Spring and fall. Those are my two favorite seasons. Not too hot, not too cold, but ahhhhh, just right. I LOVE IT! Colors are more vibrant outside as everything comes back to life, and people, well, they just seem to walk with lighter steps. We can only take so much cold weather until it begins to feel like our very hearts are going cold. It is good to be wandering away from the dark, coldness of winter and into Spring!!!!
Unlike some folks, I do not hate February, and I find the way it's spelled unique, just like the amount of days it has. It's just, different. Different isn't necessarily bad either, it's just not like the rest. Hence, different (duh). However, I am enjoying seeing the sunshine stream through the windows and the feel of its heat when I'm out running. But to have this and enjoy it like I do? I had to make it through winter first.
This weekend, winter is going to attempt to make a short come back in TN, but I'm hoping the "Spring fairies" ward off the attempt and allow the sun to keep on shining brightly. Besides, everyone will just get cranky again if it's cold. Blah.
Feb 28, 2007
Feb 24, 2007
What's really going on here?
After seeing tons of articles like these, I have to ask myself, "What's really going on?"
And my second question is this, "Why is it so many people dream of being famous?" I think we are seeing proof that fame does not equal a good, happy life. The saying is true, money cannot buy happiness.
With all the articles of Britney and Anna Nicole, it's like having front row seats to a train wreck. Sit down, grab some popcorn, and watch the show. The problem? These are real people! Granted they are stuck (well, one is anyway, the other one "escaped" this earth)in a very make believe world, but still they are real people. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have my life splashed on so many magazines, to not even go out and buy a drink without someone snapping a photo. I might just lose my mind.
This proves, more so than most other events, that we are all in need of people around us who love us for who we are, not what we can do or how much we can make. We need people who will encourage us, challenge us, grow with us, and hold us accountable. We need people who don't care about the clothes we wear or the cars we drive because they are most concerned with the condition of our hearts and minds. We need parents to be parents, not our friends, managers, or charity cases. We need someone to tell us when what we are doing is wrong, very wrong, and when we need to take a step back and reevaluate our actions, thoughts, motivations, and words. We need people who love us with that unconditional love that this world seems to know nothing about but that God so wonderfully displays. That's what we need. And if we had that? Well, a lot of magazines would no longer exist and maybe the news wouldn't be so hard to hear.
And my second question is this, "Why is it so many people dream of being famous?" I think we are seeing proof that fame does not equal a good, happy life. The saying is true, money cannot buy happiness.
With all the articles of Britney and Anna Nicole, it's like having front row seats to a train wreck. Sit down, grab some popcorn, and watch the show. The problem? These are real people! Granted they are stuck (well, one is anyway, the other one "escaped" this earth)in a very make believe world, but still they are real people. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have my life splashed on so many magazines, to not even go out and buy a drink without someone snapping a photo. I might just lose my mind.
This proves, more so than most other events, that we are all in need of people around us who love us for who we are, not what we can do or how much we can make. We need people who will encourage us, challenge us, grow with us, and hold us accountable. We need people who don't care about the clothes we wear or the cars we drive because they are most concerned with the condition of our hearts and minds. We need parents to be parents, not our friends, managers, or charity cases. We need someone to tell us when what we are doing is wrong, very wrong, and when we need to take a step back and reevaluate our actions, thoughts, motivations, and words. We need people who love us with that unconditional love that this world seems to know nothing about but that God so wonderfully displays. That's what we need. And if we had that? Well, a lot of magazines would no longer exist and maybe the news wouldn't be so hard to hear.
Feb 21, 2007
Monday's lunch
Monday, I was treated to lunch with my "son." His name is Andrew and he's currently a junior in high school. He was in my English class last year and in many ways, saved me from losing my mind. I started calling him my son after having a dream that Andy and I adopted him (which is hysterical in and of itself because Andrew comes from an incredible family). I told him about this crazy dream and from then on he's called me Momma D.
Andrew is working at a nice restaurant so that is where we went. He introduced me to every employee in the place I think, it was comical. As we began to order he said, "I'm buying, but you better not just order something that's cheap. You get what you want." I had to stifle laughter at many points because he was so incredibly endearing. Throughout the two hours, we discussed school, football, his girlfriend situation, the play he is in, and his future plans. My heart, quite simply, was overflowing. He even asked if Andy and I planned on having kids, my thoughts on that, and how work was going. It felt like he was making sure I'm happy and OK.
In the next few weeks, he'll be taking part in the school play. He'll be portraying Hermes and informed me his costume consists of wings and white gym shorts. He then let me know that after seeing him with no shirt, all the girls really were going to want him. I told him I was sure of that. He went on to say the theater teacher informed him he needed to go get a tan so he doesn't look naked, which resulted in an outburst of laughter from me.
At the close of our lunch, he even walked me to my car, and opened the door for me. He asked if I was ok getting back home, and was I sure I knew the way. It felt, for just a moment, like he really was my kid. I would take him, in a heartbeat, I really would. This kid is doing it right. He's a great student and athlete, and works hard at everything he does. Plus, he loves God. He wants others to be ok and not make the wrong decisions. He learns from mistakes and moves on. He is an extraordinary young man really.
Next year he'll be a big senior, then it's off to college. I look forward to seeing what God has mapped out for this kid. I pray he stays grounded and does not get caught up in all the junk, that he never forgets who he is. Lastly, I hope that everytime he sees me, he will run up to give me a hug shouting "Momma D!"
Andrew is working at a nice restaurant so that is where we went. He introduced me to every employee in the place I think, it was comical. As we began to order he said, "I'm buying, but you better not just order something that's cheap. You get what you want." I had to stifle laughter at many points because he was so incredibly endearing. Throughout the two hours, we discussed school, football, his girlfriend situation, the play he is in, and his future plans. My heart, quite simply, was overflowing. He even asked if Andy and I planned on having kids, my thoughts on that, and how work was going. It felt like he was making sure I'm happy and OK.
In the next few weeks, he'll be taking part in the school play. He'll be portraying Hermes and informed me his costume consists of wings and white gym shorts. He then let me know that after seeing him with no shirt, all the girls really were going to want him. I told him I was sure of that. He went on to say the theater teacher informed him he needed to go get a tan so he doesn't look naked, which resulted in an outburst of laughter from me.
At the close of our lunch, he even walked me to my car, and opened the door for me. He asked if I was ok getting back home, and was I sure I knew the way. It felt, for just a moment, like he really was my kid. I would take him, in a heartbeat, I really would. This kid is doing it right. He's a great student and athlete, and works hard at everything he does. Plus, he loves God. He wants others to be ok and not make the wrong decisions. He learns from mistakes and moves on. He is an extraordinary young man really.
Next year he'll be a big senior, then it's off to college. I look forward to seeing what God has mapped out for this kid. I pray he stays grounded and does not get caught up in all the junk, that he never forgets who he is. Lastly, I hope that everytime he sees me, he will run up to give me a hug shouting "Momma D!"
God is good
I was reading a friend's blog, when my eyes began to overflow with tears. They are in the process of adopting a little girl from China. They have posted a picture of her, and the story of how quickly everything is happening. Clearly, God's hand is in all of this. Pop over there and read about it, I assure you it will brighten your day.
God is good.
God is good.
Feb 17, 2007
To Write Love On Her Arms
TO WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS by Jamie Tworkowski
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "F**K UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes.
Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.
She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.
On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.
We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.
We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.
To learn more go to this link.
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "F**K UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes.
Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.
She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.
On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.
We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.
We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.
To learn more go to this link.
Feb 16, 2007
Stuck...Like Gum on the Bottom of a Shoe
Being the duo to forever find ways to save money, Andy and I decided to get a bundle package for our internet, cable, and phone. We will end up saving quite a bit of money each month. Of course, they have to come out to our house and do whatever it is that must be done. Joy. Oh yea, what time frame did they give us? 8am to 5pm. Well, if that doesn't just cover my whole day, I'm not sure what does. So, I'm confined to the house today. Stuck...like gum on the bottom of a shoe.
I like to be free people! Free to run and skip about. I do not like feeling trapped. This must be what house arrest is like. Note to self: do not break the law, house arrest would not be enjoyable for you.
Seeing as how I'm confined, I guess I'll clean and do laundry. It will at least keep me occupied, for about an HOUR! Maybe I'll do some "deep cleaning" in the house. Yea, right...and then I'll turn into Wonder Woman. AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH...it's gonna be a long day.
I like to be free people! Free to run and skip about. I do not like feeling trapped. This must be what house arrest is like. Note to self: do not break the law, house arrest would not be enjoyable for you.
Seeing as how I'm confined, I guess I'll clean and do laundry. It will at least keep me occupied, for about an HOUR! Maybe I'll do some "deep cleaning" in the house. Yea, right...and then I'll turn into Wonder Woman. AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH...it's gonna be a long day.
Feb 14, 2007
Happy Valentines Day
I love this commercial...it's so sweet. Hope all of you have a wonderful Valentines Day surrounded by incredible people.
I have reached a new level of crazy
I just got back from running 3 miles...outside...in the snow. That wasn't my original plan mind you. Like most people on a day like today, I was going to head to the gym, do some weight lifting then run 3 miles on the treadmill. Then I started thinking about how incredibly boring that was going to be. Slowly, my desire to run 3 miles starting evaporating into the cold air. Then, it struck me. I'll bundle up and just run outside. So, bundled up like a little kid, out I went.
Surprisingly, my body felt really good. My lungs were a different story, but they are never happy. If it weren't for my lungs' rebellion (asthma and cold air don't mix children), I probably would have gone longer than 3 miles. But, the lungs won the battle since no one was around to perform CPR if need be, and I returned home. Nice and toasty, and much happier for having been outside, even if it is 30 degrees and snowing.
Surprisingly, my body felt really good. My lungs were a different story, but they are never happy. If it weren't for my lungs' rebellion (asthma and cold air don't mix children), I probably would have gone longer than 3 miles. But, the lungs won the battle since no one was around to perform CPR if need be, and I returned home. Nice and toasty, and much happier for having been outside, even if it is 30 degrees and snowing.
Feb 13, 2007
Feel the burn baby, feel the burn
Yesterday was the first day of our women's fitness class (F3: fitness, fun, fellowship). We had a great time, and the women, though challenged, seemed to enjoy it too. One girl was holding her newborn baby in one arm and working out with the other. Dang, moms are TOUGH! It really was fun.
Tricia and I both did all the moves in the morning session, forgetting we would be doing the same thing that night. Yea, not so smart on our part. We decided that for the remaining 7 weeks, one of us will lead the lower body segment in the morning while the other leads the upper body, then we'll swap for the evening class. We may be a bit slow, but we learn fast!
In between classes, I jogged 3 miles (I just love training for the half marathon). So, most of my day yesterday was spent working out or showering. CRAZY! I'm a bit sore today, but it feels good. I like to know my muscles are working and are being challenged (FYI: Working out for 2.5 hours in a day is definitely a challenge).
I am looking forward to the coming 7 weeks. I am hoping we help these women not only change the outside, but also help them to see their own beauty and value. It's about so much more than being a certain size or weight. To me, it is much more important that those I work with feel confident in their own skin. That is where the victory lies.
Tricia and I both did all the moves in the morning session, forgetting we would be doing the same thing that night. Yea, not so smart on our part. We decided that for the remaining 7 weeks, one of us will lead the lower body segment in the morning while the other leads the upper body, then we'll swap for the evening class. We may be a bit slow, but we learn fast!
In between classes, I jogged 3 miles (I just love training for the half marathon). So, most of my day yesterday was spent working out or showering. CRAZY! I'm a bit sore today, but it feels good. I like to know my muscles are working and are being challenged (FYI: Working out for 2.5 hours in a day is definitely a challenge).
I am looking forward to the coming 7 weeks. I am hoping we help these women not only change the outside, but also help them to see their own beauty and value. It's about so much more than being a certain size or weight. To me, it is much more important that those I work with feel confident in their own skin. That is where the victory lies.
Why did I do it?
Some folks have asked me why I put this picture up on my blog. Well, it's because of pictures like this (that's me, third pic down, on the right: YIKES!), on my friend Lisa's blog. To prove how far I have come, to show how I used to abuse my body with food and laziness, and to show how much has changed. Praise the Lord that I am finally "getting it" when it comes to taking care of myself. Sorry for all of you who knew me when and had to be around my poor, pitiful, horribly out of shape self. She was a sad little (not so little rather) creature. Praise the Lord for the fact we are all capable of changing!!!!!
Feb 11, 2007
Valentine's Banquet
Every year our church holds a Valentine's banquet for married couples. I have dubbed the event the "old people's prom." Friday night consists of dinner and dancing, and is followed Saturday morning by a relationship seminar. This year we used the book "DNA of Relationships." (It's an excellent book) We always have fun, learn quite a bit, and we even get all dressed up....
.JPG)
Andy and I...we're kind of looking down because the camera was on a counter in our hotel room.
.JPG)
Two of my favorite party girls: Ally and Cathy. I love these two, and there's always fun to be had when they are around.
.JPG)
According to some folks at church, Tricia and I look like sisters. WHAT?!?! Oh well, she's beautiful, so it's ok. We'll be leading the fitness class at church together.
.JPG)
Andy and I...we're kind of looking down because the camera was on a counter in our hotel room. .JPG)
Two of my favorite party girls: Ally and Cathy. I love these two, and there's always fun to be had when they are around..JPG)
According to some folks at church, Tricia and I look like sisters. WHAT?!?! Oh well, she's beautiful, so it's ok. We'll be leading the fitness class at church together.
Feb 7, 2007
Easy Street
While talking to a friend the other day, she asked, "So, how is life?" A simple question really, but encompasses so much.
My life? I am one of the most blessed human beings I know. First of all, I have one amazing family. Growing up, I knew many folks who were abused, mistreated, or uncared for. I never understood why I didn't have to go through those same things. I was protected, taken care of, and loved. Never was I put in a position that would have hurt me mentally, physically, or emotionally. Why was it that God ordained my life to be free of so much pain and hurt while so many were developing lifelong scars on their souls? At 31, I still don't understand why this is the case, but I'm thankful. In fact, there is a part of me where trepidation resides, a part that fears what lies around the next corner because I have been so protected.
Secondly, I am married to a man who is passionate about God, and me. He supported my decision to leave teaching, then again cheered me on as I began working for myself as a personal trainer. He doesn't mind my madness, my ridiculous rantings, or my unexplainable annoyances. He accepts me for me, but challenges me to become better. Never has he laid an unloving hand on me, nor has he ever uttered curses at me.
Thirdly, I am surrounded by the most incredible, fascinating friends. These are people who can find adventure in the mundane, beauty in the ordinary, and laughter in the darkness. Each one is so different, complete with quirks and imperfections, yet each is so wonderfully beautiful. Faces flow through my mind as I type this and my heart is at ease, filling more and more with joy and thankfulness.
Finally, I have a God who adores me and loves me fully and completely. He knows the number of hairs on my head, the desires of my heart, the corrupt, the selfish, and the insane, yet loves me still. He loves me enough that he died for me, he stretched his arms out wide, accepting my sin and my shame as his own. He stretched his arms out wide to embrace me as a father would his child who has come home, and daily, constantly beckons, "come daughter, come."
How is my life? It is good, very very good.
My life? I am one of the most blessed human beings I know. First of all, I have one amazing family. Growing up, I knew many folks who were abused, mistreated, or uncared for. I never understood why I didn't have to go through those same things. I was protected, taken care of, and loved. Never was I put in a position that would have hurt me mentally, physically, or emotionally. Why was it that God ordained my life to be free of so much pain and hurt while so many were developing lifelong scars on their souls? At 31, I still don't understand why this is the case, but I'm thankful. In fact, there is a part of me where trepidation resides, a part that fears what lies around the next corner because I have been so protected.
Secondly, I am married to a man who is passionate about God, and me. He supported my decision to leave teaching, then again cheered me on as I began working for myself as a personal trainer. He doesn't mind my madness, my ridiculous rantings, or my unexplainable annoyances. He accepts me for me, but challenges me to become better. Never has he laid an unloving hand on me, nor has he ever uttered curses at me.
Thirdly, I am surrounded by the most incredible, fascinating friends. These are people who can find adventure in the mundane, beauty in the ordinary, and laughter in the darkness. Each one is so different, complete with quirks and imperfections, yet each is so wonderfully beautiful. Faces flow through my mind as I type this and my heart is at ease, filling more and more with joy and thankfulness.
Finally, I have a God who adores me and loves me fully and completely. He knows the number of hairs on my head, the desires of my heart, the corrupt, the selfish, and the insane, yet loves me still. He loves me enough that he died for me, he stretched his arms out wide, accepting my sin and my shame as his own. He stretched his arms out wide to embrace me as a father would his child who has come home, and daily, constantly beckons, "come daughter, come."
How is my life? It is good, very very good.
Feb 5, 2007
One More Reason to Love Tony Dungy
Tony Dungy, the head coach of the Colts, is a class act. Check out this article about him. Mainly, it's the fact he said the following on national television. If only there were more class acts like Coach Dungy and his friend Lovie Smith.
"I'm proud to be the first African-American coach to win this," Dungy said during the trophy ceremony. "But again, more than anything, Lovie Smith and I are not only African-American but also Christian coaches, showing you can do it the Lord's way. We're more proud of that."
"I'm proud to be the first African-American coach to win this," Dungy said during the trophy ceremony. "But again, more than anything, Lovie Smith and I are not only African-American but also Christian coaches, showing you can do it the Lord's way. We're more proud of that."
Feb 2, 2007
I am strong...I am invincible...I am woman
It's official, I have lost my freakin' mind. Yesterday, I took some pictures, of myself. Why? One of the trainers I work with has new business cards, of herself showing off her nice abs. So, I wanted to see if I could pull off a picture similar. Abs, not so much, back and shoulders? Oh yea. I was expecting to be a bit depressed, not the least bit happy, and maybe even a little afraid of what the picture may come out like. However, I was pleased. In one snap of a photo, I suddenly became quite proud of my body's strength, and even, just a little bit, of its build. Who knew a picture had the power to actually make me feel really good about myself? And just because I have lost my mind, here it is (Wonder what Andy will think...):
.JPG)
.JPG)
Feb 1, 2007
what a bunch of crap
I just listened to Tara Conner give her oh so sad story about how lucky she is to have a second chance, how it's really not her fault. And therein lies the problem, at one point does she take responsibility?!?! She blames the mess she created on all kinds of other things. But truly, she's an adult, and she made a choice. She got to go to rehab, which she claims she "loved," and is now more famous than before. That's great people, that's just the kind of message we want to send kids. "Don't worry, it's not your fault. Poor you, we'll give you a hug, send you for help, but don't worry, there will be no consequences for any of your actions." Does that sound crazy to anyone else but me?!?!
Forgiveness, yes. A world void of consequences? Jesus just better come on and take me now.
Forgiveness, yes. A world void of consequences? Jesus just better come on and take me now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
