tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12835547294341339952011-12-28T19:35:32.100-06:00Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.comBlogger971100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-16848482214418286922011-05-05T20:28:00.002-05:002011-05-05T20:43:55.607-05:00

“What things?” He asked. Incognito. Innocently. As if He were out of the loop and not the link between what had occurred in the first Garden and the things that had just transpired. As if He were not the link between our last breath and our eternity. The two men with whom He walked were incredulous that He asked, “What things?” Even a visitor couldn't possibly be that uninformed. Or so they

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-43793104488125316452011-04-27T17:09:00.003-05:002011-04-28T22:29:40.564-05:00

Six-years-old. About to graduate from kindergarten. Tired of wearing hairbows. Tired of ruffles adorning her attire. Tired of looking like a baby. Now she wants cool clothes that sparkle and glitter. But one thing remains the same: Her favorite game is hide n' seek.And her most secret hiding place? The bottom of the built-in linen cabinet in our hall. She dictates the rules of the game as we play

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-46973689974874404672011-04-24T07:01:00.006-05:002011-04-24T07:49:33.718-05:00

Jesus accepted the punishment for my sins. He took my shame. Was beaten and bruised for me. Wore a crown of thorns on His sweet head. Walked up a mountain with my cross on His shoulders.He was crucified for me.He was crucified for the whole world.He loved us enough to die for us, sweet girl.He loved us then, and He loves us now.He is not dead. God the Father raised His One and Only Son from that

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-39614589166819936212011-04-22T10:39:00.002-05:002011-04-22T11:25:13.025-05:00

In my dreams, I am a writer. I write gently. Beautiful words and truthful. I don't know exactly what I write: devotions, articles, or Bible lessons. That part remains illusive. But I know that I write, and it pleases Him.In my reality, I'm more of a scribbler than I am a writer. My repertoire consists mostly of journals. I write my heart out on the pages of spiral-bound notebooks. They can attest

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-8632077690906025122011-04-15T19:47:00.003-05:002011-04-15T21:41:56.921-05:00

Southerners are serious about some things--sweet tea, grits, and college football. Especially football. My family and I are no exception. We sport crimson and white tee shirts year round and feel quite stylish wearing them. We prefer a black and white hounds-tooth check over any other pattern. Alabama memorabilia shows up on our mailbox, on our vehicles, and in my den.In or out, we love the Tide!

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-29265596368971897102011-04-06T19:39:00.003-05:002011-04-06T22:57:44.490-05:00

"Poppa, come get me!" she yelled. "No, Korie, I'm busy. You can get down by yourself." "Come get me, Poppa!" my granddaughter insisted. No way was she going to make that treacherous trip down the steps of the storage shed by herself.After hearing the third plea for help, my darlin' husband stopped trimming the shrubbery and walked over to rescue her.Now, what was so dangerous about a six-year-old

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-18367324717652525702011-03-22T20:58:00.006-05:002011-03-24T18:17:44.609-05:00

I saw the black, high-heel shoes in the store. So stylish. I tried them on--oh my goodness! They were way cute, way expensive, and way uncomfortable. Know what I did? I bought them anyway.Cute wins out over cost and comfort any day, don't you agree?Besides, my dear daughter-in-law said, " I think you should get them. They'll make you look taller."Well, that's all I needed to hear. Because if you

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-60224533519540025232011-03-16T09:05:00.009-05:002011-03-16T11:53:25.567-05:00

I tried to tango with an antique radio cabinet; however, things did not turn out the way I had envisioned them. See, I was excited about getting this non-working antique. It was free, and free is always good when you're decorating on a budget. And I knew that a little white paint would transform the tired and ugly old thing into something worth having.Nevertheless, the poor piece sat in my

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-34424372460518794832011-03-09T16:32:00.002-06:002011-03-09T17:07:05.186-06:00

I flunked Blogging 101. You've probably figured that out since it's been forever since I last posted or visited any blogs.Well, I'm not accustomed to getting F's, and I don't like to quit. And I'm tired of being an on again off again blogger. So last night, I decided to stop blogging altogether and just publish one final post to bring closure to my feeble attempts at writing.And then this morning

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-43159987996046021992011-01-03T19:14:00.005-06:002011-01-03T20:31:02.989-06:00

Well, the Christmas holidays are over. During the last two weeks, I stayed up way past my bedtime and slept late almost every morning. I shopped a lot, hoping to find just the right gifts for my family. I went to a few parties--ate way, way too much--and exercised not at all. We took the tree down and put it and all of the ornaments and decorations in the attic.Christmas has come and gone.A new

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-82257114889913701162011-01-01T08:48:00.002-06:002011-01-01T09:17:17.856-06:00

Hi, Happy New Year! I want to thank you for sticking with me in 2010. When I stopped blogging for a few months, you continued to leave comments and to send E-mails. You prayed for me, and I so appreciate all of the prayers and the encouraging words.I read a verse this morning that I'm offering as prayer for you.It goes like this:The LORD will fulfill His purpose for me; Your love, O LORD, endures

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-52553262643199630482010-12-25T09:28:00.003-06:002010-12-25T10:09:42.758-06:00

I heard the story of two men--one Jewish and one not Jewish. They sat in the living room of the Jewish man's house. The friends heard the sounds of singing and music coming from a church across the street.The Jewish man's friend asked, "Doesn't this singing and music annoy you? I mean you're Jewish and they're Christians. Don't you wish that they would stop making so much noise?"The Jewish man

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-51951247328490233312010-12-15T18:37:00.004-06:002010-12-15T19:42:51.949-06:00

Recently, I made an important discovery: Khaki makes me happy. See, we've lived in our current house for eight years, and we've painted the dining room four times. First, we painted the walls a soft shade of off-white. Not bad, but still the room seemed underdressed, like wearing a flimsy dress without a slip.Not that I've ever worn a flimsy dress without a slip. And not that I think you have

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-64302112579508658462010-12-07T19:04:00.005-06:002010-12-07T21:25:48.849-06:00

She stumbled out of the doctor's office that day, feeling like she had just received a death sentence. See, Leigh's dad died of a heart attack when he was only thirty five, and she was about that age when she got diagnosed with high blood pressure. The doctor wrote her a prescription and said she would be fine as long as she took the medication--probably for the rest of her life.She felt the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-50595551093316505042010-09-14T16:45:00.008-05:002010-09-14T22:05:10.788-05:00

Breakfast on a school morning? Well, usually, I eat a protein bar or instant oatmeal after I get to work. And I have been known to get a pack of crackers out of the snack machine. But not this morning.No way. Today, I cooked French Toast for the two little girls who hold my heart in their hands. As I stood in the kitchen one of them said, "Umm, I don't want flour on mine...cause last time the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-30796025509524881002010-08-24T16:46:00.004-05:002010-08-24T19:05:49.775-05:00

My alarm went off at 4:30a.m. We pulled out of the driveway by five, heading to Miami for the second time this summer. A long, hard drive for sure. Naturally, I took a little something for the road.In addition to traveling with my darlin' husband and my sweet son, I held a special companion in my hands. Yeah, I had a little Peace for the Journey--Elaine Olsen style. And I so needed peace on this

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-90897281459363478092010-08-09T18:23:00.005-05:002010-08-09T19:56:54.521-05:00

A nice, big office! New desk and chair. I don't have to share this space with anyone else. Sounds like a tremendous improvement over sharing offices with everyone from the cookware salesman to parent volunteers. I got what I asked for, I think.Umm, maybe not. See, my new office isn't located at either of the two schools that I serve. Last year two other facilitators moved to off-campus offices,

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-11330953276636063472010-07-20T11:02:00.002-05:002010-07-20T12:56:52.645-05:00

Last week I had hope. Last week God gave me a verse about how He delights in those who put their hope in His unfailing love (Psalm 147:10). Last week I prayed and lived with expectation that God will do all that He has promised. But this week, I'm wondering if it was nothing more than wishful thinking.So, what's changed?Well, some old acquaintances have reappeared: Conflict. Challenge.

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-5980149375505403802010-07-06T16:42:00.009-05:002010-07-06T19:35:57.161-05:00

Ok, ok. I confess: I'm having way too much fun this summer. I spent almost two weeks in Miami with my darlin' husband. Can you guess what I did while he worked? Sweet girl, you know me so well. Yes, I went to the beach everyday! Hey, I've got a nice little tan going on, but my flower garden sure got neglected while I was away. Especially my pretty petunias. Before I left, I pampered these flowers

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-50414575965440960342010-06-10T21:54:00.007-05:002010-06-10T22:53:33.926-05:00

Thought I better let you know that I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, just in case you've been wondering. So far this summer, I've spent a few days at the beach. Took two sweet, little girls to the water park.Plus, this week is VBS at our church, and I helped with the pre-school class. Have mercy! More about that later.And tomorrow I'm going to the Southern Christian Writers' Conference

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-51285454073668224002010-05-25T20:31:00.003-05:002010-05-25T22:20:27.406-05:00

I don't get it, my seventh-grade students used to complain when I taught the parts of speech. Perplexing for sure. I mean a gazillion grammar rules that overlap, overwhelm, and often contradict each other. And you have to know all of them, right?Not really, I told them. You just need to know one rule.Sounds weird, but it's true.Here's the rule: Look at how you're using the word in the sentence.

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-34670492084302166082010-05-09T06:17:00.004-05:002010-05-09T06:47:20.777-05:00

I tried to think of a little something to give you on this special day. Now, that would take a big, big budget. Which I don't have. But I did come up with this idea. It's a mama's prayer that I often offer for my family. I'd like to share it with you:Abba, thank You for the ones that You have given to me. Thank you for choosing me me to be their mama. There's no higher calling. They are the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-33833155552899561412010-05-03T22:33:00.005-05:002010-05-03T22:52:59.357-05:00

"Hurry is a devious enemy." I read these words on a church sign as I drove by a while back. Told myself to remember them. Yeah, right.By the time I got to my own church--a few miles away at the most--the only word of that five-word sentence that I could recall was the word hurry.Should have known better than to rely on my short-term memory skills.And I hear you laughing, sweet girl. Guess I

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-18806800134828438572010-04-27T17:24:00.002-05:002010-04-27T17:49:07.320-05:00

Ok, in my last post, I told you how much I missed my darlin' husband. But that he was coming home. He did. Sort of. So, how do you sort of come home? Yeah, I know. It's a crazy story.Thursday morning he was almost home--about 80 more miles to go. He got a phone call from work. Heartbreaking news. Said he had to go back to Houston. Had to be there early the next day.So, you know what I did, don't

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-70383929390164041892010-04-19T18:44:00.003-05:002010-04-19T21:54:18.170-05:00

Loneliness and depression. Not typical topics for me. Not the usual, sweet story either. But it's where I am right now. And ignoring how I feel seems to be a little bit dishonest.You know, like when someone asks how you're doing and you answer that you're fine, but you're really not. Because you don't want to admit that there's a problem.I'm not that good at pretending that nothing is wrong when

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-49100661779551035032010-04-09T16:50:00.006-05:002010-04-09T22:18:54.469-05:00

Anxiously, the coach watches his batter. Full count. And a pitcher who can throw a strike when it matters most. Coach shouts, "Hollywood! Hollywood, swing the bat! If it's close, swing at it. You can do it." Hollywood looks in his direction and nods nonchalantly.She waits for the pitch.Standing in the circle like she's posing for a photographer. Cleats dug down into the red dirt. Knees slightly

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-84147018385951960652010-04-04T07:03:00.004-05:002010-04-04T07:27:28.867-05:00

He lived. A sinless life. Son of Man. Son of God. He chose to give Himself, the only acceptable sacrifice. For me and for you. His death gave to us the way to God. No other way. No other choice.His resurrection. Our hope. Not just ours, but hope for the whole world. Because He loves the whole world.Atheists. Agnostics. Buddhists. Hindus. Muslims. Jews. All who are lost.God loves.Gave His precious

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-73783919452852085382010-04-02T08:05:00.009-05:002010-04-02T10:04:38.439-05:00

Approximately three hundred women entered the writing conference contest. But only four scholarships were awarded. So which one am I, recipient or reject?Are you thinking about those numbers? Me too. And of course the enemy of my soul is capitalizing on that way, way upsidedown ratio.Messing with my mind. Mocking me.You know what I'm talking about. Like this:Why did you enter that contest in the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-70257952430619444572010-03-23T19:28:00.007-05:002010-03-25T21:25:30.413-05:00

I'm a dreamin'-wanta-start-a-wildfire-with-words kind of girl. Want to share the story of my sweet Savior like that. But I need some help. And lots of encouragement. So, I dream of attending She Speaks!She Speaks?Yeah! The creme de la creme of Christian writing conferences. A gathering of talented writers and speakers and renowned editors and publishers. And a great place for writers at all

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-54067741708106372502010-03-22T16:46:00.005-05:002010-03-22T23:07:52.421-05:00

He took his family with him: son, daughter-in-law, and grandson. Left his home behind. Set out for a new land. A place of promise. Terah knew where he wanted to go, but he never made it. Instead, he settled for something less. He had good intentions. I think Terah dreamed of reaching the promised place, but something happened along the way."...together they set out from Ur of the Chaldeans to go

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-66342548039111030942010-03-14T19:18:00.003-05:002010-03-14T20:20:36.708-05:00

Sarah, sweet and good. Submissive. Followed her man to a foreign country. She took her dream with her and waited. It seemed to her that she had been waiting for this dream to come true almost all of her life.Seemed that she had been waiting on God forever.Waiting on Him to give her the baby that she dreamed of holding and cuddling and tending and loving.Because God had promised her man, "Look up

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-24139082908079411692010-03-08T16:54:00.007-06:002010-03-08T18:09:44.896-06:00

He had a dream. He wanted to dig wells in countries where people didn't have clean water to drink. She said that she would follow him and his dream. Now, they live in Africa nine months out of the year. They drill wells. Their names are Gary and Elizabeth. They're the founders of By Provision. And we're partnering with them to fulfill our own well-drilling dream. We believe that our loving God

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-5659851658641020582010-03-01T17:05:00.004-06:002010-03-01T19:01:48.840-06:00

TJ Max. Belk. JC Penny. And Walmart. Some of my favorite stores. The problem? No one wants to go shopping with me. I create a scene entering and exiting stores. It has something to do with how I'm wired.Like sometimes when I leave a store, I set off the electronic security device. For no reason.You know how the alarm beeps if the cashier forgets to remove the tag on certain merchandise. Or when a

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-44141253570150230132010-02-22T19:27:00.006-06:002010-02-22T21:53:50.471-06:00

A virus--vicious and violent--attacked me with vengeance. Left me feeling lethargic. With a low-grade temperature. Low blood pressure. And lying in an emergency-room hospital bed. Not exactly how you want to spend Valentine's Day with your sweetheart.But that's where we ended up this year. That ill-bred virus depleted me of fluids in record-breaking time.Took me totally off of my feet.Several

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-14179580061059744152010-02-12T10:57:00.004-06:002010-02-12T13:10:34.574-06:00

Yesterday, I watched the miracle of morning. The sky contracted. Silent heaving. Pushing. Darkness disappeared. A baby day was born. Fragile. Wrinkly. But pink with promise. I so needed this reminder of God's promises.You see, the past few days have been rough for our family.Tuesday night, my nephew, his wife, and three of their daughters were in a car accident. Jody had surgery Thursday morning

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-13977901791887628362010-02-03T18:59:00.008-06:002010-02-03T22:14:48.981-06:00

Food is not my friend. Food is fuel. And no carbs at night. That was my strategy last year for losing weight. It worked! I lost ten pounds in five months. Ok, ok. It shouldn't have taken that long. Maybe I cheated once. Or twice. Nobody's perfect. Right?So, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Like my jeans. The ones that I had to lie down on the bed, inhale, and then zip. After losing the big

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-27840710926177668922010-01-20T16:08:00.012-06:002010-01-20T17:15:29.551-06:00

Check this out. My new blog makeover! It's everything that I wanted. Soft. Sweet. Sensational. And oh so dreamy. So definately oooh la la.Did you notice how the words in the header are all shadowy and seem to float across the page?And the color combination. Blue with black. And blue is my favorite. Cause my eyes are blue. The shapes. Polka dots. The entire layout. A perfect design.And guess what?

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-4003622669584142752010-01-18T11:39:00.005-06:002010-01-23T20:17:05.509-06:00

She makes mistakes. Says things that she shouldn't. Occasionally, she gets stuck on stuff. Her faith? Oh, at times, she's fiery and fiercely faithful. But other times, her faith is frail. Fragile. Even faulty. Still, she's sweet. Just an everyday girl.I actually like her.You see, she struggles in loving God with all of her heart. Soul. Mind. And strength.She struggles with being still in His

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-71370387108467356602010-01-13T17:01:00.005-06:002010-01-13T20:27:40.847-06:00

They strike. Slice. And slash. Like a sharp shooter. Ricocheting through the air before I realize what's happened. My words. Oh, so sassy. So hard to control. Why can't I just shut my mouth? And keep it that way.You're right, I'm dreaming the impossible dream. Again.I'll have to make a lot of changes if this one's gonna come true.Because I like to talk. Sometimes, I talk way too much. Even when I

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-72414719246211102572010-01-06T17:55:00.008-06:002010-01-06T20:44:09.337-06:00

Lately, I've been wanting to branch off from blogging a little bit. Write a few devos. An article or two. Get them published! See my name in print! Oh, yeah! I am so digging that. However....Since God is actually the One who gave me this writing dream in the first place, I decided that I should ask Him about my brilliant idea.You know.Be sure that His plan is in sync with my plan. And all of that

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-13038762262419920522010-01-01T08:48:00.004-06:002010-01-01T09:48:16.548-06:00

Up late last night. Had a New Year's Eve party. Our Sunday School class came over. Friends. Food. Fun. A great way to bring in 2010. But today, I plan to look back. You know, take a trip down 2009 Memory Lane. Think about lessons learned. Blessings received. Mistakes made.However, I won't dwell on the negative.Because I made progress. I determined that 2009 would be the year that I started facing

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-59908281238810830892009-12-24T10:28:00.003-06:002009-12-24T10:36:19.826-06:00

My dream team will arrive about 11:00 today. Let the festivities begin. My Darlin' husband will read the Christmas story. Then we'll exchange a gift or two. Laughter. Games. Homemade lasagna for lunch. Salad. And desert. Then more desert. Definately something chocolate. (We'll feast on the traditional turkey and dressing tomorrow.)Hope you have a wonderful Christmas Eve.And a Merry Christmas!

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-8496649064511992512009-12-20T14:44:00.003-06:002009-12-20T16:47:35.301-06:00

Designer handbags and jewelry. An iPod Nano with built-in camera. The Stress Eraser. And super, soft pajama pants with adjustable length and drawstring, elastic waist. What do these items have in common? Well, they made it to the top of the 2009 Women's Christmas Wish List!Gifts to die for. According to some sources.Did any of these things make your list?For me, not really. Except the pj's. With

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-87861502956595395202009-12-14T16:54:00.003-06:002009-12-14T21:11:23.259-06:00

Christmas, a time to celebrate. And remember. Angels. Wisemen. Stars. Sounds familiar, right? But a scar? What's the connection with miracles? Or with the baby boy born in Bethlehem.Well, you see, the baby was born with this scar in His heart.And as He grew so did the scar.Actually, though, the scar existed before God sent His sweet Son into the world.It happened kind of like this:God loved us.

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-41852703247249312202009-12-08T19:44:00.009-06:002009-12-09T07:02:34.812-06:00

A football player. A beauty queen. A riveting romance that led to marriage. And two children. And thirty-something years of celebrating birthdays and holidays together. But this year, Christmas will be so different for all of them.You see, when their kids were young, she began to have serious health problems.Local doctors referred her to specialists. Her husband drove her to Atlanta. To Emory

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-29625044392130133382009-11-30T20:52:00.005-06:002009-12-01T06:23:55.903-06:00

She says yes. And risks losing everything. Her reputation. Comfort. Security. The man of her dreams. The family that she hopes to have with him one day. She's willing to give all of it up.Even her life.Who is this girl?What was she thinking?Why does she say yes? Would I? Would you?Well, let me tell you what went down.The girl who says yes receives a message from this strange dude. Not sure about

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-54278734408360933582009-11-27T15:14:00.008-06:002009-11-27T17:33:25.240-06:00

A four-lane highway. A busy intersection. A green light. Mine. I see the other car. But too late. Suddenly, the driver of that car makes a left-hand turn. I scream,"What's he doing?" I grip the steering wheel with both hands. And brace myself for what's about to happen.No time to change direction. No way to avoid the collision that's coming. No time to pray.That sound. Metal against metal. Like

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-65086915120056753772009-11-15T15:28:00.017-06:002009-11-22T21:41:53.097-06:00

Tea, a new blogger, is writing a novel and is participating in NaNoWriMo. So far, she has written 23,709 words. Way to go, Tea! She received this Over the Top award for her blog and has passed it along to me. Thank you so much, Tea.The rules for accepting this award are to copy and change the answers below to suit you and pass it on. Answers can only be one word! Pass the award to your favorite

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-77986896348667045792009-11-14T18:17:00.003-06:002009-11-14T20:51:52.006-06:00

Black suede. One-inch heels. About two sizes too big for her. Handed down from an older cousin. Doesn't matter to her. She thinks she's something. Cause she's got big girl boots now.For a four-year-old, she puts together a way cool outfit. Black skirt. Pink leggings. A super sparkly, rock star shirt. And of course, her boots.Ready for action. Adventure. Amusement. She goes outside.She knows the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-28351922852718021632009-11-10T20:29:00.016-06:002009-11-10T22:06:57.831-06:00

The wonderful world of blogging! What I've learned so far. I am not the queen of tech. I wish that I were. And good writers allow you to enter their world. But good bloggers invite you to come into their heart.Like Mary Leigh. A few months ago, she gave me my first blogging award. And now she's given me the Heartfelt Award. And when you read her blog, you'll discover the most important things in

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-63610945143777439752009-11-08T22:22:00.012-06:002009-11-10T22:10:07.536-06:00

I love November! What a great time to give thanks. And to say thanks. Some special blogger firends have blessed me with awards. So now, I have the privilege of thanking them. And, I get to pass these awards along as well.Thanks, Prairie Chick for giving me this:Here are the rules for accepting this award:1. Say thanks and give a link to the presenter of the award.2. Share "10 Honest Things" about

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-51128788925870690812009-11-08T21:52:00.003-06:002009-11-08T21:59:32.900-06:00

If you're stopping by to pick up an award, I'm so sorry. I posted. And viewed. Went back to edit. Had an HTML problem. Wouldn't let me re-post after making a change. Have never had this happen before.I don't know how to correct this. But will work on it. I so need tech help.Sweet dreams,Deb

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-85404776555701257472009-10-31T15:53:00.004-05:002009-10-31T18:45:24.703-05:00

Thank you. Thank you very much, Moses. We appreciate your sharing the second commandment with us, but we think we've got that one under control. We would never make, worship, or grab hold of any graven, golden image. Would we?I mean, men could show a slight susceptibility in this area. They're the ones whose brains have a component that can sometimes record, store, and retrieve images with

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-46208974896367309922009-10-22T18:44:00.004-05:002009-10-22T21:46:38.702-05:00

Lately, I've been thinking that, maybe, I'm not the right girl for the job anymore. Like, maybe, the job requires someone who's smarter. A better writer. Someone who's not so much a material girl. But is more spiritual. Yeah. Definately, more of that.Also, someone who is prettier. Skinnier. And a better cook. OK. OK, then--a girl who actually does cook--would probably get the job done more

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-77909817253302622852009-10-10T14:53:00.005-05:002009-10-10T17:43:06.565-05:00

August 1978. Newlyweds. Jacksonville, Florida. Carnival on the beach. A Tilt a' Whirl. How Fun! Right? I wish. Actually, a more appropriate name would be The Torpedo.We were the only ones on the ride. Spinning. Twirling. Turning. Faster and faster. My head. Gravity held it. Pinned against the back of the car. My tummy. Unable to resist the torque. Drifted into space.So, so sick. Please stop.

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-14511289965935885842009-09-28T18:24:00.003-05:002009-09-28T19:49:13.162-05:00

Soft. Slow. Simple. Southern. That's my style. That's how I like to share my Savior. How He shows His love for me. Shapes me. Soothes me.So, why in the world would I bring up some slightly off-color topics? Like self denial. And carrying crosses.Surely not the segue you may have been anticipating .I'd much rather discuss something else. Anything else.But that's exactly what Jesus talks about in

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-74657920991189590002009-09-19T13:05:00.006-05:002009-09-20T21:19:51.538-05:00

"Honey, why do you get all stressed out about this house? Whenever we have company, you clean for days. You rearrange. You buy things. Even when we're not expecting company, you're obsessed with everything being perfect. Why can't you be content with what you have? I don't know you any more!"Obsessed! Perfect! Doesn't know me any more! How can he say that? My husband. The one who knows me best.

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-28787360617172479102009-09-12T14:32:00.004-05:002009-09-12T16:16:59.908-05:00

She writes. Quite articulate. An agnostic. She has come out of the closet actually. And explains why. Got bored with church during her teenage years. She doesn't need religion. Not then. Not now. Not ever.She refers to God as the "G" word.But she loves Christmas.And she breaks my heart.She equates God with religion. With rules. With regulations. How boring is that? Very.And that's so not God. God

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-70366659295191910222009-09-05T12:55:00.006-05:002009-09-05T15:53:03.138-05:00

Recently, I realized that I need more savoir vivre (sa'vwar ve're). Say what? Yeah, I need more of that stuff. Come on. Say it out loud with me: savoir vivre. Don't you love the way it sounds? So sophisticated. So se_y. So French. And it's....No. Not lingerie. Not wine. Not cuisine. Savoir vivre is simply: knowing how to live. Like with enjoyment. Meeting every situation with poise. Good manners

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-59313768825578149482009-08-29T12:24:00.011-05:002009-08-30T07:50:40.568-05:00

Mood swings. Menopause. Manic Mama. Have mercy! Add a few hot flashes. And that would be me. Are you scared yet? Well, there's more! For the past two weeks, I've been masquerading around with my martyr's mask on.I want to ditch it, but I keep picking it up again.For example, I just got back home from having a marvelous time at a Beth Moore simulcast. Felt convicted about being so mean. Mainly to

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-80653441840501944242009-08-22T09:35:00.007-05:002009-08-22T11:39:25.847-05:00

Yesterday, he hooked the trailer to the truck. Drove to the building supply store. Came home with a load of 2 x 6's, 2 x 4's, plywood, and concrete blocks. He spent all afternoon digging footers. My darlin' husband has begun construction of his storage shed.Yes, that shed.The one that I didn't really want him to build.At least not right now.Because I have a list. An infernal list that still looms

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-930196642152787142009-08-15T09:30:00.011-05:002010-06-10T23:05:09.189-05:00

August 5, 2009. Our thirty-first wedding anniversary. One week later, we had a big, big conversation. Aka argument. And of course it was his fault. Well, no. Actually, it was mine.Everything was going along all anniversary lovey-dovey when my darling husband told me that he was going to build a storage shed.You're probably thinking that this is a great idea and that I should encourage him to go

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-4405136111509219822009-08-10T21:18:00.005-05:002009-08-10T22:41:54.064-05:00

"Nonnie, what's the most portant thing to you?" "You're the most important," I replied to my granddaughter. She wasn't convinced. She said, "No, what's the most portant thing?" I repeated my answer.With a perplexed look on her face, she asked, "Is it your clock?"Clock? I thought. More valuable than my darling girl. My life. My heart. No way!Then she said, "The clock that I broke. Is that the most

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-65627544748858271092009-08-05T18:29:00.010-05:002009-08-05T21:20:20.380-05:00

Summer. The show-stopper season. My favorite of all. Officially ended. Because school started today. And my first morning back at work went something like this...."I'm sorry we don't have a folder for you at this table. Are you a facilitator?""Yes," I replied."Well, you're in the wrong place. You need to go over there."Confidently, the lady directed me to a different area.I went to the room that

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-46752854441523421962009-08-01T21:00:00.018-05:002009-08-04T22:46:27.360-05:00

A blog award. My first! I want to thank Maryleigh at http://www.bluecottonmemory.blogspot.com/ for sharing some blog love with me. Thank you, Maryleigh. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Please stop by her place. She's the mother of five. Five! Boys. She has some stories worthy of sharing.In addition to receiving this award, I have the privilege of awarding it to fifteen other bloggers. Cool! But

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-30283585395798287402009-08-01T09:20:00.007-05:002009-08-01T11:08:09.313-05:00

I waited for the telephone to ring. Wanted desperately to get that call. To hear the voice on the other line say, "We've considered all of the other candidates, and we've come to the conclusion that you're the best qualified."Well, I waited expectantly for two weeks after the job interview. The telephone did ring of course.But I didn't receive the one call that I desired most.So I lost

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-84741713147864381682009-07-27T08:43:00.007-05:002009-07-27T12:37:13.862-05:00

How far would you be willing to go for a friend? Would you be willing to loan her your favorite outfit? Jewelry? Your car? Money?How about babysit her kids?Would you stay by her side during tough times? Like separation. Or divorce. Or illness.Sure we would. To the best of our ability and our resources. We want to be a friend who's there during both the good and bad.And the truth is that we need

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-16810520238810707332009-07-23T12:46:00.006-05:002009-07-23T15:34:00.800-05:00

Tonight, we say good-bye. With tears. Hugs. Hope. Holding on to our dreams. We don't know when or if we'll see each other again. My friend flies back to Germany tomorrow.But for today, we'll do what we've been doing for the past two weeks. Talk. Laugh. Share. Shop. Run. And eat. Way too much of all the wrong kinds of food.She's a stay-at-home-mom. A military wife. World traveler. Excellent cook.

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-44811645006840051092009-07-18T14:09:00.014-05:002009-07-18T18:57:26.091-05:00

I see dead men and women walking. At home. At family gatherings. At work. At the mall. They work. Play. Love. Laugh. Hug. Cry.Nevertheless, they are still dead.Do you see them? We don't need a sixth sense to know they exist; all we have to do is open our eyes. Our ears. Our hearts.They walk beside us.And they will continue to walk. Dead. In their sins. And hopeless. Until someone shares God's

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-5858738296372964182009-07-14T09:55:00.007-05:002009-07-14T14:14:47.811-05:00

Singer. Songwriter. Musician. Underestimated and humiliated by his brothers. Sometimes overlooked by his own father.A shepherd boy skilled in slaying wild beasts. And giants.Still, to his family's amazement--and his--he was awarded the best seat in the house. The throne of Israel. This man's name? King David, son of Jesse.Now, God's anointed man wasn't perfect. David fell into some serious

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-9061700845008889352009-07-10T20:26:00.006-05:002009-07-10T23:08:00.529-05:00

Classified information. My husband knows. So do Big Sis and JP . And a friend. And God. I intended to keep it that way. No reason to get anyone else involved. Risky business. Someone could get hurt.In my mind, I heard God say, "Tell it." I said, "No way. Please. I'll write about anything else. But not this." Maybe you've held similiar conversations with God. You want one thing; God wants

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-44797537884058220692009-07-06T13:57:00.014-05:002009-07-07T09:42:22.377-05:00

"Mommy, help me! Mom--," she cries out once before going under. She started in the shallow end of the pool but had walked almost undetected to the drop off point where the water was over her head.No life jacket. No floaties.Only four-years-old, she hasn't yet learned to swim.She bobbles up. "Mom--!" Desperate. Down once more. Her mother dives for her.As she utters that second cry, the person in

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-60267207095856462012009-07-02T10:31:00.011-05:002009-07-02T21:14:54.296-05:00

Israel. God revealed His word to them. His laws. His decrees.Israel's king, Jehoash, inherited the throne from his father.He got Israel's army also. Or what was left of it. The king of Aram, one of Israel's enemies, had reduced her armed forces to a mere fifty horsemen--ten chariots--ten thousand foot soldiers.Not much of a military. Not much hope of a victory over the enemy.Israel's prophet,

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-5323207947249641882009-06-30T11:13:00.004-05:002009-06-30T12:45:46.113-05:00

Shut cabinet doors, both upper and lower.Shut all closet doors.Sit the laundry basket anywhere except in the floor.Slide dining room chairs back under the table when you get up.These were the unwritten rules at our house during the time that my niece, Jessie, lived with us. They sound sort of strange.However, they were necessary for her safety. Jessie has a rare, genetic eye disease called

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-66924832754243302172009-06-27T07:42:00.003-05:002009-06-29T13:28:14.929-05:00

Elijah. Prophet of God. Man of God.Elijah's exploits:Face-to-face with wicked King Ahab, predicted a three-year drought for Israel.Hid by God and fed by ravens.Prayed and a widow's jug of oil and jar of flour lasted for three years.Prayed for the widow's dead son and God restored him to life.Taunted 450 false prophets and then had them killed after God consumed his sacrifice.Prayed for rain. And

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-40878956393189580882009-06-24T07:10:00.000-05:002009-06-27T07:42:26.304-05:00

A herd of black cows. Twenty-five or thirty of them parade across the pasture. All following one solitary cow.Some in single file. Some in groups of three or four. Some meander in typical bovine-like fashion. Except the stragglers at the back of the line. Frisky. Energetic. Must have been the young ones.And not the lead cow. She walks with purpose. Like she knows what she's doing. Where she's

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-35195678663899770642009-06-22T12:23:00.000-05:002009-06-22T14:26:31.068-05:00

From pick-up trucks loaded with sweet corn, not yet shucked.To chocolate mint that prefers morning sun. Don't worry about it melting from the heat.To gizzard plants. The foliage--dark brown. Fuschia-colored stems. Delicate, pink veins that run throughout the leaves. An unexpected combination of beauty.The Farmer's Market in Raleigh has it all. Spices. Herbs. Flowers. Fresh vegetables and

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-49762875366649452242009-06-19T11:40:00.000-05:002009-06-19T11:53:19.656-05:00

Ten things that I love about you:1. Your good looks2. Your charm3. Your sense of humor4. The way you hold my hand5. The way you hug me...for no reason6. The way you hold me...like you don't ever want to let me go7. The way that you protect me8. How you're the best daddy in the whole world9. How you're the best husband ever10. How you're my dream come true Happpy

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-58291592703735880312009-06-18T12:59:00.000-05:002009-06-18T14:32:17.062-05:00

"Abba."The young woman referred to God as Abba when she prayed. Abba means "daddy."I couldn't imagine doing such a thing.So, what was she thinking? How rude. Disrespectful. Arrogant.I mean I knew God. Back when I was a little girl, I gave my heart to Him.Because God is God. Father. Holy. Righteous. But "daddy?" Surely calling the Lord God Almighty "Abba" was over the top. Bordering on the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-15373009967833072262009-06-17T13:37:00.000-05:002009-06-17T15:28:55.617-05:00

I didn't shed a single tear when Daddy died. So different from when Mama. Then, I thought that I'd never stop crying.I was always scared of Daddy. His belt. The beatings that he could give. Without provocation, it seemed.So, I tried to be good. Did my homework. Did my chores. Stayed out of trouble. Stayed in my room and read. Stayed out of his way.Daddy worked hard. Even when he was a boy. Quit

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-72217840634181887282009-06-12T13:57:00.000-05:002009-06-12T14:39:24.598-05:00

Today, I just want to praise Him. Give Him thanks for what He's done for me. For what He continues to do.How He gave me a dream. How He's faithful to His word and to His promises. How He's working on my behalf right now.In reality, I should never have become a dreamer. Too practical. Too hung up on trying to be perfect. Too many problems.Flaws.Fears.Failures.But God, somehow, sees potential and

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-83085540690065188432009-06-10T12:41:00.000-05:002009-06-10T13:39:55.227-05:00

"Turn right. Turn right." My GPS talks to me. But I can't turn right. I'm in the left lane, trying to work my way over. Too much traffic. No one will let me in. Absolutely no one.The GPS tries again. "Turn right, Now." I'd love to turn right now. I can't."Turn Right! TURN RIGHT NOW!" I know I hear an attitude in her automated voice.I miss the exit.I have a lousy sense of direction. Still, I'm

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-65667431897141526372009-06-04T10:12:00.000-05:002009-06-04T13:28:27.604-05:00

Running along River Birch Circle this morning, I noticed something strange. Emerging from a tiny aperture in the asphalt. A single strand of weeds stretching for sunlight.Only a sliver of space. Without the weeds' testimony, invisible and undetectable.A sliver. All that satan needs to launch a frontal attack. More than enough room for him to land a few fiery darts into our heart.We know the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-36860856133255172102009-06-02T13:01:00.000-05:002009-06-03T11:34:22.850-05:00

We saw dolphins swimming. Every morning. Early. From the balcony of Big Sis's condo. They glide through the water. Rising to the surface. Fins showing shiny and slick. Smooth dive under. Back to the top. Sensational swimmers. Spectacular show.Once, we counted eight dolphins. They travel in schools or pods for protection from predators. Their motto: Never swim alone.Sounds like good advice for us

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-23542154048941497692009-05-29T10:22:00.000-05:002009-05-29T10:28:53.779-05:00

Tanning lotion. Toothbrush. Swimsuit. Flip flops. Big Sis has condo at the beach. The sisters are going. All five of us. For the weekend.Sun, sand, surf, and sisters. What more do you need?Will let you know how things go.Sweet dreams,Deb

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-72223369587533702382009-05-28T12:02:00.000-05:002009-05-28T13:18:49.982-05:00

She says, "On your march. Get set. Go!" We take off running. Down the sidewalk. Around the big pine tree. Through the azalea beds. When we get to the day lilies, we stop for her to pick a leh-low one. And then we race back to the front steps.She wins. Of course.So far this morning we've run a marathon in the yard. Painted masterpieces with washable Crayola water colors. Built castles out of

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-48531444190678271322009-05-27T13:08:00.000-05:002009-05-27T14:25:04.951-05:00

Sometimes, I doubt the dream.I don't want to waver, but I do. I try to walk in faith. So, believing. I write in my journals. Write blog posts. Read. Study. And pray. Things go along ok for awhile.Then one day I wake up, and there's the doubt. Inside me. Drowning all hope. Leaving desperation. Despair. Depression.I don't want to live like this. Is there a way out?I remember what He said to me

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-72705930068706340552009-05-23T10:14:00.000-05:002009-05-25T21:30:14.639-05:00

It can be really hot in Alabama this time of year. But not this morning. Weather forecasters predict rain.That's ok. A little rain won't interfere with my race plan. My strategy for this 8K is to start at a steady pace, then gradually accelerate, and finish strong.I've never run this course before; but I've heard it's tough. Early into the run, I experience just how tough. Way more hills than I

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-90627061447463827352009-05-20T20:47:00.000-05:002009-05-21T16:18:48.711-05:00

Him. I want to dance before. My Prince of Peace. My King.Dance.Like David, wearing a linen ephod, dancing and leaping as the Levites carried the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. Risked being misunderstood. Willing to be undignified. To be humiliated if necessary. All because he was compelled to celebrate what the Lord had done for him and for all of Israel.I want to dance like that. Maybe not

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-4253441609516712102009-05-19T17:41:00.000-05:002009-05-20T22:14:25.601-05:00

I dream of writing--kamikaze style. Just get the words down. Wild and free. Trample caution. No concerns about content, clarity, and cohesiveness. No worries about syntax and semantics. The message is what it is. I am who I am.Sounds great. So, why can't I do that?Well, some kind of glammed-up goddess seems to get into my mind. Calls herself Perfection. And wants me to believe that everything

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-11419920801220581982009-05-16T16:14:00.000-05:002009-05-24T21:11:54.683-05:00

Bad things seem to happen to me at gas stations. Gasoline pumps confuse me and make me nervous. Sometimes, I can't figure them out at all. Fortunately, I have learned to operate the ones at Murphy USA.Insert card. Remove card quickly. Select debit or credit. If debit, enter PIN. Processing. Authorized. Select grade. Remove nozzle. Pump fuel.Driving home from work, I see that the gas light

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-57159002165830708202009-05-14T17:48:00.000-05:002009-05-14T21:10:19.896-05:00

Because of family history with Alzheimer's Disease, I wonder if some day that big, bad boy will huff and puff at my mind's door. Snarling. Insatiable. Lusting for every page of my life's story.I don't live in fear. Not paranoid. But I do care about how it could affect my precious children and grandchildren.I wonder what if...What if they call me on the telephone and in a ten-minute conversation,

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-19349596866890834002009-05-13T19:54:00.000-05:002009-05-23T10:10:58.694-05:00

Someone fires a gun into the air.Approximately eight hundred men, women, and children spring to action. Running. Walking. Waddling.The Polar Bear Run, a 5k race, has just begun.Filled with adrenaline, my friends and I take off as well, at what I discover is a way-too-fast-for-me pace. Ordinarily, I start slowly and gently increase speed. But because I don't want to get left behind, I foolishly

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-86359813387604541082009-05-11T17:12:00.000-05:002009-05-12T17:42:10.265-05:00

"Add some weight. Pick up your bar. Knees are slightly bent. Tummy in. Shoulders up. Ready?"My exercise instructor clicks the remote control, and the music starts."Here we go," she says.She spits out commands: "Singles!" "Wide grip. Triples!" "One more set!" "Don't quit on me now!" "Almost there!"The students obey and that's how in one hour, twice weekly, Body Pump 69 transforms our weak,

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-41861621101464774832009-05-08T21:02:00.000-05:002009-05-10T18:11:56.617-05:00

I saw her tonight for the first time since Mama died. That was almost four years ago. I knew that seeing Mama's youngest sister was going to be hard. It was. Mama and Aunt Evelyn were both diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in the same month.I hate that disease.It steals memories. It wipes out life stories like they never even happened. It rips the personality right out of its victims. They're

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-44652334073324573312009-05-05T20:19:00.000-05:002009-05-07T16:43:53.905-05:00

I'm feeling a little bit guilty tonight. I was supposed to meet my running buddies, Leigh and Stacey, downtown this evening; our goal was to run three miles. We've been training together for several months, and right now, we're logging in about 12 miles total each week. Usually, I'm pumped about running. But this evening, I reluctantly confessed to them, "I'm getting tired and sleepy during the

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1283554729434133995.post-13038453289358493622009-05-03T13:40:00.000-05:002009-05-09T20:13:29.927-05:00

Hi,Welcome to my blog. Getting this blog started is a part of the dream that God gave to me. Ever since I was a little girl and learned how to read, "See Spot run," I've loved the printed word. When I grew up, I became an English teacher. Now, I want to put a few words on paper. God gave me this dream, and I've given Him both the dream and my heart. So, today is a big day for me. I'm asking Him

Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03614103795909160503noreply@blogger.com3