Monthly Archives: September 2013

Once upon a time…

A young country couple waited anxiously for the birth of their second child, a baby girl.  It was the late 1960’s and their small farming endeavor focused mainly on pigs and produce.  It was a family business varying according to what might be a bestseller or a bumper crop for that particular season.  The father had just celebrated his birthday and held his breath wondering if he would be blessed with the arrival of his little princess to share that day.  But it was not to be.  Although his son shared his grandfather’s birthday as was stubbornly predicted by said grandfather, the little girl was set to arrive in her own time.

September passed and October rolled in with the first whispers of fall.  The temperature began to cool down in the humid Mississippi climate and the leaves began to flutter to the ground.  Colors became vibrant in that country paradise and all the sows began to resemble the young mother heavy with pregnancy.  Saturday night found the expectant mother sitting in the pig parlor with the expectant sows and working to try to calm them and monitor their progress.  Suddenly the first contractions came, not for the sows, but for the mother.  It became evident the little girl would arrive shortly. Later the little girl would blame the mother for being responsible for her pug nose and for being called “Miss Piggy” in her elementary school days due to the fact that she spent too much time in the pig parlor before the little girl was born.

Sunday rolled around to the birth of the baby girl and at once she captured her father’s heart and likewise he held hers.  From that point on she could do no wrong in his eyes and even moments of proposed chastisement for some childhood mischief melted his heart, especially since the little girl had a habit of turning purple at the thought of a spanking.  The big blue eyes and blonde curls continued to twine their way around the father’s heart and although his work took him away much of the time, he would always be there with an encouraging word at the right time.

Most of the memories the little girl had of her early years with her father were of sitting in her Christmas pajamas in his lap in the big chair watching the Christmas tree lights before bedtime.  Later, there were times when she played hairstylist while Daddy reclined in his favorite chair.  It was just the right height for the princess to stand behind and brush the top of his slowly balding head.  On school mornings the little girl would wake to find her allowance carefully laid out on the lid of the piano, propped against the hinge of the beautiful vanilla wood-three quarters, two dimes, and a nickel.  There were three rows of change.  One for her older brother and one for her younger brother.  She always took ownership of the middle row. 

Her eighth birthday rolled around and Daddy had to work, but during the night the little princess awoke to find a huge, beautiful baby doll standing on a chair beside her bed.  The doll became one of her favorites and she smiled because she knew Daddy had not forgotten her special day.  She hoped that Momma had saved him a piece of cake.

Many times when she had a moment with her father, he would pull her long hair, now turned a golden brown, around to her face and tell her how beautiful she was.  He always called her his little princess and told her she would always be beautiful to him and how much he loved her.  This made the little girl’s heart leap and made her feel very special.  School days were not always easy and then, at the age of ten, the little girl experienced a traumatic loss of innocence at the hands of a terrible person.  She didn’t tell anyone for fear that her Daddy would be prosecuted for killing the man responsible.  She would not want to see her Daddy go to jail, or worse.  She just basked in the love she felt from her parents and the affirmation that she was special and beautiful, and she kept her secret.


Soon she experienced her first teenage romance and heartbreak.  The father was so distraught to see his princess crying that he promised her a Porsche for graduation if she would just stop crying and be okay.  Needless to say, the crying did not immediately stop, and the Porsche did not materialize because the family business folded along with a tragic death and chaos entered the young girl’s life.

The subsequent years brought heartache into the home because despite the fact that she loved her father, he had feet of clay and his wanderings tore apart her parent’s marriage.  The thought of having to move from her childhood home and living without her Daddy was heartbreaking.  On the last day before the big move, the father came to say goodbye.  The little girl had baked chocolate chip cookies and as her father was leaving, she quickly bagged them, wrote a note telling him how much she loved him, and ran to take them to the car and give him one final hug.  Everything she had known since birth seemed to be snatched away in that moment.

Moving to a far away state and back again did not change things.  The divorce was turbulent and although the little girl loved her Daddy so much, she had chosen to be with her mother.  Finally a stepmother entered the picture and some of the unconditional love she had felt from her father seemed to be refocused.  However, that did not last long and one day he held her face in his hands again and told her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her.  He stilled called her his princess even though she was now in her twenties. 

Years passed and for a while the young woman worked for her father in the family business in various roles and also as someone he could talk with about her siblings and other family matters.  The care of her grandmother was finally passed on to her because her father was an only child and the grandmother loved the young woman as if she were her very own daughter.  Bad business decisions and the loss of income forced the young woman to seek employment and to further her education outside of the family business.  This was another heartbreaking separation as her father had hoped she would eventually run the business with her siblings.  However, he let her go to seek her own path.

Several years later it became obvious that diabetes would force the father to downsize his business and cost him a limb.  Further illness cost him another limb and the family business was no more.  He reconciled himself to his original home place, the home of his mother who had long since been confined to an assisted care facility due to a stroke.  Plans were made for reconciliation between the young woman’s mother and father.  After almost two decades, they would remarry and live out the rest of their years together.  Not a storybook ending, but it was closure and the young woman rejoiced that her family would be together once again.

A sore throat brought about a doctor’s visit and the horrible news that it was not a simple sore throat.  It was cancer.  Surgery brought the insertion of a trachea and the family was given the news that the father would only be with them for a few short weeks.  There was nothing to be done.  The young woman sobbed at the horrible news and began to work to help care for her father along with her mother and siblings.  Time spent together was precious and there were many memorable moments.  Her father always smiled when she walked into the room and his blue eyes always mirrored his love for her.  The weeks went by too swiftly and the time came when the young woman had to whisper in his ear “I love you Daddy.  I want you to stay, but I know you need to go.  It is okay.  I will take care of mamaw and mom.  You can go.”  Those were some of the hardest words every spoken in the little girl’s life.

Two days later, he was gone.

My dad was one of my staunchest supporters.  He loved me unconditionally, was always happy to see me, and believed that I could do no wrong.  He thought I was beautiful even on my ugliest days.  He was not perfect and many times in his life he regretted the decisions he made; however, he was my Daddy.  I love him and I miss him every day.  There were many days when I would pick up the phone as if to call him just to ask him a question, or to hear him say “I love you” and then I would realize that he was no longer here. 

Happy Birthday to my Dad, today.  I am thinking of you and I know that you are at peace and happy where you are, but I still miss you terribly.

Until next time…



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People Watching

The past two days have been spent in various medical facilities, and as always I find myself watching and listening to those around me.  Such was the case a couple of days ago in a local doctor’s office.  I had completed my paperwork and decided to play a game on my phone.  A few minutes into the game, I heard a nurse saying goodbye to a patient as she held the door for her.  Out walked an elderly lady, her silver hair styled to perfection. At first I did not see anyone behind her, but when she came to the outside door, she moved no further, but stood frozen as if waiting for it to magically open.  She didn’t have to wait very long because her faithful companion walked up behind her and gallantly opened the door and stood waiting for her to pass through it.  I smiled to myself because I love seeing that type of behavior and understanding between couples.  The elderly generation has something that I think we have lost as the years have passed.  I loved seeing the trust in this lady as she stood waiting knowing that he would open that door. 

Soon my attention was diverted by a young firefighter who came in looking a bit wobbly.  He sort of stumbled through asking the receptionist if the doctor could see him as a walk-in patient and then he sat close to the door with his head in his hands.  A few moments later an energetic young woman in a simple t-shirt and jeans walked into the room and sat beside him.  They began to chat and I begin to smile as I couldn’t help but listen to the conversation:

“So you passed out today” She said.

“No, I did not pass out.”

“So, you just decided to lie down on the floor?” She replied.

“No, I felt like I was going to pass out so I just knelt down.”

“So, you just decided to get on the floor because you were tired, but you weren’t going to pass out?” She pressed him to respond.

“Passing out means losing consciousness and I didn’t lose consciousness.  I just felt like I needed to kneel down or lie down on the floor.”

At this point, they both got to giggling because it was obvious that he did not want to admit that he had passed out at work from dehydration and he was trying his best to save face since, of course, he was a firefighter and they are supposed to be tough.  The conversation continued, but it amazed me that she knew how to respond to break the tension and eventually he realized he needed to tell the doctor he had passed out despite the fact that he really didn’t want to do so.  His masculinity was threatened and she smoothed it over until they were both laughing.  In fact, I kept my head down playing my game, but I was smiling as well because their friendly banter was contagious.  I couldn’t help but think how she must worry over him at times because of his career choice, but how supportive she was toward him to talk him through his own little crisis. 

The next day brought more people watching and interesting scenarios.  This time I was not the patient, but as the physician’s assistant stated, “You are the driver.”  This means I hold everything and spend much time waiting and I get buzzed when the patient is ready.  Did you know that now they use those same buzzers that restaurants use?  I would love to have had some queso and chips while I was waiting, but I guess that was out of the question since we were on the gastrointestinal floor and food had been banned. A bit ironic I think.  Okay, I am digressing.  Maybe it is because I am a bit hungry as I write this.

Back to my story…

There were about fifty or more people in this waiting room and I believe I sat there for close to two hours.  At first I thought I would count how many overweight people there were because this is Mississippi and most of us are overweight.  However, that was not a challenge because there were so many.  Next, I just watched individuals as they signed in and looked around wondering where to sit or what to do.  One guy who accompanied his wife startled me because he reminded me of a cross between Jethro Gibbs and Mark Twain.  I will call him Mark Gibbs.  He had the scruffy longish silver/white hair and his mustache completely covered his upper lip and was well on its way to covering his lower lip.  He was relaxed and his mannerisms were that of a Southern gentleman.  His accent was pronounced and I couldn’t help but think he should be on the river and not stuck in this waiting room.

Of course there were the usual people with their ear buds and iPhones totally immersed in texting, playing games, and listening to music.  Nothing to see there.  I was struck by one elderly couple that sat together.  The wife was a round little lady and when they took the husband back for his test, he handed her this massive volume he had been reading.  She promptly began reading after he had left and I couldn’t help but smile to think they were sharing a book. So much for electronic devices.  I couldn’t catch the name of the book, but its tan cloth cover and burgundy binding let me know it was a friend and I felt a sense of rightness that some people still value our cloth bound treasures.

 I started watching the couples as one or the other was left to wait while their spouse completed his/her test. One lady was completing her paperwork and she stopped and asked her husband to feel of a place on her back.  He obediently put his hand on her back and felt the spot she indicated and she asked, “Can you feel that knot?”  He looked a bit puzzled and responded, “No.”  She said, “I know there is a knot there.  I hope there is nothing wrong.”  He resumed his reading.  This brought a smile to my face much like the woman that was constantly chatting with her husband while he was consumed in his newspaper.  The perfunctory “ummhmmm” that he uttered led me to believe this happened daily and his brain just automatically knew when to respond without him having to stop reading. 

However, there was one couple that I enjoyed watching.  He had a pronounced Louisiana accent and was obviously a well educated gentleman.  His casual attire of polo shirt, shorts, and athletic shoes screamed in contrast to his ladies’ outfit.  She was a tall, slender redhead dressed in purple slinky pants and jacket, with a purple printed scarf.  They were probably in their sixties, but the remnants of younger days still attached themselves to their appearance and it was not hard to see what a dash they must have cut as a young society couple.  The rhinestone black reading glasses remained perched on her nose throughout the waiting period and she had all the latest magazines resting in her lap.  Her makeup was flawless and the only signs of possible nervousness or a hurried action were the wisps of hair mussed in the back of her ponytail.  The fact the hair was in a ponytail was a telltale sign.  They constantly conversed and he seemed nervous about the upcoming test. His Louisiana accent was soothing and smooth, so much so the receptionist commented on it. His lady was calm and kept him engaged in conversation until the medical assistant called him.  He immediately asked her if she would be coming with him, but the assistant told him it was just a moment’s procedure to get his arm band and he would be right back.  Well, he must have talked about her constantly while he was back there because the assistant came back out and spoke to her for several minutes about her career.  I couldn’t help but wonder what career path she had taken, so I brainstormed that for a bit.

They continued to talk and it was great to see how they interpreted comments from the television and looked at each other as if they didn’t have to say anything to read each others’ thoughts.  This kept him calm throughout the waiting period and it also made my waiting time more entertaining. The assistant called his name for the test, and I said a prayer for them as my buzzer went off and I headed to get my patient.  I hoped they did not have any bad results and they would have many more years to spend laughing together and “cutting a dash” in their senior years.

Many things have gone through my mind as I have sat in these medical facilities the past couple of days.  I have prayed for people I did not know, but felt a closeness to from just being exposed to them for a short time period.  I have been very thankful that I have minor medical issues so that I do not have to spend time in these facilities.  I have seen examples of kindness, consideration, happiness, and beautiful relationships because I had time to stop and look for a few minutes.  I am wondering how much I miss on a regular day when I am hurried and cannot stop to really ‘see’ people enough to recognize what is going on in their lives.  I think I would benefit more if I could do this; however, I don’t want the medical issues that might go along with having the time to do it.  That is just the irony of life.  Sometimes we don’t really stop and see others until we are all experiencing pain or some sort of “time out” in our lives.

Today my goal is to try to stop and see someone and give them a moment of my time whether is it to pray for them, speak to them, or just smile at something they have said.  I think my life will be richer for it and I hope you will also take the time today to stop and do a little people watching in your world.

Until next time,


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Plastic or Pearls?

This has been a week of difficult things, physically, mentally and emotionally, but through it all, I have found a peace that passes understanding.  That is not to say I am oblivious to everything around me, but I have found strength and I have been carried through it with minor bruising.

A long time ago I heard this story and it came to mind again this week.  There are many versions online and I had barely typed in a few of the words to search for the story when it appeared.  Maybe that is a God thing, or maybe it is just that we can relate to the story so very well that we have copied and pasted it too many times.  I will let you decide:

The Pearl Necklace

A five-year-old girl bought her very own plastic pearl necklace with her very own money that she saved all year long. The little girl loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Her mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green. The pearls weren’t real but it didn’t matter to the little girl. She had bought them herself!
The little girl had a very loving father. One day he said, “Sweetheart, do you love me?”
“Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you.”
“Then give me your pearls.”
“Not my pearls! You can have my toy horse.”
“That’s okay, Honey. Daddy loves you.” And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.
About a week later, the little girl’s father asked again, “Do you love me?”
“Daddy, you know I love you.”
“Then give me your pearls.”
“Not my pearls. You can have my baby doll.”
“That’s okay. Daddy loves you.” And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.
This happened over and over and the little girl wondered anxiously, “If he loves me, why does he want to take away something I love?”
Eventually, the little girl nervously and teary eyed walked up to her father and held out her fake pearl necklace. “Here, Daddy. This is for you.”
The father reached out with one hand to take the imitation pearl necklace and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to his daughter. He had them all the time, but was waiting for her to give up what she had to give her something even better.

The End

~Author Unknown

I have never owned a strand of pearls, or even a pearl ring, but I have always thought they symbolized beauty, purity, and endurance through much pain and hardship.  The irritation that is felt by the oyster creates the beautiful pearl.  The more irritation, the more beautiful and special the pearl.  Many of us have “pearls” in our lives that we treasure.  Sometimes when we need to give them to God it is very hard to let go.  I don’t know what it is about clutching something or touching someone that seems to anchor me to that object or person.  Maybe it is like the comment one child said when asking if he/she talked to Jesus about whatever was bothering him/her.  The child responded “Yes, but I need to talk to someone with skin on.”

God sees so much more than we see and trusting Him with our priceless treasures is the best way to keep them the safest.  In His hands they are always protected.  It is only when we try to hold them and work things out without His help that we end up losing them or decreasing their value.  Surrender is one of the hardest things to do.  Maybe we associate it with defeat, but that is not always the case.  Surrender just means we are letting go of our control over the outcome of the situation, or over the person or object.  If we surrender to God then we are actually just recognizing who already has control and who wants to “…give us a hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11~My favorite verse).  How can we go wrong with this?

What plastic pearls are you clutching?  Open your hands and your heart and God will provide you with the beautiful pearls that you have been dreaming of while you have been clutching those plastic ones close to your heart.  Do you trust Him enough to let go, or are you still holding on to plastic?

Until next time,


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Swords clash and the clang of steel echoes in my head causing my temples to pound and the pain to increase.  The palpable atmosphere of spiritual warfare permeates the air and blow for blow each side engages in battle.  In my mind, this scenario plays over and over again.  God, Round One.  Devil, Round Two.  Will there be a Round Three? The sides are tied…What will happen? Will this end in a mutual agreement to retreat?

The stronger opponent? Why, God of course.  There is no doubt, but there have been many battles lost to the dark side in the past, and I cannot help but wonder about the outcome of this one.  Sometimes free will comes into play over the right choice and this could mean defeat for this particular battle and more casualties than I care to admit.

I am weary today- battle weary.  The blows have rained down on me and I am suffering with several serious wounds. This has been the bloodiest battle I have ever faced in my life, and I don’t say that lightly.  However, I am not the only one wounded and this hurts more than dealing with my own wounds.  The carnage is everywhere and I cannot fix it.  Some things will heal with time. Some wounds will close, but will scar and be forever present as a reminder. There is a possibility that some will be reopened in future battle engagements, a.k.a. Round Three, and some wounds may be fatal-only time will tell.

Hemmingway said, “There is nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”  I have found this to be true.  Some of my best writing has happened in the most painful moments of my life.  However, today I believe the blood is pouring so profusely over the typewriter that I cannot see the keys.  So, I am going to Pray  instead and let Sanctus Real  voice my heart’s cry. Then I am going to ask for direction and let Sidewalk Prophets speak the words for me through  Help Me Find It.  For I truly believe that someone must have bled when these songs were written.

I have met the requirement I have placed on myself and posted today.  While not inspiring and possibly not contributing to my writing career, I did post and I will write again…when I can control the bleeding.

Until next time,


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Retail Therapy

A sinus and possible food allergy headache has plagued me all weekend.  Something I have not written about in my blog at this point is my struggle as an emotional eater for most of my life.  This is a very private battle I fight and many times I have started a blog about it, but have not followed through due to the fact that I don’t want to stumble and fall in the public sector, or disappoint anyone.  Over the past year, I have managed to shed close to fifty pounds.  Now, in that time frame, ten or twenty of those pounds were shed multiple times due to my struggle with emotional eating.  Whenever stress hits me, the first thing I want to do is to comfort myself with something “good” to eat.

All my life, celebrations and family gatherings and most social events have been centered around food.  How many times do you pick up the phone and a friend says “Come have lunch with me?”  Or perhaps you get a call from your mom saying, “I just made gumbo and a four layer chocolate pie.  Come over and get some.”  Birthdays, holidays, everywhere you look there is food!

Maybe you don’t understand this, but moderation doesn’t work when you are an emotional eater.  You might think you can just have one taste of each food item at a party, but those white sugars, dairy products, and starches are just waiting to lure you in and cause your brain to scream “I want more!”  They are addictive which we realize when we try to detox from them-think about caffeine or sugar headaches you have when you try to do without those lovely items.  So, it is not an easy thing to overcome or manage.

For the past two weeks or so, I have been under a tremendous amount of stress and have been off track on my healthy eating plan.  There have been times when I didn’t want to eat, and times when all I wanted to eat were things that were not good for me.  My body began to protest with old familiar aches and pains returning, and now, this headache.  And it seems that God has such a great sense of humor because He allowed me to watch a program that provided the following spoof of the Creation story that just confirms to me that I need to get back on track.  I did tweak it a little to make it more personal to me, but I am sure you will get the idea:

In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth and populated the Earth with broccoli, cauliflower, spinach, and green, yellow, and red vegetables of all kinds, so man and woman would live long and healthy lives.

Then using God’s great gifts, Satan created Blue Bell Ice Cream and Krispy Creme Donuts. And Satan said, “You want chocolate with that?” And man said, “Yes!” and woman said, “And as long as you’re at it add some sprinkles.” And they gained 10 pounds. And Satan smiled.

And God created the healthful grains that woman might keep the figure that man found so fair. And Satan brought forth white flour from the wheat and sugar from the cane and combined them. And woman went from size 6 to size 16.

So God said, “Try my fresh green salad.” And Satan presented ranch dressing, bacon, cheese, buttery croutons, and garlic toast on the side. And man and woman unfastened their belts.

God then said, “I have sent you heart healthy vegetables and a vinegar and liquid aminos in which to cook them.” And Satan brought forth deep fried fish and chicken-fried steak so big it needed its own platter. And man gained more weight and his cholesterol went through the roof.

God brought forth the potato- a vegetable naturally low in fat and brimming with nutrition. Then Satan peeled off the healthful skin and sliced the starchy center into chips and deep-fat fried them. And he created sour cream dip also. And man clutched his remote control and ate the potato chips soaked in cholesterol and sour cream dip. Satan saw it and said, “It is good.”

God then gave plant-based proteins in leafy greens, beans and legumes, so that man might consume fewer calories and still satisfy his appetite. And Satan created McDonald’s Big Mac, Quarter Pounder with cheese, and 99 cent double cheeseburger then said, “You want fries and a soft drink with that?” And man replied, “Yes! And super size them!” And Satan said, “It is good.”

And man went into cardiac arrest.

God sighed and created quadruple bypass surgery.

Then Satan created HMOs.

(Author Unknown)

My point in setting up the story of my emotional eating journey (MJ I know how much you hate the word “journey” so I apologize in advance.) is to tell you about my experience this weekend.

On Friday, I entered Catherine’s retail shop for plus size ladies.  The employees at this particular Catherine’s location have been my good friends and fashion consultants for many years.  I feel a bond with them and trust them to tell me what to buy and what to put back, especially two particular sales associates we will call A and C.  On Friday, they detained and proceeded to convince me to ‘model’ for them on Saturday.  My shock at the word ‘model’ connected to my name knew no bounds.  After much arguing, I finally relented and picked out two outfits to ‘model’ the next day.  I left feeling very nervous about the whole event.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny and I wanted to call and cancel.  The lure of the extra discount on clothes stopped me from completely hiding away.  That retail therapy has always been important to me!  So, I dressed and spruced up as best I could and headed to the shop.  There were representative tables set up in the shop and refreshments for everyone.  Of course they would have food!  I began to try on clothes and come out to have my picture taken and to walk around the store and some of the representatives would offer jewelry and lipstick and other coordinating accessories.  They also provided advice on trying these pants or this shirt with another coordinating piece.  I found that my original thirty minutes and two outfits turned into two hours of changing clothes and talking with these ladies.

I had drafted my close friend to come by and tell me if the outfits I had chosen were suitable because I needed an unbiased, non-retail male opinion. (Thank you, M.  I know that standing in a shop full of women must have been stressful for you.) I had already been told that I needed a smaller size in a couple of the items I had tried, but I securely clung to the familiar sizes and denied their claims that I should try for smaller. However, my friend agreed with the sales associates and since I valued his opinion as a male type, I reluctantly tried the smallest size in one pair of pants and found….shock of all shocks…they fit!  C told me that I wouldn’t be able to shop at Catherine’s for much longer, and my stomach plunged.  I have never been shopping a lot outside of specialty stores and I wasn’t sure I was ready for the big world of retail.  The comfort of my friends at this small establishment was reassuring and to have to give them up was going to be hard.  Of course, I don’t have to worry about it for twenty more pounds, but still it looms on the horizon.  The thought made me want to eat something whether it was to make sure I didn’t go below the sizes they carried, or just out of the emotions that came with the thought of change, I don’t know.  The food table called to me, but I resisted.  However, I felt as if a layer had been peeled away and soon I would be exposed because all that is familiar would not be there anymore.  Does that sound dramatic?  Possibly, but that is how I felt.

I think that is when I realized my perspective of myself and my body was a bit warped.  Yes, I still have many pounds to lose and I have been off track with the healthy eating for a few weeks, but what I considered a major plateau was a goal for many of the customers who came into the shop on Saturday.  They looked at me as an example of what they wanted to achieve.  This was a very enlightening experience.  I had never thought of my body size and type as a goal for someone else.  I was always looking and thinking about how I wished I could look like or be the size of the models in the catalog, or other people I saw.

I cannot say that I immediately began to feel better about myself, because it actually made me realize that I would be entering a new world soon and that stressed me greatly.  Change is always a bit stressful, but it is the only thing consistent. This experience just gave me a different perspective of myself and how much I had accomplished. It also has given me the strength to keep going.

I think I found some value in being me on Saturday.  Value is a good thing.  I also think that I better understand that even if you find yourself in a situation that seems miserable and you cannot see any good in it, there is always someone else that is going through something worse who longs to be where you are in this moment. Your plateau could be someone else’s goal, so celebrate every milestone and don’t take for granted what you have accomplished while you are working to get to your next goal.

Now, to get rid of this headache.

Until next time…



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Sunday Kind of Love

Sigh…Here it is Monday and already I am longing to return to yesterday.  There is something so special about Sunday.  It has been that way all my life.  As a child, Sundays usually began to the blaring sound of the Children’s Bible Hour radio program (my parents’ favorite alarm clock) and continued to include dressing up in my best clothes, attending Sunday school and church, and usually finding some restaurant in which to eat.  Living in the country, this was pretty much the only day of the week my family ate out, so it was a treat.  There was no pizza delivery or any fast food joints where I grew up, only the local greasy spoon where incidentally, I was launched into the world of employment making $2.80 per hour as a server on Friday and Saturday nights.  Other than these outings, the Schwann man was our only source of food delivery. ..but, I digress.

Yesterday, Sunday, was such a peaceful day for me and I began to think about this and reflect on Sundays past.  That lead to thinking about why Sundays were so special and that in turn, lead to thinking about my relationship with God.  He is the center of my Sundays, but He is also there every other day of the week.  I think it is just that I pause to visit with Him more on Sundays and I have a greater appreciation of all the things He has made and done for me on that day whether it is wisdom gleaned from a church service, or basking in the beauty of His creation through a Sunday drive.

Our weekly Bible focus in Kindergarten is the Creation story and all my babies know that on the seventh day He rested.  They are quick to tell me He took a nap-their idea of what rest should be-but I counter them by telling them He also reflected on what He created and that we should set aside time to reflect on His goodness on the seventh day and to spend time talking with Him.  Now, that may cause some to argue whether Sunday is actually supposed to be the seventh day, or if it is the first day of the week.  I am not even going to argue the point because it is not about the calendar, but about the observation of a day of rest.

Yesterday was not spent at Sunday school or church due to unforeseen circumstances; however, it was spent with my Savior.  He was in every conversation, every smile, every outing, and every activity that took place.  His closeness was very real to me.  It was refreshing and strengthening.

I sat in an establishment yesterday just enjoying the quietness and the ambiance of the place and Etta James crooned out her classic:  Sunday Kind of Love.  While I realize Etta may not have been talking about her relationship with God, she did nail it in her description of the type of love she wanted and this sparked in me the thought that I need look no further than Jesus to find that Sunday Kind of Love. This stayed with me and I decided to share it with you.  Corny?  Maybe.  Hearfelt?  Definitely.

Wishing you a Sunday Kind of Love every day of the week,


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