo annoyed them and I hadn't fixed it yet.  Well, it's a Verizon problem.  I still get treated impatiently though... as though it's MY fault their phones echo.

Four weeks ago, we had heavy rains and storms.  Suddenly, my husband and daughter get weird delays when calling me.  The phone doesn't ring right away.  They get put into voice mail limbo where they are told that my voice mail isn't set up.  Our conversations became like those on CNN with foreign correspondents - a delay after every sentence, then confusing simultaneous stutters as we try to figure out whose turn it is.  Quite annoying... and AGAIN... they are mad at ME.

Since yesterday, every time I call someone, my phone has a really weird background sound - as though I'm in a metal warehouse with no sound absorption at all.  Today I called a friend and she couldn't hear me at all.

This morning I replaced the last piece of electronic equipment that we still had since the "surge of '09" - the router / modem.  No improvement whatsoever - but 3 hours spent reconfiguring everything in the universe so that World of Warcraft would work again. 

I called the phone company repair service today.  Perfect.  Clear, normal, perfect.

The repairman called me this afternoon... perfect reception.  A miracle happened and he could find no problem whatsoever.

10 minutes later, my daughter called and I was back on foreign assignment.  It's driving me mad... or is it my FAMILY!!  Are they in it together?  Is this some sort of horrifying conspiracy?

My Grown Up Christmas & What do I do with this new journal!?!?!?

This Christmas was different.  It was the first Christmas that my husband and I woke up in our home without a single other human being here.  I thought I would cry when I pictured this day years ago.  I was in love with the Folger's commercial when the son came home from college and the house was full again... I was in love with that house as well.  I don't live there.

We allowed our first daughter to open her gifts just after the big family party a week ago.  The middle daughter decided to spend Christmas Eve with her sister & family... So, we stopped and helped load up a gift that was hidden at her home to take to the house of many children on Christmas eve.  While we were there, we decided to exchange gifts with her right then and there, and I was glad because I'm fairly certain she'd have only opened one before her nephews (one in particular) opened the rest... all at once.. in less than 3 seconds.  We got the television into the back of my Jeep, (Jack felt very honored to carry actual Christmas presents this year.  She's a sentimental Jeep) and arrived to see 3 little kiddos in adorable robes and jammies, and one beautiful chubby baby in a cuddly blue striped onesie.  Gifts were exchanged...  with help from that one certain grandson, who apparently also tried to open the puzzle he gave me for Christmas because it had little strips of the label all torn off... It was adorable.

Christmas morning was beautiful.  We made breakfast together - delicious omelets - which you can never get in a restaurant as good as you can make at home, opened our gifts, watched a movie, cuddled, called our parents, waited for our kids to catch their breath and call us.  Santa was good to everyone.

I received a gift that I'm not sure what to do with, though.  My daughter gave me a handmade leather journal, with handmade paper, binding, everything.  It's beautiful.  There are a limited number of pages in it, and I would fill that thing up in less than a week with my everyday journaling... so I need to find a special use for it.  A few options presented themselves - a holiday journal (for one or all holidays to be recorded and remembered in), a blessings journal - a dated list of the things I'm most grateful for (that would fill up rather quickly too), okay... I guess just a couple options came to mind.  I could use a suggestion or two or 4.

Now, the day after Christmas I have a confession or 3...  I have to "redo" my gifts for Laney & Linda & Jeanene... because last night... my husband and I ate Laney & Linda's chocolate covered pretzels, and I have a feeling Jeanene's aren't going to make it through the day.  Penny's Christmas ornament gift is still in my kitchen.  I can't find the ice skate accessories I bought for my husband's new skates - thought they were wrapped and under the tree!!!  Somewhere in my house is a gift for my granddaughter Grace... I don't know where, nor do I remember what it was - I just know I left Wal-Mart with 2 gifts for her, and I had to reshop because at gift wrapping time.... I only had ONE!

I'd like to go buy a new tv today, because we received a surround sound system with a blue ray DVD player and our TV isn't up to those standards.  I'd also like to buy gift bags at a discount - NO PAPER, I found that I had over 30 rolls of wrapping paper stuffed in my cedar chest!

The Beauty Of Microplush Skin Of The Over 40 Woman

My mother is in her sixties.  A couple decades ago, I noticed the back of her hand was so soft, I  barely registered that I was touching something.  It was similar to the cheek of a newborn baby... that soft.

I'm 46.  My hands do not have that super-soft condition.  My face, however is another thing.  It's actually very nice to touch... and yet... I know that it's become that way because the elasticity previously holding it up, firm and taut and smooth is wearing out... like the elastic of the bra that was put through the hot dryer one too many times.

Last week Terri Hatcher was on Oprah.  She took pictures and videos of herself with no makeup - fresh from the bathtub.  Guess what?  Under fluorescent lighting, with no makeup, hair untamed - she looks as scary as the rest of us do! 

My daughters are in their 20's.  They are pretty, fresh, and lovely.  They are still learning that sometimes there is no rational reason why something won't work - and yet it just doesn't.  They over-schedule their time and their energy levels.  They still lose their keys and their wallets.  Their cars get dangerously close to an empty gas tank and they are sure they will still make it "there and back" before they have to get gas.  One day I was dangerously close and called one to see how many miles I can go on one "dot" registering on my Honda.  The answer was about 30 - 40 miles.  (I won't be held responsible for you running out of gas... but if you are 3 miles from the gas station, don't get frantic.)

I fill up at just under the half tank mark.  I live 20 miles from the affordable (cough, cough) gas station, and I drive a Jeep - so I don't play around with this stuff.  An emergency could arise and I don't want to be getting gas on my way to the really good (no cough, cough for that) hospitals in Pittsburgh, which are a 90 minute drive.

Perhaps I'm not in the majority, but I get caught up in the desire to be ageless.  To look 35 at 60 would be OK with me.  After all... my husband's eyes aren't going to fall out at 49, and there are entirely too many people not making love in their 50's, 60's and 70's - and while I'm sure there are many reasons for that, it breaks my heart to think of my husband not desiring to experience that with me.  I live in fear of losing the woman I was.  But, let's face it... much of her exterior has already changed... arms, thighs, butt, elevation of the bust line, that flesh above my knees, the sharpness of my jawline, the place where my eyeshadow is now hidden.

On the other hand, I like the woman I am today more than at any other time in my life.  I never lose my keys or run out of gas.  I know that time doesn't stretch just because I've scheduled 8 hours of stuff in 4 1/2 hours, which saves me so much misery.  I've gotten to know God in a way that is more deep and honest than when I thought he was a genie and answered all my wishes.  I see my husband's flaws have a positive side and wouldn't change them, even if I could.  I know I can't change anyone but myself, but I also have the wisdom to give advice in a way that other people can actually hear it instead of bashing them over the head with it.  I'm not offended when they don't take it.

In truth... I like the way my face feels.  It's like those micro-plush blankets in the store that we all have to touch, even if we aren't buying one today.  As the internal woman becomes more wise and holds a more distinct shape, it seems God sees fit to wrap that smart cookie in super softness.

The Distraction of Something Good (or not) From What Is Best

This spoke to me.  I thought of teenagers and people less experienced than myself so easily drawn into the superficial distractions of life around them.  The list on this video doesn't draw me in, and I felt the attitude creeping in that is usually portrayed with an all-knowing  a "more knowing" look and thoughts of how frustrating it is to watch the "unknowing" buy into all this distraction.

However... my family is planning a trip to an amusement park to celebrate my brother's 40th birthday.  This past weekend found me in rare usual form when in the midst of getting ready for a family event.  Frazzled over gathering ticket money, arranging transportation, planning food, the phone ringing off the wall (if I had actually hung it up, which I hadn't... so it was ringing from virtually every flat surface in my house throughout the day).

Too often family events become my nightmare as people mess with the plan, rethink the plan, rethink the date & time, don't have transportation, can't afford the plan, want to dictate food assignments, can't afford the food assignments, show up late, change the menu the day of the event, or just talk every detail to death.  I am almost always in the position of being the only one willing to or responsible insane enough to sew it all together into a coherent activity.

I know this griping sounds ugly.  It looks ugly too.  I dearly love my family, but I resent being in charge of accommodating everyone's suggestions, which feel like demands.  Too many years of doing it and the family keeps growing - which just leads to more suggestions and more hoop jumping desires to strangle family members with said hoop.  I am literally numb, exhausted and angry - event after event after event.  And of course the guilt from those feelings eat me up.

After sharing yet another frenzied rant eloquent analysis of my frustration, I summed it all up to my darling husband this way... because he just never gets enough of the insanity that overcomes me a week before a family get together.. "Am I being wrong?  Am I being selfish?  I don't know how much is right?  I don't know if I'm being wrong!!!!  I just want to run away!"  I lost the ability to use any words I learned past first grade.  I've been found sobbing on my knees at the foot of my bed after yet another Thanksgiving Day breakdown.

I remember when my mother came out of rehab and she pulled back from us.  I heard a lot of "I have to focus on me.  This is MY time."  I understand that better now that I'm no longer 19, but there is still a feeling of oppression when I consider the role I've played in my family from a young age.  I'm sure I've lost the ability to discern how much is enough... apparently "Too Much" will eventually reveal itself - but by then - it's too late. 

Today I'm waiting for the plumber to show up.  Water is being conserved - no laundry, dishes, shower, housework - and I'm sitting in the grass in my front yard.  I'm providing amusement to a variety of bugs, and apparently a landing strip for skydiving spiders.  2 Daddy long legs have run across my composition book in the time I've taken to write this.  I feel as though I'm on vacation, it is that refreshing.  I should step away from the phone (a huge distraction for me) and have this little bit of time each day...

God loves a cheerful giver.  I'm not being cheerful about all of this.  I can twist it all up into a need for changing my attitude, or I could be honest.  Honestly, I'm not doing this to please God.  I'm doing it to make up for and fix all of the weirdness of my family.  I'm doing it to give my family, and myself, what I idealized as the normal family - when I was just a kid in a dysfunctional home with an alcoholic mother and no dad on the premises, watching television programs with moms baking pies and dads going to work, and Walton family holidays. 


My family is my distraction from what is best.  They haven't done this TO me, I've done it to myself.  Trying to transform a messy tangle of people into a family with idealized traditions and interactions is an exhausting job that I became convinced was a necessary one.


The main problem with being a people pleaser is that you can't please God... there are just too many people.  They want too many different things. 


I have to accept that my mother wasn't playing the role of martyr, and forgive her for running out of physical, emotional or spiritual resources while I was still in need - physically, emotionally and spiritually ... because that is the superglue that keeps me stuck here.  I have judged her in a way that I can't bear to be judged myself.