Delicious Debate

I've had the interesting privilege over the last couple of days to be in two separate meetings where there was.... how shall I put this?... Tense discussion. I've remembered something interesting about me. I love a good fight! Debate is one of the most pleasurable things in the world to me.

The exchange of words and ideas, the attempt to communicate clearly, the persuasive passion of some, and the shy nerves of others. It's all WONDERFUL to me. Defending an idea forces me to think that idea through carefully. Sometimes we don't always stop and examine our hearts until something such as a moment of tension brings feelings to light. Sometimes nothing solidifies a belief like hearing the opposing belief.

Know what else I've found interesting? It's REALLY hard for Christians to be OK with disagreeing. I've observed two Christian meetings where people really, really struggled to express opposing views appropriately, almost as if it's wrong to have differences of opinion. Why do we get our feathers ruffled so?

I don't know about that, but I'm SURE I enjoyed it all WAY too much. And since it's after midnight and I have a workshop to teach tomorrow, maybe I'll wait till later to ponder what this says about my mental health. It's cracking me up right now because I faced some excruciatingly tense moments this evening with pleasure, and then came home only to melt into a puddle of queasy panic. Why, you ask? Mackenzie was losing a tooth!! So much for a woman not fazed by heated debate when she's standing with her fingers in her ears trying REALLY hard to find the happy place in her mind to escape from the pulling of a loose tooth.

My happiness today: A man who can handle tooth issues that render me completely useless. AND Levi's pronunciation of "tapioca," a pudding to which he was introduced today: "Tacky-oh-coh" I'll eat tackyohcoh pudding with that kid any day.

Homework at the Hughes'

Just thought I'd share one of my rare "Leave it to Beaver" moments with you. This afternoon, my kids worked on homework peacefully at the table while I supervised and assisted like a normal mommy would. They were too cute, so I have to share!


The picture of concentration! Cutting is serious business in K-4!


The picture of brilliance!

Dizzy Days

Spent a lovely evening in the emergency room yesterday. I had some symptoms that were pretty scary, especially to someone who has suffered from blood clots. Turned out to be.... wait for it.... vertigo. Yup. Lots of drama for a little diagnosis, but I am SO thankful that it's something so simple, and not those nasty clots again.

Today I've been playing catch-up. After an action packed weekend that culminated in a visit to the hospital, I had extra laundry and dishes and general maintenance work to do around here. I also have a good bit of writing to do, which is the fun part. I spent the morning writing in my rocking chair. (Am I blessed or what?) There's still much more to do. I have a busy fall ahead of me, several speaking engagements to prepare for, plus the book's release. Tomorrow I think I'll be forced to lock the door and turn off all telephones in order to get some creative work done.

OH! You are also officially reading the blog of a corporate chaplain! I'll be doing a little chaplaincy work here and there for Marketplace Chaplains USA. After a surprisingly thorough investigation of me, they have declared me fit to be a chaplain. I'm looking forward to this opportunity to stay in touch with reality... to kind of get outside the church doors if ya know what I mean.

All in all, I missed my Monday. (It's my favorite day of the week.) Labor Day has officially become my least favorite holiday for cheating me out of a Monday.

For now, I'm a bit dizzy and a lot tired. I'm headed to my bed. Right after I tell you the happiest part of my day: Pumpkin Spice Latte' at Starbucks! OH! and my Love made the kids' lunches for tomorrow... and I didn't even ask him to. I love that guy!

Closure!

Yesterday, for the anniversary of Katrina, we had a little family ceremony. We were aiming to give some closure to our kids, and help them recognize how God has provided for us, but I gotta tell you, I didn't realize how good the closure would feel to me!

Anyway, we planted a hibiscus in our yard to help us remember the beauty that has come out of the sad days of Katrina, and how God took care of us. Here are some pics:




Daddy and his helpers.



The ceremonial squirt!



We MADE IT!!

HAPPY Anniversary

In the next world we may more perfectly
Love Him and serve Him, praise Him,
Grow nearer and nearer to Him with delight.
But then we will not anymore
Be called to suffer, which is our assignment here.
Can you not suffer, then, one hour or two?
If He should call you from your cross today,
Saying, "It is finished--that hard cross of yours
From which you pray for deliverance,"
Do you not think that some emotion of regret
Would overcome you? You would say,
"So soon? Let me go back and suffer yet awhile
More patiently. I have not yet praised God."
....let us take heed in life
That God may NOW be glorified in us. (Ugo Bassi's Sermon in a Hospital)

Today marks the two year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. This morning as I reflected with some area pastors on this day and what it means to us, my heart virtually screamed the above quoted poem. See, lately I've been doing quite a bit of asking for deliverance. Since Katrina's upheaval, my life has seemed like one upheaval after another. I'm tired. So is everyone around me.

Last night, my hair guy and I were talking about my book. He asked me "Do you listen to what you write?" Jimmy wanted to know if I practice what I preach, or if I take my own advice. So I asked the question of myself. I told Jimmy how I feel that everything that has happened since Katrina has worked together as a "test" of sorts for me. How can I write a book with a theme of hope and perseverance... and then NOT trust God to give me the strength to persevere myself? I don't want to be someone who preaches one thing, only to get in my car, drive away, and do another. So yes, I practice what I preach.

But in some ways, I have not yet praised God. To me, persevering through trial is one thing, but lifting praise to God in and FOR a trial is another thing entirely. In my mind, to look suffering in the face and THANK GOD for it is to have triumphed over that suffering. And so, if you'll allow me...


THANK YOU GOD, for Hurricane Katrina. Thank You for the uncertainty, the loss, the sadness. Thank You for forcing me to rely on You for hope. I praise You, God, for the turmoil it caused. I praise You for making me uncomfortable enough to seek comfort in You. ThankYou for personally being my comfort in all of this. While I'm at it, Lord, I would like to praise You for the embolisms I had. Thanks for the pain and the frightening diagnosis. Thanks for showing me that death is nothing to You, therefore it is nothing to me. Thank you for sending my husband to the hospital. Thank you for being there when I thought I might lose him. Thank You for the people whose hands you used to help hold me up that night. I praise You, God, for the exhaustion, the depression, and the discouragement that the last months have held for me and Matthew. I praise You for being Reason enough to go on even when we didn't feel like it. The bottom line, Jesus, is that You have and do use suffering to connect with me and to help me connect with You... and connection with You makes life worth living, so I praise You for it ALL. You, my Jesus, are worth every mile, every tear, every shaky, exhausted step. Lord, don't let me waste time. I'm not waiting till you call and end to suffering before I praise You. So, please, be glorified in THIS life, with all its imperfections and in the midst of all its sufferings. Amen

The Wierd One

I got a new haircolor today. It's a mysterious blackish-reddish-purplish color. (Pictures as soon as I get a good one.) I always love haircut day. Since Katrina, my hair guy doesn't have a shop anymore, so he comes to my house to do the job. It's grown into a pretty fun gathering, with who knows who popping in to sit in the makeshift salon that is my kitchen.

Today, Starbucks got thrown into the mix. What else is a girl to do while she waits for her hair color to work than walk over to Starbucks, stand in line (purplish hair color gunk and all), and order a round of treats for everyone. Here's the funniest part: There were people who actually said words to me and carried on conversation with me, all the while acting like I didn't have purplish goopy funky hair sticking up all over my head, and there was no pungent, nasty smell of hair color in a cloud around me.

Oh sure, there were wierd looks too, AND people there I knew, but I expected that. All in all, it was a pleasant trip. I even met a new friend who shares my name that I'll hopefully get to see again.

It's interesting what you can do if you're the one wierd or gutsy enough to do it. Not that going out in public while your hair color processes is anything noble. My point is that no one ridiculed me. I know for a fact I stunk and no one crossed to the other side of the room. It was that "twilight zone" type moment when no one really realized what was going on and by the time they did, I was gone and it was over.

So what if this applied to living for Christ? Do I have the guts to be the wierd one for Jesus? Can I live my life in such abandon to Him that no one really knows what to make of it? I WANT TO!!! And really, who could stop me?

Stage Whispers

My son, ever the performer, can't seem to tone down his four year old voice. Yesterday he was in the living room with his sister, and down the hall I heard this stage whisper: "Quick! Mom and Dad are coming! We aren't supposed to be on the table! They are goin to see us!"

My quiet little girl knows the value of don't ask don't tell. Not Levi. He's got the gift of gab. And for now, it works for me!!!

Old song, New thoughts

This old Rich Mullins song implanted itself in my brain over a decade ago. I liked the tune and the catchy phrasing. For some reason lately, it's been floating to the top of my ocean of thoughts and I've been really pondering its lyrics...

"Now the plummer's got a drip in his spigot
The mechanic's got a clank in his car
And the preacher's thinking thoughts that are wicked
And the lover's got a lonely heart
My friends ain't the way I wish they were
They are just the way they are

And I will be my brother's keeper
Not the one who judges him
I won't despise him for his weakness
I won't regard him for his strength
I won't take away his freedom
I will help him learn to stand
And I will ~ I will be my brother's keeper

Now this roof has got a few missing shingles
But at least we got ourselves a roof
And they say that she's a fallen angel
I wonder if she recalls when she last flew
There's no point in pointing fingers
Unless you're pointing to the truth

And I will be my brother's keeper
Not the one who judges him
I won't despise him for his weakness
I won't regard him for his strength
I won't take away his freedom
I will help him learn to stand
And I will ~ I will be my brother's keeper


What's so wrong with being my brother's keeper? Even Cain railed at the idea. I think the songwriter hit on two main issues: I won't despise him for his weakness. I won't regard him for his strength. The way it's going around in my mind, losing patience with the weakness of another, or on the other hand, building too much regard for the strength of another leads to resentment. It takes a certain strength to care for another who is weaker, and even more strength, I say, to care for another who is stronger.

The song issues a challenge indeed. Can I be my brother's keeper? Can I as a believer extend love to those around me without judgement, whether they are weaker than I, or whether they possess strengths I envy?

Wouldn't it be nice to be "kept" that way? Surrounded by others who understand "my friends ain't the way I wish they were. They are just the way they are." Don't you think at the root of many relational problems is the attempt, whether conscious or unconscious, to make someone else into "the way I wish they were" instead of accepting that "they are just the way they are?" Isn't it even more interesting that a brother's keeper doesn't do the job of molding someone into something else? The idea of being a keeper or caretaker almost automatically conjurs up feelings of responsibility or authority, but hardly ever feelings of acceptance or servanthood. But to truly be my brother's keeper, I have to stop trying to make those around me be something I wish they were, and begin helping them stand in who they are.

Problem is.... it's so much easier just to tell them what they ought to be, isn't it? Or to sit in judgement? Or even to remove their freedom so they can't be what I wish they weren't? The harder thing, definitely, is to accept another whether they please me or not. To love them whether or not it is convenient to do so. To stand with them even when they embarass me.

Jesus is our Keeper that way, you know. He's stood by me through it all. May He do the same through me for those He's given me to keep.

Yes, Ma'am.

I almost just posted a comment to you, Beck, but I thought I'd put it out here instead. Because it's long.
You are so right about the fact that being a brave woman doesn't mean you are not afraid. It means that you choose to continue moving in the face of your fears - in defiance of them.
Our church is studying "Mere Christianity" right now (C.S. Lewis), and you reminded me of something I read there this morning. It's a little bit out of context, as he is talking mainly about repentance here, but I think it still applies (as most truth has application in so many places). So, here is a quote, because he said it better than I could:
"Can we do it if God helps us? Yes, but what do we mean when we talk of God helping us? We mean God putting into us a bit of Himself, so to speak. He lends us a little of His reasoning powers and that is how we think: He puts a little of His love into us and that is how we love one another. When you teach a child writing, you hold its hand while it forms the letters: that is, it forms the letters because you are forming them. We love and reason because God loves and reasons and holds our hand while we do it."
I think that this is what Scripture means when it says that we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. You are brave and strong - one of the strongest women I know, my Becky. But it isn't really you at all. It's the bit of Himself that Christ has placed in you that continues to give you strength. He has given this gift of himself to you because you chose to ask for it.
Because, really, with all that you have faced this year, the fact that you continue to get out of bed every morning defies reason.
And doesn't it take a little bit of the pressure off - doesn't it help us to be okay with fear - to live with its presence - if we know that it isn't up to us to conquer it? So, to paraphrase Lewis: We live our lives in the presence of fear because God moves and lives fearlessly in us.
Hope that makes sense :)

<3 Christy

Facing Fears

Ok, I think I'm down to the real reason I've been in such a dither lately.

It's hard to admit this....


I'm scared.

I started this year at the tail end of Katrina's aftermath. Having just breathed a sigh of relief and declared myself over Katrina, I found myself in the hospital wondering what my husband and my babies would do without me. Then, in a few months I found myself in the ER wondering what I and my babies would do without him. Then, I wondered what we would all do without a job. Now I'm wondering what I'll do WITH one as my book's release gets closer.

Matthew has some type of stomach plague and has kept it for over a week. With his every sigh the knot in my own stomach tightens up. I have this icky, heavy feeling that I should be bracing myself for something terrible. I've actually carried this feeling around since oh... May or so. I'm sick of it.

My wise counselor friend calls this hypervigilance. She says it's normal in the aftermath of trauma, and we have had several events in succession that qualify as trauma. She says it'll pass. I hope she's right.

What I know is what I said above. It's fear. I'm scared. I absolutely loathe admitting this.

I ask myself, how can a woman committed to living her life on the edge, a woman who is completely confident in God's providence, be afraid? Shouldn't I be conquering this fear and marching in a victory parade by now?

Herein lies my problem: I've let myself think that a radically lived life of abandon would be lived without fear. Nope. It's just lived IN SPITE OF fear. It's not that a woman on the edge isn't scared. She could be shakin in her boots! She just doesn't let that stop her from staying right out on the edge.

I forgot that for a while there. I let myself stuff back the fear because I hate to admit the weakness it exposes. I ignored it in the hopes that it would go away since I don't have time to be afraid. Only it didn't go away, it only masked itself in frustration and stress.

So here it is for the world to see: I'm afraid. I'm afraid that my husband won't get better. I'm afraid I can't handle everything alone. I'm afraid the next storm could be a repeat of Katrina. I'm afraid my book will be a flop. I'm afraid I am not a good mother to my kids. I'm afraid I'll never make it as a speaker. I'm afraid my church will reject me and my husband. I'm afraid there might not really be anyone I can trust.

It's time to quit pretending that the fear isn't there. It's time to look it in the face and, knowing what I know about God, releasing my life into His hands, I keep living. I will walk right past the fear and let it watch me love the man, weather the storm, write the book, kiss my kids, speak my heart, pour myself out over this church, and trust the only One who I could ever trust in the first place.

I guess what I'm realizing is that the edge isn't all about not being afraid. It's about DEFYING fear. And so defy, I will. Are ya with me?

Better...

Too tired for the full story, but a good, hard cry (minus the kicking and screaming, I'm happy to say) dulled my sharp edges a bit. It had been coming for a while, but when the tear flood finally swept in, I felt tons better. I have much to reflect on here, but for now I'm going to sleep. Matthew is a bit better tonight, much to my relief.

My smile? This conversation:

Levi: "There was a girl at school today who was my friend. She loveded me."

Me: "Oh yeah? How do you know she loved you?"

Levi: "Because she TOLD me it. She said she loveded me! And she played Ninja Turtles with me, except she was a Ninja Turtle Barbie."


OH yeah, girlfriend! Every Ninja Turtle needs a little Barbie.

Sick and Tired

He's sick. I'm tired. My efforts to save the world aren't going as planned. An all out temper tantrum would have ensued as a result of this feeling in my younger years. Ya think anybody would call the cops if I just threw myself down on the ground and had a good screamin', kickin', cryin' fit? Is this all I really am inside? A spoiled toddler who can't deal with a few bumps in the road? A malfunctioning machine that self destructs when overburdened?

It's raw tonight, friends. The sharp edge, I suppose.

Rockin'

I'm writing from my rocking chair! It fits just perfectly in my room now. (see previous post) I love this chair. Matthew bought it for me when I was pregnant with Mackenzie. I've rocked and nursed babies in this chair for hours on end. I've read books in this chair, cried tears in this chair, and consoled myself with some serious rocking.

It's first home was our trailer in Graceville. That's where we spent the first six months of Mackenzie's life. This chair was where I learned to breastfeed and where I got through post partum depression. I can still smell the sweet smell of baby, and feel her sleeping all warm and curled up in a tiny ball on my chest.

Next, it moved to the Gapway house. There, it lived in Mackenzie's bedroom. It was a Paddington Bear nursery, and this chair sat by her bed and rocked her every night until after she weaned at two years old. We rocked through my dad's heart surgery and through spending our days caring for him. We rocked through three years on staff at a church with no pastor.

Next, it moved to the Galloway Road rental house. It waited patiently while we built our house. It also sat still, unused during a horrible time in our marriage when I could barely think or move. I now wish I had written during that time, but sadly I lost almost a year of life in a frozen emotional arctic. Not even my chair helped then.

It came out of retirement when it moved into our new house in Tropical Manor. It was placed directly into the baby nursery where it readily accepted the warmth of a new baby boy. I accepted that warmth too. It brought the end of a painful pregnancy and the thaw of that emotional ice age. There it rocked my Levi by his bed. I would nurse him and sing to him about trusting Jesus. Some nights I would rock both my babies. Five year old Mackenzie sitting on one side with her head nestled under my neck, and tiny little Levi in the crook of my other arm.

Then, it moved to seminary. It had to take a more prominent place as living room furniture then. But I held onto it. After a while, our seminary apartment was just too cramped and it moved to Matthew's office.

Our post-Katrina apartment had no room for it, so it stayed in Matthew's office. I visited whenever I could and still stole a few minutes here and there to sit with one of my babies or just by myself.

Now, it has moved again but this time it's all mine! The rocker is by my bed in my room in a perfect location for reading, praying, thinking, blogging, or whatever I happen to be doing. I actually came in here frustrated, intending to write a scathing blog about something else entirely, but the smooth, happy rocking motion got my attention instead.

If I've learned anything over the last few years, its that stuff doesn't matter and I really think I have a healthy attitude toward stuff. And if I had to, I suppose I'd let go of my rocker. But I really, really don't wanna. I love this chair. I love how it makes me feel. I love the memories it holds and the secrets it keeps. Every girl should have a chair like this.

Night, night!

Just hafta tell you I now have the prettiest room ever. Due to a fortunate move of office for my hubby, I got rid of a desk that was taking up SO much space in my room. Plus I've been steadily getting rid of books and stuff for weeks now. The Goodwill store knows who I am and my church library will be getting some new titles. Now I'm going to bed in a room that feels breathable. No, not just breathable, but pretty. Yay! Party in my room tonight!!! Oh, sorry... it's invitation only. :)

Old Walker Guy

There's this older gentleman around our town. I call him the Old Walker Guy. I'm sure, though, that he has a very nice name. He can be seen during all seasons of the year walking around various places in the city. Usually I see him on Old 37 or around the Publix in that part of town, just a block over. Today, I saw him somewhere else entirely, but the important thing is that I saw him.
I have a secret crush on this old man. He is, ummmm....really old. He's overly-tan and is always wearing a hat. But he seldom wears a shirt. It's important to note that his pecs have sort of slipped southward, creating numerous ripples as they have met with resistance from the rib area. Actually, he's quite wrinkly all over the torso. But I love him just the same. He never fails to make me smile.
I have seen this man on a near-weekly basis for many years now. His presence is not missed by me when I don't see him, but when I do see him, I remember suddenly how long it's been since the last time. He must walk nearly all day long, given the varying times of day I spot him. And he always seems to be enjoying himself. He smiles into the windows of passing cars and takes step after step with gusto and meaning.
He's become a symbol of perseverance to me and maybe even one of hope. I don't know if he is fighting simple aging or something worse. I once had a neighbor that walked and walked every day in an attempt to stave off the effects of Alzheimer's. But I really admire his spirit. He reminds me that, even if I have nothing to walk toward, the journey itself really should be enough.

<3 Christy

Adventures!

Isn't it interesting how we plan? Now that I consider it, the very idea of planning is a bit questionable. Think about it. We make plans, but we have NO WAY of guaranteeing those plans, or of knowing what any particular day will bring. Just as rules are made to be broken, evidently plans are made to be interrupted. So I say, why not just call any plan an adventure and EXPECT the interruptions? I figure this way, eventually, if nothing goes wrong with my plans, I'll be disappointed at the lack of adventure I've had.

Take yesterday for example: My sister and her family had been in town all week, and we had carefully planned a trip for Friday, my hubby's day off, to a wildlife refuge across the lake about an hour and a half from us. We set out early, wanting to make the 9:30 tour, and made it across the Causeway bridge, down I-12, off our exit, and well out into the middle of nowhere, Louisiana. All of a sudden, our van fainted. My husband pulled off to the side of the road and called my cell to let me know he was having trouble. I saw in my rearview (Angie and I were in her car and had given the Dads the privilege of driving with the kids!)and turned around to check out the situation.

We deduced that the van had passed out from an alternator problem, and started discussing options. We just HAPPENED to be a few miles from Camp Living Waters, one of my favorite places, so I called the director, Keith. Keith's maintenance and mechanic man, David, just HAPPENED to be on his way back to camp, about to pass by where we were. We stood around the van and waited for David, trying to keep the kids inside one of the vehicles and out of the street. My daughter was sitting in the backseat playing a game (thank God for gameboys) and a car whizzed by. Something came from the car, either a rock or some other foreign object, and slammed into the window by her head, shattering the window and shocking us all. The rest of my body's adrenalin flooded into my bloodstream and I shook as I examined my daughter. (Not a scratch or even a sliver of glass on her anywhere.)

Not a minute later, David pulled up and confirmed our diagnosis of a bad alternator. He charged up the van and we made it out to Camp Living Waters on what my mom would call "a wing and a prayer." While David went for the part he needed to repair the van, Angie and I went for picnic supplies. We also just HAPPENED to have most of what we would need for everyone to go swimming, so we picked up a few extra items to help us take advantage of CLW's pool. We sat down to a lovely picnic, and then spent a couple of hours in the pool. (Wildlife tour was obviously missed by this time.) An afternoon shower rolled in and we packed up the kids, made a redneck window with plastic and duct tape on the van, and headed back across the lake toward home.

We thoroughly enjoyed our day of botched plans. Actually, the kids were just as pleased to swim in the pool and just as thrilled with the excitement of the unknown, we couldn't have given them a more fun day with our plans. Sure, they might have petted a giraffe, but what's better to six and four year old boys than real life survival and adventure? When I think about it, what's better to a thirty-something mom? I can't think of anything more alive than the adventures of our day.

The reality is, we could never have PLANNED to break down at the location we did, just a few miles from a fun place for the kids. We could never have PLANNED to break down at the exact time we did, just a few minutes before a qualified mechanic was passing by.

So why do we plan? Right now, I have to say I don't really know. There is definitely a place for preparedness and goal-setting. Maybe what I'm asking is why we, as finite humans, make plans as if we have the power to control anything, and then get upset when our plans go awry. I can't count the many times I've planned, expected perfect results to my plans, and been disappointed with the disastrous results of my inflexibility and high expectations. WOW! How many times did I miss the LIVING in the middle of trying to accomplish my plans?

These days, I'm learning to be more about the journey than the destination, and more about leaving the rest to the One who knew all my days before I was even born. I'm learning to let Him take care of the details and busy myself on enjoying the adventures He lays out for me. I'll take a broken alternator and a busted window and a derailed day over a nice, tame, NORMAL vacation activity any day!!!

Cheese Drunk

'Scuse me if I slur my words a bit, but for lunch today I had the cheesiest, most wonderfully delicious pasta dish I think I've ever tasted. It was definitely a walk on the wild side in comparison with my breakfast of bran flakes and fresh peaches... with skim milk of course. I always start the day with the best intentions.

But at lunch, well, I decided to give this decadent dish a try, and off I went into cheesy pasta land and before I knew it, I was cheese drunk. You know. Sorta feels like taking a valium. A sleepy, happy, giggly sort of feeling. It's a good thing I wasn't driving! Though I'm not sure what the citation would have been, I know I was in no condition to operate a motorized vehicle. Maybe its a life of a little too much stress, maybe a little exhaustion, mix that up with a high stress morning that ended well and the relief that came with that, and you have the perfect opportunity for a food high.

I don't know, and really, I don't care right now. I'm just glad God gave me the ability to chew. And I'm glad I had a lunchtime with a friend to slowly and thoroughly enjoy something delicious and cheesy. I'm smiling like a fool just typing this.

Of course, after indulging in such forbidden pleasure, what could I do but bring home the rest for my husband to try? Just following procedure, right?

Yummy!

Ronald McRomance

I got hit on! Any mom over 30 will understand my elation at this. I was in McDonald's purchasing my son's choice of lunch as a reward for his valiant endurance of before-school immunizations. I stood there in my mommy uniform of shorts, tshirt, and tennis shoes, reciting my litany of mommy phrases like "Stay right beside me." and "No running." and "You want a cheeseburger or nuggets?" My makeup bag and I hadn't seen each other in a couple of days, and the earrings were missing from one of my ear piercings.

We ate our rewarding, if unhealthy, lunch and laughed along with the other people in the place. (This is a common occurrence in New Orleans. For some reason, people here greet everyone in a place and will carry on conversation at the drop of a hat.) One guy asked me if I was married. I answered yes, I was. He said "If you weren't I'd be over there by you, cuz you just a beautiful person. You got a beautiful smile."

Now, no need to remind me of the social couth or character of a person who flirts with married women in front of their children in McDonald's. I know all that. But I gotta tell ya, it still made my day. Pitiful, perhaps, but God bless that guy wherever he is. He brought a smile to my face and a reminder that there are more layers to womanhood than bathing kids, tying shoes, doctors office waiting rooms, and dishwashers.

I got tagged

Christy has tagged me and invited me to share another list of wierd things about myself. Here's her list. Refer to it for contest rules and what to do to join in the weird list game.

OK, here goes:

1) I always, always, always have polish on my toenails and the weirder the color the better. Purple, blue, green, neon, I'll wear it all.

2) On the subject of nails, I cannot STAND to have fingernails of different lengths. If one of my nails breaks, I'll cut them all. I keep them short these days for piano playing, but in past days of longer nails, I found every imaginable way to repair a crack or split in the nail to keep from having to cut them all and lose my manicure.

3) The nail thing reminds me, I have weird preferences about men. NO, and I mean absolutely NO long nails on guys. No way. I prefer as little white edge as possible. Also no crocs. Crocs shoes are not sexy. No spitting either. My man doesn't spit unless he's brushing his teeth. That is the only appropriate time.

4) My favorite way to eat eggs is scrambled, but the smell of cooking scrambled eggs makes me gag.

5) I'm a good knife peeler. I can peel an orange in a twirly spiral with a knife. I'm good at apples and peaches too. I cannot, however, use a potato peeler. The last straw was the slice I took out of one of my fingers with a potato peeler two weeks ago. Just gimme a knife.

6) I still have a permanent retainer from when my braces were removed in seventh grade. It's still glued to the back of my teeth.

7) Speaking of teeth, I have a "thing" about teeth. Loose teeth are one of my worst nightmares. My daughter losing a tooth literally puts me hiding under the covers until it's over. If you would like to see me pass out, simply show me someone pulling a loose tooth. I'm getting lightheaded just typing this.

8) Of all thrill rides in the world, I'm most afraid of the ferris wheel.

Weird enough for ya? Hope it made you smile! And ummmm... I'm tagging Matthew, Jim, Greg, although you guys will probably not play. And Alli, you've already been tagged, but I'm taggin' you too... and that's it.

Git 'r Done!

Have I mentioned that I love Monday? It is hands down my favorite day of the week. I love the freshness of a Monday. Today I accomplished much, another feeling I love. I'm not really sure why, but a good accomplishment just makes my heart feel happy. Doesn't have to be much. Today, I'm happy that I conquered the red tape at the Social Security office and replacement cards for my kids are on the way. I'm happy that I conquered my sink of dirty dishes and all the garbage cans in the house. I conquered some business stuff that has been nagging at me, and all in all, am feeling on top of things.

I know SO well that it's only a feeling. But I like it nonetheless and will savor it while it's here.

My Very Own Miracle

On our vacation, just after we crossed the FL line, we stopped at the welcome center rest area. (State welcome centers are the best places to stop. They're always in the best condition.) On our way in, I saw a mother with two children. One was about the age of my son, and the other was about two. She was alone, and on her way out of the rest area as we were on our way in. As I passed her, my heart went out to her alone with two children. I've made the trip from Lakeland to New Orleans alone with my kids a few times, and it's not an easy thing. I counted my blessings that this time, my husband was with me and we each took one kid and went to the restrooms. We all got our complimentary cup of OJ, and headed back out to the van.

Much to my surprise, the mom I had seen on our way in was still there, parked right next to us! I noticed her car was packed full and mentioned to Matthew that she must be moving. Immediately, God spoke to me and told me to go give her some cash. I had cash in my purse because a sweet lady from our church had slipped me a little cash for our trip before we left.

Of course, I started to debate with God, feeling like I was surely crazy. Before I could talk myself out of it, and with Matthew's encouragement, I jumped out of the van and knocked on her window. She rolled it down and I said, "You are gonna think I'm crazy, and probably I am, but God told me to give this to you." I shoved the cash into her hand and said, "I hope you know He loves you, and I love you, and... well I hope you have a good trip." I waited for a second, unsure of what she might say. Then she spoke, "You have no idea. I've been driving all day since early this morning. I left my husband today. I'm trying to get to my mom's house. I just got my last paycheck and we got out. I've been praying the whole way, and now you're here."

We talked a few more minutes and I tried to encourage her. With a promise to pray for her, I went back to my van and she pulled away. I sat there in tears. God had just done something amazing. This woman was African American, driving a car much nicer than mine, and dressed nicely. She could have potentially been hurt by my assumption that she would need money from me. She didn't appear to be in need, and I had no way other than God's whisper to know that she needed a friend. I was sobered by the thought that I had passed her casually on my way into the rest area, having no idea that she was having a life-altering day. Guess we never really know what's going on in the lives of the people who cross our paths. I had almost driven on without doing what God put in my mind to do.

It was risky, and slightly crazy, and an absolute miracle. The Patriarchs used to set up monuments at a place where God did something major in their lives. Guess for me, that Florida Welcome Center will be a place where He did something major in me. He sent me on an unlikely assignment, and He touched someone through me. He added some solidity to something He's doing in my heart for single mothers. He gave me a moment of absolute certainty that He is present and active in me.

To anybody that thinks Christ-following is boring: Honey, no way! As a matter of fact, it may be the only life of true adventure there is.

Rest Stops...

On our trip to Florida, we camped in a tent on Pensacola Beach. We loved it! We had never done any tent camping before and it turned out to be a fun adventure. Our kids went swimming in the lagoon and caught little crabs much to their fascination... and ours! In our attempt to "get a life" we just might have found a fun hobby to share that doesn't include the words "baptist church" in it!! That'll be a first for us! Thankya Jesus!

In Florida, I also had some time to myself to enjoy the place where I grew up. The picture above is of a blue hydrangea that's been growing at my Granny's house ever since I can remember. It's still there, and the sight of it conjures up such indescribable feelings of comfort and peace. My Grandmother is in heaven and is enjoying much more beautiful sights than this, but to me right now, there isn't much more beautiful than that flower and the way it reminds me of her.



It was good to hide away at home for a while. I needed my mom's arms around me and my dad's kiss on the cheek. I needed deep discussion with my brother and raucous laughter with my sister. I needed a visit with my Christy and a general rest stop of love on my journey. There's that darn lump in my throat again...

High Class Wedding

While I was in Florida, I had a chance to attend the wedding of my double second cousin. (Look it up.) My Dad and I drove three hours to High Springs, FL to attend the wedding out at the Florida Bible Camp. We had such a great time together, and at this wedding, I learned a lot.

I learned that the term "shotgun wedding" in my family means a wedding where there is a shotgun in every vehicle parked on the premises. We drove a few miles out into the woods and came to the camp in the early afternoon. Everyone was relaxed, no fussing, no feuding, no stress. The groom's father was kicked back in his lawn chair in front of his camper. The groom's mother was making a Wal-mart run to pick up the wedding flowers.

We sat around a table "shootin' the breeze" and laughing together. Family and friends began to arrive, everyone in jeans (unless they didn't want to dress up). Yummy smells started to come from the grill. The bride arrived, and then the groom. The preacher changed out of his shorts into dress slacks and a tie, and the groom did the same. We all got seated and ready.

The wedding ceremony was short, sweet, and simple. After they were pronounced husband and wife, we all had a yummy dinner together with more laughing, talking and general breeze shooting. A simple cake was brought out and we all enjoyed a piece.

On the trip to Florida, we had heard a radio report that indicated the average wedding budget these days is $27,000. This particular wedding probably cost around $27.00. There was no "bridezilla," no champaigne toast, no china plates, no gown with a train, no fussy bridesmaids, no grouchy mother, no stressed out father. At this wedding, there were loud sounds of laughter, soft whispered "I love you's," straightforward encouragements, and subtle gestures of friendship. And for all the lack of pomp and ceremony, the couple came away just as married as they would have been if they had spent a fortune. That young couple had something money can't buy. The bride's parents are still married, the groom's parents are married nearly 25 years, the groom's grandparents are married around 45 years and his great grandparents on both sides each nearly made 60 years together. I realized that I share the same heritage. My own parents celebrated their 45th anniversary this month, and my grandparents had almost 60 years together when death parted them.

I left that camp proud of who I am and where I come from. This young couple may not have had a fancy wedding. Some would have considered the affair downright primitive. But they left there wed nonetheless, and with the knowledge that a wedding is merely like the kickoff of a football game. You really win or lose in the plays of the game. No emphasis on a fancy day, but I'd say most people at that wedding understand where the emphasis really belongs: on the day-to-day living of life together.

My family may not be high class. We aren't rich and famous. But we know how to say "I love you." We are behind each other when it really counts, and we hold hands after 45 years of marriage. Come to think of it, that might just be the highest of class after all.

Pining Away

What I miss about Florida:

After a tearful goodbye I hope you'll permit me a bit of reflection about my home state. Here's my top ten list of things I miss about the sunshine state.

1. Laughing with my family. Loudly.
2. Fresh food. Grown by God and my Daddy in the blackest richest dirt you've ever seen.
3. The smell of orange blossoms.
4. My kids with bare dirty feet from playing just as hard as I did when I was a kid.
5. Produce stands. Why doesn't Louisiana have any produce stands for heavens sake?
6. Spending a Saturday morning misbehaving with my sister making way too much noise while shopping and laughing so much that I have to cross my legs.
7. Steak dinners. I NEVER eat restaurant steak due to the inevitable failure to compare with what my dad and brother can do with red meat and a gas grill.
8. Church. Old hymns in three or four part harmony sung in the same pew with my mom and dad. Standing in the snctuary where I was baptized and my grandfathers funeral was held and my sisters wedding and countless Vacation Bible School processionals were made carrying a flag or Bible to the front marching in time to Onward Christian Soldiers. The nursery where my diapers were changed and the sunday school rooms where I became the fastest Bible drill kid you've ever known. (If you don't believe it, try me.)
9. A few square miles of a neighborhood where just about every street bears my family name.
10. Publix supermarkets and the general cleanness of just about every other public place. No one pukes or pees in downtown Lakeland.

So I guess even though my car sports a Louisiana tag, it'll take more than that to get Florida outta this girl. All this to give you a sappy glimpse at the heart of a FL native who loves her life as it is but still sometimes wishes Florida dirt was under her feet. A couple days back in New Orleans and maybe this lump in my throat will go away.

A Little Church History/History of a Little Church

I spent a lot of time at work today going through church member files. I'm a church secretary, by the way. I'm in the process of making sure all of the data in our database is correct, such as birthdays, anniversaries, addresses and all of that.
It's an interesting thing, the church member file. I've been a secretary for other types of churches, but this one is a liturgical church. Older churches tend to keep thorough records. These records turn out to be tiny summaries of a person's spiritual life. Copies of letters their elders sent when they weren't attending church, and records of phone calls where the member explains why they weren't attending church. Did this member write a formal letter of complaint about what the pastor said on Sunday? Yes, in fact, I have a copy right here. Dates of marriages, dates of baptisms and confirmations, dates of divorces and dates of funerals are all there.
Did this person take communion enough in the year 2003? I can find out. How many times have they been divorced? The record of each husband's membership application can be found in a multiply-offending wife's file.
I'm not sure how I feel about these records. From the standpoint of one who loves history, it's fascinating. But with my background in less-traditional denominations, I don't understand why it matters how many times a year someone communed. I'm not sure I'd want some secretary to read about my personal medical procedure thirty years hence. Does God care if I transferred from a Baptist, Evangelical or Episcopalian church?
The funeral bulletins were especially sad, though. You read through a file and see how a husband and wife transferred into membership with their two children. You see the dates their children were confirmed and married. You see how much money they contributed to various efforts (roofing fund, new air conditioner, etc.), and then you see that an elder had to contact them because they weren't in church. Why? The spouse has been sick and can't leave the house. Then you see the funeral bulletin and the memorial checks that make their way to the church.
You have to sum up their lives in dates and factoids.
I had been considering the possibility of cleaning out those files once the data was clean and up-to-date. But really, you'd lose so much. The handwriting samples, marriage certificates, and cordial letters between divorcees tell so much more of the story.
And they remind you of how short life really is.

- Christy

Chinese Take Out Happiness

I got chinese food take out today. I have something embarrassing to tell you about it. So just keep this between us, Ok? It was my first time!!! No kidding. Not the first time I've ever eaten chinese food, but the first time I've ever had it take-out, with the funky little boxes with handles and stuff. This could explain why I ordered about double what my family could eat. Either that or the lady who took my order is working on commission.

After we ate the food (yum!) and I was putting the leftover little boxes in my fridge it occurred to me. I had never done this before! But, I liked it! I was picturing myself as Sandra Bullock in Two Weeks Notice ordering chinese all the time. I brought home the little menu with the numbers and everything. I'm practicing saying "Yes, it's all for one." like the movie. Ha ha!

Ok, well... nothing too profound today, just thought I'd share a "first" with you!

Yawn

Today was a regular day. I was a regular girl. Doing my job, cleaning my house, you know the drill. I did some writing, made some phone calls. I made banana bread with some ripe bananas, did some laundry, ran the dishwasher, and made a yummy dinner. My kids are in bed now, and all is well. Nothing special to write tonight except... that sometimes nothing special is something special.

'Night!
Becky

Candy and Crying

I started a new book today. Mind candy, I like to call it. It's fiction writing that I totally cannot do, but wholeheartedly love to enjoy. Mind candy is also my attempt to trick myself into riding my exercise bike. I love to read so much that I'll get on the bike for it, if I tell myself I can only pick up the story on the bike. So this morning, there I sat on my bike, pedaling away with a chick-lit book I picked up for the pure fun of it. I can never seem to escape from picking up something of value, though, even from the most light hearted mind candy.

The story I'm reading is about two older ladies in a small town, their friendship, and their well meaning antics. Sort of a Steel Magnolias crossed with Fried Green Tomatoes with a bit of Sunday School tossed in. (the little ol ladies are retired ministers' wives, ya see.) The book is written mostly as a conversation between the two friends, full of humor. Yet, at one point, I simply burst out into tears. Here it is:

"You see, Maxine and me, we weren't always Queen Mamas." "No, we were not." "Or queen bees." "Worker bees, more like it." "Regular drones." "Which isn't a bad thing now, but..." "But the time comes when even a drone has to stop and look around herself and say, 'I'ts time to create a buzz.'" "And Oh, what a buzz Odessa made!" "I did. Though I didn't do it just for myself. I did it for all of us." "The drones." "The meek." "The women who are strangers in their own communities." "Who are all fearfully and wonderfully made. There's the meat of the story, Maxine, right there."

I pedaled and read and wept. No kidding. This is supposed to be a humorous book. But the words "women who are strangers in their own communities" caught in my heart and in my throat. I can identify with that. I AM that sometimes, or at least I feel that way. Caught between who I really am and who I think I'm supposed to be to please everyone else. Desperately wanting to be known and loved just as I am, yet knowing and trying to live with the fear and possible fact that "just as I am" might not be satisfactory to those I hope will do the knowing and loving. Furthermore, I wept because I don't know a woman who hasn't felt this way.

Here's the other place I broke down:

"Oh--and don't forget to mention--" "The tiaras. This story is just jam-packed with tiaras." "Hey, a woman wears a lot of hats in her lifetime. Why shouldn't one of them be a crown?"

Why not indeed. Tonight I wish I had a crown of my own, and a crown to place on the head of every woman who feels like a stranger in her own community. For every child-bearing, vaccuum running, dish washing, tear wiping, diaper changing, hard working, creative thinking, deeply exhausted, seemingly unnoticed woman out there who is playing the part of drone as her inner queen bee wastes away.

So maybe it's just me (this could be true since I also broke down in the van as I listened to Alabama's song "If You're Gonna Play in Texas You gotta have a fiddle in the band." Don't ask me why.) But for some reason, those words got right to my heart today. Good thing mind candy isn't counted in calories!!

Mommy Dilemmas

I have been talking with friends lately about the process of growing up. I mean, I guess I'm already a grown-up, but I'm still a person in progress. One common point, especially among those of us who have grown up in the church, is that we remember the world being black and white when we were young. You know - making judgments between right and wrong was pretty easy, especially when you were armed with Sunday School dogma. We edit Bible stories for our kids and feed them only the parts that are easy to understand. We hand them an incomplete measuring stick to hold up to the world around them. We never try to explain the sin in the lives of Bible heroes - that makes it pretty tough to understand...well....to understand the level of personal perfection we are supposed to aspire to. I mean, if adulterers and drunks can become heroes of righteousness, couldn't anybody? We can't have that, can we? What if our kids think it's okay to sin?!?!
Life becomes so much more gray as you get older. That's a common human experience. What do we do with that?
I was reading to my kids tonight, and my son said something - I really don't recall what it was - that reminded me of his own tendency toward the black and white. He's a guy who stands for Truth, Justice and the American Way. Really, he's straight as an arrow (he was born that way). I suddenly wondered about his own transition into adulthood. How would he handle the muddying of his Scales of Justice?
I'm not claiming to have any answers here, it's a new question for me. I am struggling with the desire to make the world a place my children feel safe and at the same time I know that I am responsible to help them transition into the grown-up world. I don't think it's easy, and it's probably not right, to sit a six-year-old down and tell her about King David's little Bathsheeba issue. Maybe my nine-year-old could handle the picture of Noah, laying naked and drunk in his tent, but I'm not sure.
The ability to navigate life's murky spots is make-or-break when it comes to faith. And I want it to be a "make" for my own children. To clarify, though, I don't want it to be something I have driven into their little skulls with a rubber mallet - I want it to be a faith-affirming gift that I hand to them.
Of course, one of the keys is teaching them about grace. Grace for one's fellow man and for the issues that you may disagree about. God's grace for the miserable failure that I am and you are and they will be.
But I struggle, even as a real grown-up, with the concept of grace. It's hard for me to accept for myself. I'll never be good enough, but I am driven to try to be good enough anyway.
How can I pass on a gift to my children that is not yet in my own hands?

<3 Christy

Spit-and-Polish

I was driving home the other day and started to think of an old friend of mine. We’re still in touch, but don’t see each other more than once a year or so. I was smiling broadly and may have even laughed a bit at the thought of how fun it would be to see my friend again. I’ve known her since I was thirteen or so – we go back a long way, and we know each other very well. Yet, I still agonize over what to wear, how to do my hair, losing ten pounds – essentially, giving my real self a good scrub and polish – every time we get together.
I started to wonder about this. My mind likes to wonder about this sort of thing. I am always put perfectly together by the time we meet. But, by the end of the evening (we usually go out for dinner), my lipstick is gone and my drug-store eye shadow has settled into the creases of my lids, my mascara has sprinkled little black flecks on my cheeks, and there’s probably food in my teeth.
I suddenly remembered that last year, after returning to the car from dinner, I pulled down the passenger-side visor to re-apply some lipstick in the mirror. She asked me why I was doing that. I think I said I just wanted to look nice, or something else just as lame as that. Why was I doing that? She likes me just as much after all the polish has worn away. Probably even a little bit better.
So, why are we compelled to keep our real selves secret?
The self I presented to the world when I was young is very different from the self I am today. I was congratulating myself on that fact as I continued to drive home, when it occurred to me that it may not be something worth congratulating.
When I was young, I wore my faith on my sleeve. All of my innocent dogma and all of my self-righteousness were on display right alongside it. I considered those things part of my faith at the time. Aside from that, though, I kept my opinions largely to myself. I kept my talents hidden, just in case I wasn’t as good as the next guy. I didn’t laugh as loudly as I wanted to, either. I had my clutch of friends who were close enough to know who I really was, but they numbered in the single digits.
As I have grown, I have gained confidence in the fact that people like to know what I think about. I have learned that it’s okay to be the loud one at a party. It’s okay to laugh so hard that you snort a little bit, even in front of strangers. It’s endearing to wear a toothy grin when you walk around by yourself. So, I taught myself to put my big heart on display – even if it gets hurt sometimes. I taught myself to vocalize my opinions, but in a soft, non-threatening way. I share with others through the talents and gifts that I was born with. My husband says I’m saving the world one cake at a time. That makes me proud. A homemade cake is no small thing!
But it occurred to me that I haven’t opened the door to myself wider, really. I just got braver about sharing some things and less brave about sharing others. My faith? It’s now well-protected. I don’t proclaim it as loudly and boldly as I did when I was younger. I don’t know if that’s a bad thing, but it isn’t all good either.
I’d like to hide behind the modern notion of relational evangelism, but for me, I think that it’s easy to use that as an excuse not to share something that I am no longer bold enough to share.
Maybe I have merely polished my self instead of growing as a person. Maybe I was just trying to scrub the religion out of my heart so that I would look better. Maybe I was trying to hide the parts of me that aren’t as good as the next guy’s. I am not the type of person that you would meet and suspect as being a private or quiet individual. I haven’t been since I was, say, nine or ten years old. But the truth is, I am picky about what I will put out there, and much of who I am when I am around others cleverly detracts attention from what I don’t want people to know about me.
So, my secrets have just traded places. Now, the old secrets are on display and the old display items have been locked away inside.
No, I don’t think that’s something to feel self-congratulatory about at all. Why am I always compelled to keep parts of my self hidden? Wouldn’t people like me better without the pretentious polish?
I have the gift of many friendships now, but there is still only a small clutch of people who have seen all of me and know my heart. I consider it a badge of honor when a friend trusts me enough to come to me crying an ugly cry and not wearing any makeup. Nothing makes me feel more worthy than being shown the deep secrets in the heart of a friend. Why is it so hard for me to honor my friends in kind?
It’s so scary to risk. And, in a reciprocal friendship, we risk so much. Friendships aren’t like family – they are not bound by blood or by law. Friends can move away. Friends can fight and don’t have to forgive before the next holiday gathering.
But, I think that the beauty is in the risk.


<3 Christy

Thorns

Funny how life plays tricks on ya sometimes. I'm writing a funny, satirical book about being a minister's wife. Only right now, there isn't anything funny about being a minister's wife. From where I am now, I'm trying to remember if there ever was. Ah well, talk to me another day and maybe I'll remember. Or maybe my current cynicism will lend itself to some witty sarcasm in my writing. For now, I'm just sad. Sad that the secular business world has provided more acceptance, grace, and support than the church for me and my family. Sad that I found more true friends in the insurance business.

Not that I regret those friends. Not at all. After all, they never cared how clean my house or desk was. They never cared how my kids behaved or if I got all the notes right. And... wonder of wonders, they knew how to congratulate hard work and that positive reinforcement goes way further than criticism. I suppose the truth is, that I'm blessed to have experienced relationships with people I can wholeheartedly trust at all. And I'm grateful. I just found those authentic relationships in a different place than I had hoped. The insurance business of all places. I miss you tonight, Smith and Thomas Insurance!!!

That's what the edge is all about. Being real. Guess I'm just ranting that it's so darn difficult to be real, most of all with those who are supposed to care for you. But maybe I've expected too much. Matter of fact, I'm sure I have. And down goes disappointment's bitter pill as I realize that my rose colored glasses are shattered, and the people around me are as flawed as I.

So why should pain surprise me? It really shouldn't. Truthfully, I've been hurt several times before, and I've hurt other people. Everyone can say the same, with one hundred percent agreement. So the odds that even the best of us will eventually cause pain are inevitable. It's not if, it's when. It's high time I accept pain from other people as an inevitable part of living. Especially of living on the edge, where I love without holding back, where I embrace passion with all my might, where I steel myself for whatever may come my way and fight my battles with the heart of a warrior.

And in the spirit of raw honesty, I open my heart this night. I expose my weakness and pain. To God, and to you, reader. How can I be a woman on the edge if I didn't? This night, living on the edge as a follower of Jesus finds me on my knees with my heart in pieces. Nope. Being a Christian ain't all roses, honey. Being a Christian simply gives me a relationship of love with the One who already bore the thorns. Thank God.

Fame?

We made the Baptist Press!!!! Yeah!

Check it out: Baptist Press



Man, I needed this happy news today! Thankya Jesus!!

Smurf-hater

I've been spending a lot of time over the last couple of years really learning and processing God's gift of grace. I've learned that the legalism I once prided myself on, the rule following that helped me feel like I was a success at the "God game" is the very thing that distracted me from really getting into gratitude for the magnificent gift of God's love and His only Son.

Remember the Smurfs? I used to love that show. One of my favorite toys was a Smurfette doll. I mean, who wouldn't want to be Smurfette? Until..... One day we heard that the Smurfs were VERY BAD due to the evil person, Gargamel that was constantly chasing the poor little blue guys. I don't know the creator of Smurfs, and it probably wasn't the cream of the childhood television crop, but my point is that the church people around me had taken their eyes off of the prize: the good news of God's love, and for some reason felt the need to spend time addressing a cartoon of blue people who lived under mushrooms. Hmmm....

Take it from a former Smurf-hater: Let's STOP enforcing rules that only help us feel better than other people who don't follow said rules quite as closely. Let's focus on the amazing love poured out on us all in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Why continue to fuel a side show of legalism that only takes away from the Main Event? I wish I could tell you the difference, the leaps I've made toward Jesus once I realized that I no longer needed the rules. I need HIM! And I have Him! Thank God, I have Him.

I don't mean to preach, but dontcha think it's... well, SMURFY!!!??

Other random craziness:

Congratulations Jordin Sparks. Ya done good, girl. I never voted for you, but well... I know you will bear with grace the amazing things handed to you at the tender age of 17. I bawled watching your proud mom and dad celebrate. For now, I think I've had enough of Idol. I'm not sure I'll be as gung-ho next year. We got Carrie Underwood, why not quit while we're ahead?

Kelly Clarkson totally rocked on the show. LOVED HER!! Hate to remind her, but... Never say "never," honey.

OK, I got a lovely gift today. A WHOLE BOX of dark chocolate candies with orange fluffy stuff inside. ALL MY OWN!!!! Don't tell anyone, ok?

I also moved into a new purse today. I don't know how long this little number will last for me, but it felt really cute anyway.

Rain. I forgot how much pleasure there was in rain. Today I took off my shoes and made a run for it in the pouring rain. mmmm...

I'm worn out for now, so I'm off to smurf myself right into bed. 'Night!!

Sweet Home Alabama

Had SUCH a wonderful time in Birmingham. I visited with my editor and my publisher, plus I got to see the WMU headquarters (which is really cool for a card carryin' baptist like me!) I wasn't sure going in just exactly what to expect. In fact, I was a bit worried that a "woman on the edge" like me isn't quite what they had in mind. But I met some amazing women on the edge that are working on my book. So that was an awesome relief! Plus it was a blast to have Mackenzie with me and so she got to experience it right along with me.

Then, I sat on a swing, ate lunch out on a front porch, and visited southern-style with some of the most beautiful people I've ever met. Kendra, Brandy, and all the girls at Haig Baptist in Birmingham were gracious hostesses, and are now dear friends. We laughed and cried and prayed and worshiped and studied, and I left exhausted but elated. There's something about the slow, sweet way of life among those ladies that just brings back the sweetness of where I grew up. Reminds me of my mom, my granny, and the love with which I was raised.

Speaking of nostalgia, I'm sitting here bawling watching Johnny Cash at San Quentin. One troubled soul singing out of compassion to hundreds more troubled souls. Bringing smiles to hard, hollow faces. A bright moment in the years of gray days captured on camera. You can see it in their eyes, and the appreciative smiles and enthusiastic applause. They were soaking in every wonderful moment. A superstar showing them companionship and understanding. How come nobody does that these days?

I have to think, had Johnny Cash been a religious leader, he would have reshaped the way we do things. God, give the church a crazy Johnny Cash. Or make me one.

-Becky

Adventures

I spent today out of my comfort zone. I got a good look at just how entrenched I am in the "Christian Ghetto" as Christy so aptly calls it. Oh sure, I spend a lot of time having unconventional conversation with unconventional women, but lots of that takes place on my turf: the campus of a church or the confines of a women's retreat. It's a challenge to go from feeling very at home and in charge (how I feel most of the time) to feeling unsure how I fit in and how someone else with different beliefs will relate to me. Interesting.

I'm far from finished thinking this through, but for now I'm exhausted. One thing I'll say: I learned today that God is plenty capable of speaking for me and through me, in ANY situation, and sometimes.... well, sometimes He wants me to be quiet. Hmmm...

In other random thoughts...

Goodbye to an icon of that Christian Ghetto, Dr. Jerry Falwell. Goodbye for now, anyway. Since he is now seeing the face of God and no longer gives a flying flip what is going on down here, I know it doesn't matter to him, but thanks anyway, Dr. Falwell, for being a pioneer. Sure, you were controversial at times, way over the top to some people, but no doubt you made a difference for Christians everywhere. You were a brave warrior. Kiss the King for me, and I'll see ya when I get there.

Goodbye to Melinda Doolittle, obviously the best singer on American Idol this season. You had my vote every time... obviously teenage girls are more adept at texting than those of my age, or else you would be winner.

Goodbye Norma Jean...


Heading to Birmingham, AL this weekend. Pray for me and for the group to which I'll be speaking. Their leader broke her leg last weekend, so challenges abound in pulling off this event.
I'm off to more adventures...

Becky

Recap, Report, and REST!

Happy Monday! It's my favorite day again. Deep breaths and moments of recovery after the activities of the past week and weekend.

SPA DAY GETAWAY was a smashing success!! Our last number of total attendance was 70 women! We turned the Baptist Building into a high end spa for a day. The pastors that meet there each week wouldn't have recognized the place. Nor would they have been terribly comfortable with the nail polishing, hand massaging, and all around femininity that abounded, I imagine! Only one man was brave enough to enter the Spa Day, our own Dr. Joe came by around lunchtime and read a beautiful poem he picked out for the ladies. A tender moment indeed, and one that revealed Dr. Joe's compassionate heart for the things these ladies face.

The ministers' wives who attended enjoyed the day so much. I could watch as their precious faces relaxed, some of the tension melted away, and they started to really enjoy themselves.

The Spa Day idea was born months ago, and lots of hard work and prayer went into the day. Many individuals from four different states and many different churches pitched in to make the day a wonderful treat for some ministry wives who have been through the wringer. The Arkansas Baptists donated funds that made the day possible. Fairview Heights Baptist Church in VA sent lots of fun spa stuff for the ladies to play with and take home. Celebration Church provided encouragers, a worship leader, and professional counselor. A massage therapist volunteered her time and worked NONSTOP throughout the day to give the ministry wives some meaningful and therapeutic touch. Riverside Church provided a talented lady who designed the menu and prepared the food, and several other women to make the food and spa treatments a success. Metairie Baptist loaned decorations, as did Riverside and Celebration.

Of course, Christy Sallee's line of spa products, "Kiki's Suds" was a big treat! Each attendee recieved her own "vacation in a box" that we used throughout the day. As we were planning Spa Day Getaway, we wanted to provide spa treatments for the ladies, but we wanted something more special than what they could get themselves at any store. So I called my friend Christy and asked if she was interested in dreaming something up for these ladies. Of course she was. Kiki's Suds has been a longtime dream of hers. She agreed to create some products especially for us. A few weeks ago, as I was in Florida, I stopped by Christy's house in the middle of the night (as is our custom) and we played with the products she was making. She told me the name "Kiki" means "home" in another language. We all had tears as we realized the spa products named "home" would be used for the first time by women who perhaps have not felt at home in a long time. Another special blessing from God for our day.

As the women arrived, they were greeted with snacks and coffee. We could see they weren't quite sure what to expect, but as the day got underway, they relaxed more and more. Laughter, tears, hugs, and smiles were abundant. Some of them hadn't seen one another in a long time. Woman after woman approached me to gush a thank you, telling me how much she needed this day.

Katie Boudreaux led off with worship, including a special theme song for the day "Do Not Fear" taken directly out of Zephaniah 3:14
Sing, O Daughter of Zion;
shout aloud, O Israel!
Be glad and rejoice with all your heart,
O Daughter of Jerusalem!

15 The LORD has taken away your punishment,
he has turned back your enemy.
The LORD, the King of Israel, is with you;
never again will you fear any harm.

16 On that day they will say to Jerusalem,
"Do not fear, O Zion;
do not let your hands hang limp.

17 The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing."


Then Kathy performed her first character, Betty Lou Macaunahey, Pastor's Wife at 1950's Baptist Church, complete with pillbox hat and matching purse. Kathy did a character for each session, including Liz, a resentful music minister's wife who dropped all her cares at Spa Day, and Consuela Maria Chiquita Hernandez Gonzalez, a well-meaning but slightly misdirected minister's wife. Our three sessions were: REST, where we discussed Letting ourselves rest, Laying down our burdens, and Leaving it there, or living a life of rest in God. REJUVENATE, where we discussed the rejuvenating benefits of Relationships, Rejoicing, and Reality. And RECOVER, where we discussed the healing qualities of Facing up to our hurts, Forgiveness, and Flaunting the treasures God brings about in our lives through painful experiences. At the end of each session, the ladies spent time in discussion around their tables.

Throughout the day, ladies spent time in the spa room, where they could recieve a massage, an encouraging prayer time, and a hand treatment. They also had access to Michelle, a counselor and pastor's wife, who could provide professional advice for any major hurts the ladies were carrying. We wrapped up the day with a quiet reflection as Katie sang our theme song again, some special moments of prayer, and then more hugs and tears as we said goodbye.

Terry Dickson was graciously present and available for the ladies. We now have a working database of contact information for Terry to work with for future events. Terry also designed the beautiful invitations for the day and kept track of RSVP's.

As Kathy, Terry, and I were finishing the cleanup and loading up our vehicles, we were exhausted and SO pleased with the day. We left with the peaceful joy of knowing God had touched the ministry wives in a special way. Knowing their lives were made a bit brighter and their burdens a bit lighter was worth every effort we put into the day. Just as the wife often sets the tone of a home, the ministers' wives can have great influence over the atmosphere at a church. We know the peace and relaxation given to these ministry wives will spill over to those who are looking to them as examples in the church.

We think EVERY woman should experience a Spa Day Getaway!! Pray that God will open those doors. Ya never know, a Spa Day Getaway may be headed your way soon!

For now, I have a satisfied smile, sort of like the cat that ate the canary. I am overjoyed at the privilege I had of speaking to these women, looking in their beautiful, sometimes teary eyes, and cheering them on. I know well the burdens they carry and it is wonderfully satisfying to know that Jesus loved on them through me and Kathy and Terry, and all the women who were there to minister to those who usually DO the ministering.

Happy Monday indeed. I'm off to tie up leftover loose ends and begin preparing for a trip to Birmingham this weekend. OH! And to drink some tea from the lovely tea set I got for Mother's day. There's a scripture printed on it, incredibly appropriate for this weekend's experience, I think. Hebrews 4:9-11

9There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; 10for anyone who enters God's rest also rests from his own work, just as God did from his. 11Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest

Monday Medicine

Monday was good medicine for me. I had a very productive day. Kathy and I were able to square away all the financials, and accomplish several errands for the Spa Day Getaway conference this weekend. I'm getting excited about the day... and a little nervous! So much to accomplish this week, a final exam, polishing the messages for Saturday, making sure everything is in place as it should be.

But Monday. Ahhh... Monday is always a clean slate. A new week. Sunday is over (anyone in ministry will understand that statement) and it's time to begin again. And to have an extremely productive Monday, full of accomplishment, well... that's just about as good as it gets. So the high of productivity carries over to Tuesday... or maybe the high is from the Pine Sol I mopped my house with Sunday night. Either way, I'll take it!

Wanna know what's psycho about me? It's my personality pendulum of extremes. I'm my own worst enemy. I'm already spread a bit too thin. Perfect example being that even yesterday, my Magic Monday of Mind-Blowing Productivity, I didn't get everywhere I needed to be. I just couldn't get to everything and ended up letting people down in the midst of that. oooo.... Failure. God, I hate that feeling. So here I sit, rejoicing in the accomplishment and despising the failure. All at the same time. And yet, my mind swirls and whirls with ideas and shoulds and coulds and things I wanna do. Left unchecked, I tell you, I would probably run myself completely out of my mind.

Oh, I know I have to limit myself. This seems like a perfectly sensible answer. Say no. Set up boundaries. Make myself rest. Very nice ideas indeed. So here is my problem. (Ask my mom and dad and they'll tell you I was born with this problem) I HATE LIMITS! Tell me I can't, and I will say "Watch me!" Convince me to follow a rule and I will not only follow, but I will be the BEST at following it. Give me an obstacle and I will not only face it, I will beat it to a pulp and stomp it into the ground and cut off its head and do a victory parade David and Goliath style. And thank God for that fire, because without it my marriage would be dead and I'd be a single mom complacently selling insurance to tightwad pastors in Florida. Only drawback is that the limits I set just call out to me. "Defy me! Defy me!" they say. The fire just burns me up inside. And so sadly, I end up either high on accomplishment, or low on failure, feeling like I could tell everything and everyone to go to... well, you know.

So I find myself in Balance Boot Camp. Me and God, and somehow He is going to show me what I am supposed to do with this drive. How to use it properly and wisely without killing myself or ruining my kids or otherwise allowing it to run rampant and do damage to my life. Ya'll better pray.

-Becky

Meandering About my Mind...

There's something comforting about processing thoughts in a blog. I like it. I've always loved journaling, and I guess this form of cyber journaling is fun for me. Truth be told, I'm a jumble of swirling thoughts at this moment. Blogging is a nice outlet.

As I'm learning along the way, stress is a trigger for depression. With all the stress of late in my life, I'm struggling against the blackness again. Frustrating, but not scary since I knew to expect this possibility, and know just what to do to cope with it. Extra rest, a good book, and patience with myself. The old feelings are familiar. Intense desire to be left alone, not looking forward to things I normally enjoy, loss of appetite or increase (as is usually my symptom), waking up with a desire to stay asleep. The encouraging part is that though I wish this heaviness would go away, I know I still have hope. I know it will lessen and I'll feel like breathing again soon. Oooo sorry for the downer, but hey, I'm just keepin it real here!

Do you ever wonder what if? I guess in my darker mood, I'm experiencing that question. What if I'd gone to college instead of marrying so young? What if I'd read more and socialized less? What if I could have been a lawyer or a politician? What if I could have written three or four books by now? Really, I know this is sick. I am thoroughly and wonderfully blessed. I've experienced marriage, an insurance career, motherhood, moves, ministry, and now I'm working on a seminary degree and the career of my dreams. I've got it all. So now, if nothing else, you have proof that even someone who has the best of the best, someone like me, has the occasional longing or strange sense of dissatisfaction. Evidence, in my opinion, of humanity. Evidence of my own desperate need of Christ's peaceful presence to calm my crazy thoughts. Evidence that the "wretch like me" applies to me above all and that I am hopeless without the Amazing Grace offered to me by Jesus.

Good thing that I don't have to be without it.

I miss my mom. If she were here, we'd go off for dinner, just us two. Or we'd take a ride around to nowhere and talk it all out. We'd laugh and she'd understand.

Today I read Jan Karon's Light from Heaven. Again. I love that book. Pure relaxation and peace in the pages. Tears flow at the same old places I've read over and over. Here's one of my favorite parts, a poem she uses in the book:

Let the stable still astonish
Straw---dirt floor, dull eyes.
Dusty flanks of donkeys, oxen;
Crumbling, crooked walls;
No bed to carry that pain,
And then, the Child,
Rag-wrapped, laid to cry
In a trough.
Who would have chosen this?

Who would have said: "Yes.
Let the God of all the heavens
And earth
Be born here, in this place."
Who but the same God
Who stands in the darker, fouler rooms
Of our hearts
And says, "Yes.
Let the God of heaven and Earth
Be born here--
In this place."

My own heart is indeed much fouler and darker than the pitiful stable where Jesus made His entrance into the world. Even tonight it is so. Yet, He remains in spite of my darkness. A blessed Light, a Ray of Hope, a Glorious Peace.

God help me and my wandering thoughts. Hope it hasn't been too terribly confusing to meander along the winding paths with me. Tomorrow I'll show up at church with my game face on. You won't let on you know how nutso I really am, will ya? Aw, really I don't care if you do. Truth is, all the other game faces have some nutso underneath them, too. 'Bout time somebody admitted it. It's part of our common bond. Jesus and craziness! The Jesus part we don't mind, but the craziness we like to hide. Funny, isn't it? We're all looking for the Answer while pretending we have no question. Good grief.

If I had a rocking chair at home, I'd be in it right now. I love rocking chairs for the comforting sensation they bring. For now, there's a comforting sensation in the fresh sheets on my bed and the blue flowers printed on them. The same color blue as the hydrangeas at my Granny's house when I was a kid. Same color blue as the bedroom where I slept at her house. Same color blue as the bedspread she gave me from that room that I covered up with at home while I listened to my mom and dad getting ready for dad to leave on his truck in the middle of the night. I always used to find such comfort in them being awake when I was asleep. Sweet memories! I think I'll take those to sleep with me tonight and savor them for a while.

So here you have it. Raw, unedited ramblings from the mind of a slightly strange, moderately crazy, well meaning, very real woman. Signing off for now...

Becky

Makin' a Baby

Just another snippet of four-year-old wisdom. In Levi's words, here's how you make a baby:

"Mom, you want me to tell you how to make a baby?" "Uh, sure," I reply incredulously. "Ok, you eat and eat and eat and eat everything on your plate. Then you go to the doctor and it makes a baby."

At Levi's preschool, there is at least one pregnant teacher at this time. I suppose in seeing the big belly, Levi deduced that the pregnant lady must have simply eaten and eaten until there was enough food in her belly for the doctor to work with.

When Mackenzie was his age, I got pregnant with him. She wasn't concerned about where he was coming from, she wanted to know how he was going to get out. "How will the baby get out of your tummy?" she asked... repeatedly. I told her God had given mommies a special place where the babies come out. I expected this to be sufficient information. But no. Her reply? "Show me." Talk about painting yourself into a corner!!

With the medical difficulties I've had of late, the doc says there shouldn't be any more Hughes babies. And that's ok with me. There is no woman more blessed than me with the two kids I have. I love being their mommy. (Plus it's quite an education, don't you agree?)

Preschool Politics

My son, quite the charming politician, has officially reworded a new pledge. Here's how it goes.... Ahem...

"I pledja leegance to the Christian flag
Of the United States of America.
And to the Savior for whose kingdom it stands.
One Savior, Crucified, risen, and coming again
With life and liverty
For all it stands."

Whadya say we just go ahead and put him in office now?
-Becky

Ok.... It's Getting Funny Now!

Well, yesterday I woke up early feeling pain all over my body. I had a fever! UGH! So I took Tylenol and a hot shower, prayed for strength, took the kids to school, and went to the hospital to see if Matthew would be released. Good news, the doc said he could go home. Tylenol wore off and I drove us both home with pounding aches and fever, drug myself into the CVS pharmacy to pick up some necessities, got kids home from school and collapsed for the evening. Matthew and I both feeling awful, we sent the kids to watch tv. After a while, I hear Matthew calling my name in emergency mode. Levi had stuck a bead up his nose!

AAAAARGHH! Another trip to the ER??? Poor Levi was frightened and so were we. He hasn't yet mastered the idea of blowing OUT, so we decided to try tweezers. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to grab the bead, and just as we were ready to surrender to another trip to the hospital, Levi sneezed and the bead flew out! We laughed and cried with relief.

Who knows what's up with all the craziness in our lives lately? Here's what I'm thankful for: Understanding friends, church family that brings dinner and will get my kids from school, powerful sneezes, a fridge with crushed ice, a dishwasher, phone calls to my mom, and grape flavored Propel.

Bring it on!

The Element of Surprise

So I was on my Thursday night online chat (to which you are cordially invited, visit www.womanontheeedge.org/community.html on Thursday nights at 8 CST, 9 EST) and my husband came home from his band rehearsal feeling ill. I signed off the chat and within an hour was calling 911. My sweet-love apparently has an ulcer that exposed an artery and was bleeding heavily. I'm pleased to say he's out of intensive care now and will hopefully come home in a couple of days.

So there I was, going about life business as usual, and suddenly business was not at all as usual. I can't help noticing that the element of surprise in my life provides the most opportunity for learning. It's funny how we can be moving along and suddenly everything falls apart. Or how we can be trudging along and suddenly a ray of sunshine peeks through the clouds and provides an unexpected pleasure. I must say, God has been keeping the tool of surprise handy as he works in my life. He has used it to give me the loveliest glimpses of His face...

Tonight I type through bleary eyes yet I couldn't let this thought pass unacknowledged. God may surprise me in fiery trial, or He may surprise me in rapturous pleasure. Truth is, He has the right and ability to work in me in any way He sees fit. Just as long as He works in me. I will learn to hold loosely to my plans, since in so doing I learn to hold more tightly to my Jesus. I will learn to embrace His element of surprise, loving the way He snaps me to attention and shows me something I couldn't see before.

God, don't let surprises deter me. Only let them fuel my fire of passion for You. I will willingly be swept away as long as it is You who has opened the floodgate.

-Becky

Wandering update...

I'm settling back in at home after a WONDERFUL trip to Florida doing what I LOVE, which is speaking to women and talkin about Jesus. Over the next few days I'll post some of my thoughts from the trip. Here is what I recorded at the beginning of last weekend's adventures:

We had quite an eventful day today! After traveling so far yesterday, we rested well last night, even through quite a thunderstorm. We did a lunch meeting today at Smith & Thomas. It worked out surprisingly well. I had such a great time improvising with Kathy, though I’d never really tried that before. Did a podcast with Bill while I was there, and captured on recording some of that sage wisdom I so respect and love. Then we were off to Tampa for dinner with Sherry and Merry, two of the most intense and amazing women I know of. They are twins and were fascinating as always. We had deep spiritual discussion over dinner about the passions and challenges going on in our lives. I was so surprised that they too struggle with some of the same pressures and stresses I’ve felt. I suppose from my end they seem to have arrived, to have it all together. What a comfort to know I’m not alone! Then on to the radio show… We had such a great time on the air with Sherry and Mike, and met some other amazing people on the show tonight. Then on the way home, we swung by Christy’s house and were introduced to “Kiki’s Suds,” the INCREDIBLE line of spa skin care products that Christy is creating for the Spa Day Getaway event.

I feel like I’m already on spiritual and emotional overload and the retreat doesn’t even start till tomorrow! So many amazing things to process.

For now, I don’t want to lose this one: The other day I came across a verse that says “Righteousness and bliss kiss each other.” Today, such is true in my life. The righteousness of God has brought about in me the burning desire to pursue Him with passion, which has led me to my calling, which gave way to doing what I love for my work. I love being alive!! To have a family that loves God, and loves me! To be able to savor the sweetness of being home. To spend moments with a friend who has been a spiritual kindred to me for many years, moments of realization that God is again at work in our relationship. Christy’s peaceful, welcoming spirit permeates her Kiki products. Kiki means “home” in another language, I forget which. But the very idea that these products, hand made by someone who exudes “home” especially for the spa day in honor of women from a city that has no home. What a blessing, what a peace, what a GOD thing! To be working with Kathy, someone who God dropped in my lap and who is proving more and more to be a perfect fit for me.

His righteousness has brought about a true bliss for me tonight! The righteousness of God gives way to a bliss that is unimaginable and inexplicable!! I’m overwhelmed tonight by His goodness to me, and by the thought that His way has led to more happiness than I ever dreamed it could. How many times as a woman have I felt bliss, but held back, not wanting to lose myself in the feeling. Too afraid to abandon myself to overwhelming joy! No way. No more. The righteousness of God in me was made to kiss the bliss that I feel because of His presence, His work, His amazing gifts in my life. I will let go and thoroughly enjoy this bliss. It’s mine for the taking because of Jesus! I love being alive!

He Is Risen

He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
I love that traditional Easter greeting! My mom used to wake us up on Easter morning with a shout of "He is risen!," and we quickly learned to rub our eyes and shout back, simultaneously jumping out of bed in quest of chocolate, "He is risen indeed!" Where I come from, the resurrection of Jesus is something to be celebrated - and loudly!
I've been in lots of different churches, even different brands of churches. Some of them stoically read the story of the resurrection from their bulletin (where good secretaries such as myself have printed it for ease of use), some of them have worship teams that plan elaborate shows of celebration with banners and dancers and the most modern worship choruses, and a few of them have that lone holy roller. You know the one? He runs down the aisle, Easter or not, and shouts something while he waves his hands in the air. Everyone just smiles and laughs a bit. He gets to the front and falls on his face before the altar, overcome with emotion at the gift of salvation that he has received.
The thing is, he's the Lone Holy Roller. I am always uncomfortable with that. If I really believe that Jesus Christ was God's only son - sent to live in fleshly form with the purpose of dying so that I might be saved, and then being resurrected, defeating sin and death - if I believe it...why am I not jumping up and down in celebration of the resurrection? Especially on Easter morning?!?! Why isn't everybody in the building doing that?
So I pull out the old Keith Green Easter song every year, the one every church has used in their Easter production as long as I can remember, and crank it up on Resurrection Sunday. I run into my kids' rooms and shout, "He is risen!" My husband thinks I'm a little nuts. But my kids, now that they are older, are starting to answer back, "He is risen indeed!" and it moves me to tears just thinking of it. Because I, for one, really believe it. How can I help myself, then?
We're visiting the Lutheran church where my uncle pastored for decades tomorrow morning (our church will be meeting in the evening). I will be greeted with the Easter greeting many times and it will be written into the order of service. But when people wear nice dresses and hats and high heels, it's very hard for them to shout and rejoice, I guess. Sigh. Too bad. Bare feet and pajamas, some old Jesus hippie music and sleepy kids - that's where I will really celebrate.

<3 Christy