I Flunked Blogging 101

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 before I left for work, I read some verses from Psalm 52:

I trust in God's unfailing love for ever and ever. I will praise you forever for what You have done; in Your name I will hope, for Your name is good (8b-9a).

Did you read the part about trusting in God's unfailing love--His really amazing love--that never disappoints us--never leaves us? Did you notice the part about hoping in His name--His good name--His sweet name?

I did.

And while I don't understand why writing is so hard for me right now, I'm not going to ditch this dream.

I'm going to hang on because I really do trust in His unfailing love. I have put my hope in His name. Savior. Prince of Peace. King of Kings. Lord of Lords. Jesus. Giver of Dreams.

Why Didn't God Just Send O?

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 year is here. I have proof:

I stepped on the scale this morning. Oh, my goodness! That hurt.

I went back to work today--resumed my normal routine, but I'm still dwelling in Christmas past. I keep wondering if Christmas was really necessary. Did Jesus have to be born?

Was there another way?

Why didn't God just send O? Surely, she could meet most of our needs, and all of our problems would disappear--right?

For example, I'm thinking that if I had a little more money, life would be so much easier, and I would be a happier person. How about you? Would a bit of exra cash make things moe manageable at your casa? Well, O is a phenomenal philanthropist. She could contribute generously to my bank account and maybe deposit some in yours. And, wahlah! We could do the happy dance.

But possibly money isn't the answer that will make life work for us. Maybe we simply want to feel better about ourselves. We want excitement, adventure, success . Most importantly, we want to justify getting whatever it is that we want. Not a problem. O is one of the most popular philosophers in our country. Millions of people watch her show and purchase her magazine. And if she doesn't have the answer that you're looking for, one of the psychologists or counselors or whoever else she may feature on her show will certainly point you in the direction that you desire to take.

Ok, I'm listening. So feeling good about ourselves may not be the solution to our problems either. What if all that's necessary is to change the way that we look? If we could only have a few procedures done--like nip, tuck, lift--then we would look super-model cool. But how could O help? She's not a physician. No, but she could send us to the best surgeon in the world and pay for all expenses. I'm thinking that a shopping spree would be in order too.

Sweet girl, you know I'm kidding with you about God sending O.

God had to send Jesus. O and people like her may do good deeds, but they cannot address our real problems and needs.

See, our real problem is sin. I'm a sinner. You're a sinner. Our real need is for a Savior. We are sinners, and we need a Savior who can take care of our sin problem.

"For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord" (Luke 2:11).

Jesus Christ is that Savior!

Philanthropists, philosophers, and physicians can't save us. Only Jesus can do that.

And that's why God sent Jesus. And that's why we need Christmas.

We need a Savior.

God knew that no one else would do.

Not even O.

In 2011

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 forever--do not abandon the works of Your hands (Psalm 138:8).

May our loving God work in your life each day of this new year to bring His plan and His purpose for you into reality. I pray that as He works, you will experience His holy presence, His peace, and His power. I pray that you will know the truth: You are the work of His hands. No matter what has happened in the past. No matter what 2011 brings. He will never abandon you. Will never leave you.

Here's to more of Him in our lives in 2011!

Make Some Noise

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 pondered the question for a moment before answering.

He said, "No. The singing and the music don't annoy me. I don't want them to stop. You see, they believe that their Messiah has come, and they're worshipping him. And if I thought that my Messiah had come, there's no power on earth that could make me stop."

Oh, I've got good news: Messiah has come!

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, "Where is the One who has been born king of the Jews? We saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him" (Matthew 2:1-2).

The Messiah's name is Jesus, God's Son. He is the Promised One. The Anointed One. God with us.

He is the Savior of both Jews and Gentiles.

He is worthy of our love and our devotion.

Let's worship Him today and everyday, and may no power on earth stop us.

Let's make some noise!

Merry Christmas, sweet girl.

Khaki Makes Me Happy

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 either. I'm just trying to describe my dining room so that you can see how it lacked something.

So, about a year later, we--ok, actually I--decided that we needed to repaint. I chose a gorgeous, traditional red. I loved the color! The room was transformed into a warm, inviting, and dramatic space. I determined then that I would always have a red room in my house.

But of course, you know how that kind of thing goes....

Yeah, after a few years, I changed my mind about the red.

For some reason, the color grew dark and overwhelming. Definately claustrophobic. Now, I can deal with a lot of things, but a depressing room isn't one of them. The only cure that I could think of involved painting again.

Don't you agree with this remedy, sweet girl? Because, like, all of the decorators say that the cheapest and quickest way to change the look of a room is to paint. Right?

Well, my darlin' husband didn't exactly agree with us. He said something about how he didn't care what the decorators say. Paint is not cheap, and there's no such thing as a quick fix, he said. Painting is hard work, makes a mess, and takes time. Then you have to touch up the trim.

Besides, he didn't see anything wrong with the room the way it was--manic red and all.

However...

... because he indulges me way more than he should, we painted. Don't you love a man like that? I so love mine.

We painted once more. Now, since it was summer, I was displaying my seashells--some sand dollars and starfish--and we had been to Miami, even drove down to Key West--so, I was definately in a beach state of mind.

Maybe that's why I chose blue.

Or, maybe it's because I saw a picture of a blue room in a magazine and thought it was way cool.

Plus, blue is my favorite color.

In retrospect, I'm really not sure why I chose blue.

My darlin' even asked are you sure you want blue?

Yes, I said. I'm sure I want blue.

Well, we went blue.

Oh, my goodness! How could I have known? Blue is a t-r-i-c-k-y c-o-l-o-r. I mean red is deceitful--I knew from past experience to beware of red--but blue? Innocent blue. No, not at all. Blue is like way tricky. The trickiest color ever.

It looked so awful that during Thanksgiving week, my darlin' hub suggested that we go to the paint store.

This time, with my man's blessing, I selected khaki. Sound. Solid. Soothing. The black furniture pops. The white trim pops. The color works. He's satisfied.

And, I'm loving the room.

Seems that all it took to make us both happy was a simple color like khaki.

Kinda sad that I had to learn the hard way that it's the simple things that bring true happiness. Simple colors. Simple things. Like spending time with my family. Watching two little girls' first dance recital. Cleaning my house.

Yes, I know the last phrase sounds crazy, but cleaning and organizing really do make me happy.

Reading God's word also makes me happy.

So, I'd like to share this verse with you:

The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul. The statutes of the LORD are trustworthy, making wise the simple (Psalm 19: 7-8b).

May the simplicity of His word bring wisdom and happiness and joy to you, sweet girl, during this Christmas season.

It's Our Choice

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 sting.

My friend could have let that diagnosis cripple her, but she didn't. Her mother said, "Leigh, you can sit around the house worrying about this, or you can live and have fun and love your family. It's your choice."

That was two years ago. Leigh took her mom's advice. She made some good choices about exercise and nutrition and discipline. Leigh no longer needs medication because she no longer has high blood pressure.

I wonder if you've ever felt the sting of a death sentence. Maybe the sting came, like Leigh's did, in the form of a dreaded diagnosis. Or, maybe, you experienced the sting of death in a relationship. A marriage. A career. Or a dream.

I've sure felt that kind of sting before. Well, truthfully, I'm feeling it pretty strong right now. But you know, we're not the only ones who have dealt with a death sentence.

This guy named Paul can so relate to us. I mean he went through some bad stuff. Like being shipwrecked and beaten up and put in prison a few times.

He suffered so much that he thought there was no hope and no way out and no way through. He wrote these words: Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death (2 Corinthians 1:9a).

Yeah, I think if Paul were alive today, he might commiserate with us a little bit because he's been there and done that. And I think that he would remind us of a promise that he chose to believe. Paul penned these words:

But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and He will continue to deliver us. On Him we have set our hope that He will continue to deliver us (2 Corinthians 1: 9b - 10).

Paul chose to remember how God had delivered him in the past. He chose to believe that God would deliver him again. He chose hope over helplessness.

Sweet girl, we can learn from Paul. He didn't sit around the house worrying and fretting and getting in a tizzy about his situation. I don't think that we should either. Yes, it's tempting to shut others out--to shut down. A sting hurts.

The sting of a death sentence hurts real bad.

But our loving God has promised to deliver us from death's sting. He sent His only Son, the Promised One, as proof that He could deliver the promise in full.

It's our choice. We can choose to live and have fun and love our families and believe. And have hope. [And write]. Or we can choose to let our spirit and our heart atrophy.

I so love these words:

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful (Hebrews 10: 23).

Paul, the guy who felt the sting of a death sentence in his heart, wrote this verse. Don't you love it? The One who made the promise keeps His promise. Always. Always, sweet girl. I wish that I could sit beside you, and we would read over and over He who promised is faithful. He who promised is faithful.

He who promised is faithful.

And while we may still feel the sting, together we would choose to believe and to hope.

And we would say we will hold unswervingly to the hope we profess.

Because He who promised is faithful.

Our loving God.

He promised.

And He is faithful.

Flour on My French Toast

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 flour made it taste awful...and I couldn't eat it...ok, Nonna?"

You may be wondering why anyone would sprinkle flour on French Toast. I mean syrup or jelly, sure. Honey or molasses, maybe. But flour?

Definately dumb.

So, let me explain what happened the "last time" I made that delectable dish.

I dipped the bread into the egg and milk mixture. Put butter in skillet. Transferred bread from bowl into skillet. Cooked bread. Removed bread. Got clear canister containing white powder out of pantry. Sprinkled white powder onto my Perfectly Prepared French Toast.

Left my PPFT on counter to cool.

Went upstairs for something. Don't remember what.

Returned to kitchen.

Darlin' husband asks, "Why did you put flour on your FT?"

I give him a certain look. You know that kind of look, don't you, sweet girl?

The kind that says: You Have So Lost Your Mind If You Think That I Would Ever In A Million Years Put Flour On My Perfectly Prepared French Toast.

But I simply reply, "Why do you think there's flour on my PPFT?"

Darlin' hub ignoring the fact that I'm glaring at him--I mean giving him that certain look--says: "Well, I know there's flour on your FT."

Me, smugly. Because I know I absolutely Did Not put flour on my PPFT ask him: "And how do you know that?"

Darlin' says: Because I tasted it when you walked upstairs. And you put flour on your FT."

So then, I tasted my PPFT.

And it did taste awful. Because I had sprinkled flour on my PPFT. But it wasn't supposed to be flour. That white powder in the clear, unmarked canister with the blue lid looked like sugar. It should have been sugar. I thought it was powdered sugar.

But I was way wrong.

And I was way annoyed. I looked around the room to find the culprit responsible for ruining my PPFT.

I demand: "Who put flour in that clear canister with the blue lid?"

Darlin' hub vehemently denies the deed. The four-year-old and the ten-year-old reply in unison, "Not me."

Only one person remained. She was way too proud to admit that she had sabotaged her own PPFT. So she put it in a ziplock bag. Took it to work. Microwaved it. And ate the ruined, nevertheless, PPFT anyway.

And the moral of this story? Well, there are two of them.

The first comes from a guy named Micah.

He [God] has shown you, O man [and us sweet girls, too], what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God (6:8).

And the second moral is this: Either label your canister, or keep your powdered sugar in the box.

Following these guidelines should make swallowing our PPFT and our pride a little easier.

Sweet dreams,

Deb

p.s. Have you ever thought you were oh so right only to discover that you were way wrong?