"It's a Festivus Miracle"

There is no way to separate my beliefs from my personality even though I wish I could when it comes to certain subjects.  Christmas is one of them.  One of the things my Atheist friends like to remind me of is that Christmas and its traditions have their origins in Pagan holidays.  This actually helps my personal dilemma because I become much more pagan than Christian this time of year. 

Oh yes, I do my part in trying to minimize the supposed “War on Christmas”, which by the way I think is as made up as the supposed political “War on Women”.  I say, “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays,” as if this practice will convert a non-believer.   I send out cards with scripture and pictures of kings on camels, instead of funny drunk Santa falling out of his sleigh cards.  I do all this in an attempt to better secure my position as a Christian celebrating the birth of Christ which is, as all the church signs currently read, “The Reason for the Season”. 

But alas, I fail every year and fall back to my Paganistic ways.  I eat too much then feel really guilty about it.  I stress about not getting my house decorated early enough, as if there is a deadline by which I lose my decorating privileges if I miss it.  Then there is the not-so Christ-like behavior of saving money for weeks, then wracking my brains for gift ideas, getting into traffic and crowds of people to spend all that money on stuff that I could get any time of the year so that my loved ones will truly know how much I love them (while fighting the fear that if I fail in this mission, they might think I don’t love them at all).  Every year there is a conflict within myself all season. “Do I buy that cheesy Christmas sweater or not?”  I cut out every new cookie and candy recipe presented in Southern Living magazine with heartfelt intentions but rarely actual execution.  The whole time in the back of my head there lies quietly like a snake in the grass, the anxiety of the inevitable conclusion that I will have to spend time with people that I can’t stand to be around and wonder which one of them will be the one to ruin Christmas this year.  Are you starting to see why there is a battle between who I want to be, a wholly devoted follower of Christ, and who I actually become, a Christmas Nazi that asks Santa for a prescription of Xanax in my stocking on Christmas morning?

With all that said, I feel the need to share a bit of soul searching I’ve been doing this year.  It occurs to me that if I were truly concerned with being Christ-like I would be doing exactly NONE of these things.  It also occurs to me that if this insane behavior is the measure of how devoted I am to Christ, then wouldn’t that relieve all non or occasional believers from the obligation?  I mean I understand that non-Christians, occasional Christians and even Atheists want to be a part of the secular celebration that is about promoting peace on earth and goodwill toward men.  But if you didn’t feel any compulsion to worship or pray regularly, devote yourself to Christ, or avoid any talk of God except in times of crisis, wouldn’t you feel completely relieved at knowing that you didn’t HAVE to worry yourself in any of the afore mentioned “Christmas” lunacy?  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those Christians offended by everyone celebrating the birth of Christ even if they only believe in him one day a year.  On the contrary, I don’t find it in the least bit hypocritical, I am excited and moved by it.  You know, believing in Christmas miracles and all (even though I believe that God performs miracles the other 364 days of the year as well).  No I believe that ANYONE and EVERYONE should celebrate, I just don’t understand why you would put yourself through it all if you didn’t truly believe in it.  For example I don’t fast during Ramadan, even though I support my Muslim friends in doing so.  I don’t celebrate Rosh Hashana, but I am excited for my Jewish friends that do.  Are you starting to see my point?  This isn’t a pious moral statement as much as it is about common sense.  If suicide, alcoholism, drug abuse, domestic violence and prescription drug use all go up this time of year, why don’t we realize that we don’t HAVE to put ourselves under that kind of pressure?

So I am offering an alternative.  Whether you are an occasional Christian, a non-believer, or even someone that loves the Lord but hates “The Holiday Season”, (which sometimes makes me feel like a Doe during “Deer Season”), there is hope for us all.  I propose that since we are uncertain of the actual date of the birth of Christ that Christians move the celebration to some obscure day like say January 17^th at which time we can quietly and sincerely celebrate the day of Jesus birth, then change the December holiday to Festivus.  If you are not familiar with this holiday, you only have to go back to the TV show Seinfeld and George Costanza’s father, Frank, who made up the holiday as an alternative to celebrating Christmas.  “It’s a Festivus for the rest of us”, he would say.  They would put out the Festivus pole but it did not require decoration.  They would have the Festivus feast, which would begin with the annual tradition of “The Airing of Grievances” where you told everyone at the dinner table your problems with them.  The pinnacle of the holiday was in the “Feats of Strength Ceremony”.  Now THAT’S a holiday worth getting pagan about. 

By now you have sensed the sarcasm flowing throughout this post, but there are a few things that I am serious about.  One is that I am ashamed of the way I join in the chaos and swarming cockroach-like behavior of my fellow Americans (and fellow Christians) at Christmas.  There will be an earnest attempt at seeking redemption for this in the future.  My family should note that next year’s Christmas tree may resemble an aluminum pole and gifts might be in the form of warm fuzzy encouragements written on sticky notes stuck to it.  Second is the realization that as a Christian I want to take ownership of this holiday, but as a wholly devoted follower of Christ, I MUST share its meaning and ideals with everyone.  We as Christians have self-righteously espoused the notion that only true believers should have the right to celebrate and that all others are hypocritical haters that don’t deserve to even say the word Christmas.  But this is not how Jesus operated.  He not only welcomed ALL to his message of love and hope, he prayed for forgiveness for those that were involved in his crucifixion.  That’s love.  If we, as Christians, can’t share the holiday where we celebrate the birth of Jesus, even with those that don’t seem to show the same reverence that we would like them to, how can we truly show them the love that Jesus was born to show?  In other words, they (or in most cases we) may not be doing Christmas right, but we should not be judging them instead we should be SHOWING them.  Do you hear me, Christians?  Stop getting indignant about nativity scenes on courthouse lawns and start putting that time and energy into showing His love!!

I will vow to stop the Christmas insanity in my own life and do more of the love showing as well.  In the meantime, I’m going to start shopping for next year’s Festivus sweater, and try to decide if this is the year to get a real or artificial pole. 

                                                Merry Christmas and Happy Festivus!  

Lettuce Give Thanks

This Thanksgiving’s Facebook trend is to post a new status update every day in November stating the things for which we are Thankful.  This is a warm and fuzzy way for us to tell the world how thankful we are for our families, our homes, our health, etc.  So in my usual fashion I thought it would be fun to do this same exercise, but to state what I am REALLY REALLY thankful for.  You know, the stuff that makes you happy, but you are too embarrassed or ashamed to say?  You know what I’m talking about.  Here Goes:

Day #1:  Let’s get this started off right.  I’m thankful for “know it all” people because it brings me such joy (and gratitude) to point out to them what they do not know. 

Day #2:   I’m thankful for Ibuprofen. 

Day #3:   Ever so thankful for McDonalds French fries.  I am SO grateful for this particular comfort food that I actually thank THEM as I am driving down the road, shoving 10 at a time into my mouth.   

Day #4:  Thankful for the Hot Water Heater.

Day #5:  Thankful for the lady that keeps my hair brown (thanks Faith)

Day #6:  I cannot tell you how thankful I am for Si and Jase Robertson from Duck Dynasty.  They make me Happy Happy Happy.

Day 7:  SO VERY thankful that this maddening election is over.  I’m exhausted and couldn’t take one more day.

Day 8:  Incredibly thankful for my big flat screen TV.  Seriously, now that the election coverage is over, I’m no longer afraid to turn it on. 

Day 9:  If I lived in a remote village in Africa I might have to walk a mile and a half just for water.  As it is, I drive a mile and half to QuikTrip for any beverage I can buy.  For this I am extremely thankful. 

Day 10:  Which reminds me, thank YOU QuikTrip Cappuccino for $1.29…..Ooooohhhh Yeah!

Day 11:   I’m grateful for clothes.  Imagine how awkward our lives would be without them AND leather car seats in the 115 degree Oklahoma heat would be immensely painful. 

     This entire next week is dedicated to our brave and heroic civil servants:

Day 12:  I am very thankful for police officers when they pull over the guy that just cut in front of me and sped through the red light.  BOOM! 

Day 13:  Grateful for the Firefighters that pose for calendars and collect money on street corners over Labor Day weekend.   I mean, I’m grateful for the work they do too.

Day 14:  Thankful for all the brave military men, women and their families that sacrifice so much for my safety.  Also grateful for those tearful videos where they surprise their families when they return from deployment.  It puts things into perspective for me.

Day 15:  Thankful for Trash Collectors.  It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.  Thankful it’s not me.

Day 16:  Believe it or not I am thankful for Politicians.  Without your example of poor morals and no integrity, how would we know what NOT to do in life?

Day 17:  Ambulance drivers.  Sadly no one wants to be with you, but when we need you we are very thankful that you are there.

     Now, on to more serious things to be thankful for.

Day 18:  I could not be more thankful for the fact that the LAST Twilight movie was made.  I no longer have to worry about Edward or Bella, whoever they are.

Day 19:  Thankful for Indian Casinos.  I don’t patronize them because I’m too cheap, but I am grateful that the Indian Nations are able to take something from the white man for a change……..his money!

Day 20:  Gratuitous Warm Fuzzy alert!  I am very thankful for my husband who makes me laugh, my kids who bring me joy, my granddaughter who helps me remember the good things in life, my extended family who keep me grounded and my friends that tolerate me even when I am utterly intolerable. 

Day 21:  Thanksgiving holiday means food, family and football.  I am so grateful for food and football……….oops and family.

Day 22:  Tryptophan is my friend and I am thankful for it. 

Day 23:  Thank you www.peopleofwalmart.com

Day 24:  Very thankful for the Wal-Mart pharmacy drive-thru, or for anything that keeps me from actually going IN to Wal-Mart.

Day 25:  I am thankful for big corporations.  You might be accused of being greedy and evil, but I am so glad that instead of having to chop wood every day to keep my house warm, you make it possible for me to simply walk in the other room and push a button. 

Day 26:  Caller ID……THANK YOU!!

Day 27:  Thankful for people that put their Christmas lights up BEFORE Thanksgiving.  (insert sarcastic tone here).  That must mean that they are super-duper devoted Christians.

Day 28:  I am very grateful for entertainment awards shows.  I mean it’s not enough that we idolize, stroke the egos of, and pay these people zillions of dollars to entertain us.  They really do deserve to receive awards every year too.

Day 29:  Have I mentioned how thankful I am for Duck Dynasty? 

Day 30:  Last but not least, I am thankful that “No shave November” is now over and all those scruffy people will be clean shaven again.  (Except for the Duck Commander clan…..you’ve got to respect the beards.)

Hello, my name is __________

“Hello, my name is Karen.  Please allow me to introduce myself.  I am one of the other 6 Billion people inhabiting the planet with you”.  I have actually said this line to a stranger because they were acting as if they were the only person in the world.  Yes I am ashamed to say I am THAT sarcastic and confrontational.  But in my defense, this particular incident was incredibly irritating and I was no doubt having a bad day.  I have become increasingly aware of how people live inside their own little worlds without any regard to the fact that there are other people walking the earth with them.  There are hundreds of examples of this observed throughout any given day.  I hope I don’t offend anyone with these examples, but if the shoe fits……..

There is the dude that sits in the drive thru ATM balancing his checkbook after receiving his cash, while there are four cars behind him in line waiting.  If this is you, please don’t be alarmed when I knock on your window to “introduce myself”.  Then there is the lady that loudly continues her cell phone conversation while going through the checkout at Target.  My favorite response to this, is to stand uncomfortably close to her and start talking REALLY loud to the person I’m with.   Te he he.  Oh yes, and you mom’s that can walk around the grocery store ignoring your screaming child, please know that the rest of us in the store don’t have that de-sensitized hearing, and this is very troubling to us.  If you and your screaming child are moseying down aisle 2 and I can hear you from aisle 18, then you are definitely getting the stink eye from me if not worse.  I don’t mean to be ugly to my fellow mommies, but HELLO!!!!  Take your screaming kid to the bathroom.  DUH!  Does this really have to be said?  Hey don’t get upset with me for stating the obvious, I’m a mom, I can say these things.  Let’s not ignore the plethora of ways people drive in their own world.  For example, traffic lights and speed limits are not merely suggestion’s, they are laws that apply to everyone, even those of you who mistakenly think that your time is more important than anyone else’s.  If you are one of those people that are above waiting in a long line of construction traffic and feel like you are entitled to pass everyone and cut in front of the line at the last possible moment, I know who you are and I know where you live and you might just get a rather unpleasant “introduction” one of these days.  You drivers of vehicles so fragile that you must take up three parking spaces at the front of the drugstore so no one will accidentally breath on your precious baby, well my sick child that needs medicine from that store trumps your pile of shining metal any day, so you can park in one space like everyone else.  If you walk by three trash cans and then throw your candy wrapper on the ground, not only are you confirming that you are a slob, but you have just shown that you are not quite as smart as the monkeys in the zoo.  Oh yes, I keep forgetting, when you live in a world with population one, you don’t really have to be concerned about anyone else’s needs.

 It may come across in the written word as if I am angry or bitter, however, that is truly not the case.  Although I have found myself to be somewhat irked by these behaviors, the truth is, anger is not the driving force here.  I feel it is my civic duty to point out to "the inconsiderate" just how their actions affect others and how their little world could be a better place with a bit of a reality check.  You see, I believe that we are all put on the planet together for a reason.  That reason is not to walk around with blinders on pretending to be the only one here.  I find it so fascinating and ironic that most people spend half of their time worrying about what others think and the other half of their time completely ignoring other people altogether.  That just doesn’t make sense. 

My husband does the most awesome thing when it comes to acknowledging the needs of others.  Whenever he is somewhere like the checkout line at Wal-Mart, or the drive-thru at Wendy’s, he ALWAYS glances at the worker’s name tag and then proceeds to greet them and call them by name, usually asking them how their day is going.  They are often surprised that someone has taken the time to notice their name and then spoke kindly to them.  I’ve always thought this was such a cool thing.  He will say that he does it to brighten someone’s day, but I secretly think he does it so that those hard working folks know that HE knows they exist.  He’s not perfect but he is almost always aware and considerate of the people around him.  So much so, that he doesn’t like to make a waitress “wait” on us when she is ready to take our order.  He pushes us to have our order ready when she comes to the table.  He gets a lot of ribbing about that…….”yeah dad, we don’t want to make the waitress wait”, but he honestly wants to do what he can to make someone else’s life a little easier.  That’s probably why I married him.  Wouldn’t the world be a great place if everyone had a little of that attitude?

ANYWAY, the number of inconsiderate behaviors is as large as the world’s current population which is headed toward 7 billion.  Of course the me that you have come to know, wants to point out and correct all the times that people forget they are among others, with snarky remarks like, “what color is the sky in your world?” or “hey, it’s your world, I’m just living in it”, but the part of me that wants to serve them takes a moment to reflect. 

I have concluded over time that it is much easier to live a life that is seemingly secluded from the rest of humanity.  The problem with that is when you co-exist within it; there is an inevitable clash of interests.  It takes effort, patience, and a bit of enlightenment to regularly consider the needs of others.  The problem with walking around with blinders on is that the world is passing by in your peripheral vision.  Yes we might do something considerate for someone and risk them not being grateful; yes we may follow the speed limit and watch as the speeder goes by without getting pulled over; yes if we call the store clerk by name and inquire about their well being, there is a chance that they might talk too long or misinterpret our actions as creepy.  But we will have helped someone out, done the right thing, and may have given someone a lift.  How great is that?

It is now time to go out into the world with eyes wide open.  Speak to the person that is serving you,  pay attention to where you park, keep your children in check (at least in public), and for Pete’s sake, pull out of the ATM drive-thru line before you start balancing your checkbook.  You never know, this new way of life might bring you all sorts of peace and contentment.  The point is there are more people in this wonderful world besides just you so enjoy them and please be considerate of them.  If that is just not possible for you, then hopefully you will be “introduced” to everyone else that reads this post.

 

"Is this heaven?......."

If  Big Mac, The Sultan of Swat, The Wizard of Oz, The Rocket, or the Georgia Peach remind you of a sandwich, an Arabic King, an old movie, NASA, or a southern belle, you probably won't make a connection with this post.  If you immediately recognize this list as nicknames for Mark McGuire, Babe Ruth, Ozzie Smith, Roger Clemmens, and Ty Cobb, you are no doubt realizing that I want to talk about baseball.  Out of concern for my non-baseball loving readers, I would like to say that this post is not entirely about the game so even if you are not a fan I would encourage you to join in the fun.  If you have already dismissed this because I am a girl and therefore have no credibility to discuss such sacred things, then you are cordially invited to leave now.  There may be "no crying in baseball" but girls love the game for many reasons besides just the eye candy.

With the coming of October, many people start thinking about hayrides, colorful leaves and halloween, but I think about baseball.  Yes, I realize it is the end of the season, but for many it is the best time to be a fan.  The race for the pennant and the ensuing World Series are the pinacle of virtually every baseball dream ever dreamed.  This year as I contemplated the impending post-season, I began to consider the only thing that baseball fans feel as passionate about as their favorite teams and that is their favorite baseball movies.  If baseball is America's favorite pastime, then baseball movies are what Americans do in the off season.  Since the early days of the game, people have been so beguiled by it, that watching or playing was not enough.  They had to write stories, sing songs and make movies about it.  As early as 1899, Edison made a short film of the poem "Casey at the Bat".  Since then there have been, according to my exhaustive internet research, approximately 210 movies made with baseball as the primary subject matter, dating back to the early 20th century.   Compared to 119 football movies or 51 movies about golf......which would actually be 51 really good naps for me.   No matter how you look at it, we love our baseball and we love watching movies about our baseball. 

There are too many great baseball movies to discuss in any detail, so in an effort to determine which movies most people would want to talk about I set out to do more research.  In yet another high-tech, scientific, double-blind survey I tried to determine which are the all-time best baseball movies.  Sadly I did not achieve my goal.  You see, if you ask a fan who their favorite baseball team or player is, they will answer automatically with a great deal of passion.  But asking that same fan which is their favorite baseball movie, is like asking them which french fry in their large order is their favorite, or which of their children is their favorite.  They simply cannot choose.  I did, however, narrow it down to just a few all time fan favorites.  Before I get into those I want to give a nod to the funny, light-hearted, or satirical movies such as Major League, Angels in the Outfield, Rookie of the Year and The Bad News Bears.  I loved each of these movies at different times and for different reasons and will never stop watching them. 

On a personal note, I love the game of baseball because of my Dad.  I started playing girls fastpitch softball at the age of 9 and he was my coach until I quit playing in high school.  I was never a really great player, but because of him, I loved it.  Like many people, I can make an extremely personal connection with high points in my life that are intertwined to the game.  The best parts of my relationship with my dad revolved around baseball.  When we weren't on the field together, we attanded games whenever we could.  We watched games on T.V. and listened to them on the radio.  He understood what it meant to have it get under your skin.  To know the stats of every player on your favorite team and to be able to quote the batting averages of all major players back to the 1950's.  To remember the smell of the dirt and bubble gum, to hear the metal cleats on concrete or to feel the rumble of the stadium when the crowd goes crazy. (This would be a great time to watch the above video, just for affect).  It is the desire to hang on to memories like these that compel us to let our imagination be carried away for 90 minutes in front of a screen, living through someone else's experience.  So with all that said (I managed to get through that without shedding a tear......it's a miracle) I would like to state my top six baseball movies in no particular order. I'm using the random number six because I simply can't narrow it down any more than that.

 The Sandlot, is not only funny and light-hearted, but it gets to the bones of the game.  Almost every baseball fan started playing (or as in my case, attempting to play) as a little kid.  My favorite character is "Ham" because he acted just like a real catcher....all smack talk and attitude.  The Sandlot is not just a movie about kids playing baseball, but about how the kid's lives were forever changed because of the game.  It's a clean movie, pure with a few scandelous moments, just like the real game.  I mean, come on, who hasn't uttered the phrase, "You're killin me Smalls"! 

Kevin Costner made the list twice with "For Love of the Game" and "Field of Dreams".  Both of these movies are classic stories of men who loved the game and I love them both.  It's not just because Kevin Costner is in them, although that could be reason enough.  No, we love these characters and root for who they become because of baseball.  "A League of Their Own" is an obvious choice, not just because it starred Madonna (that was sarcasm) but because it IS about girls playing Major League baseball.  Some of the greatest movie lines came from that movie such as the ever famous, "There's no crying in baseball!", "Dirt in the skirt" and the ironic and inappropriate prayer from coach Jimmy Dugan before the championship game, "Dear Lord, may our feet be swift, may our bats me mighty and may our balls......be plentiful".   I have to say one of my all-time favorites is "The Rookie".  This is the stuff of baseball.  The fact that it's based on a true story only adds to its charm.  Dennis Quaid does an OUTSTANDING job of playing a humble man that seems utterly confused about the idea that he is back in the game after so many years.  This is the kind of dream that only a baseball lover can dream.  Besides, it's a Disney movie, how can you go wrong?

Now for the moment of truth, my all time favorite baseball movie is "The Natural" with Robert Redford.  Again, not just because it's Robert Redford, although I'm pretty sure that's why a lot of women like it.  It was also one of my Dad's favorite movies.  It has all the elements that make a great baseball movie:  there is a connection to Babe Ruth, it takes place during an era when attending a game was a high end social event, there is tragedy, triumph, good versus evil, and let's not forget the epic Soundtrack that soars your goose bumps to new heights at precisely the moment the homerun ball explodes into the stadium lights.  Roy Hobbs has the making of a baseball hero, the likes of which any admiring young dreamer could set their hopes on. ***sigh**** just thinking about it makes me wants to cheer and cry all at once.  OK, I know this flowery sentiment doesn't sound much like me but this is what talking about baseball, or in this case baseball movies, does to me. 

After my Dad passed away in the mid-nineties, I sort of fell away from following baseball on a regular basis.  I check in every year around September to see which teams are how many games out and what to expect in the World Series.  I hadn't lost my love for the game, simply found it too difficult to celebrate without him.  The movies, however, have kept my heart open and after writing this post I'm thinking it's time to make my way out of the bullpen and back on the field, metaphorically speaking of course.  I miss him terribly, but in our mutual love for the game of baseball, he left a legacy that will keep me connected to him for eternity.  Someday I hope to be with him listening to Harry Carry call a game while we sit with Bobby Thomson as he tells us about "the shot heard round the world".  Until then, I will watch the movies that make us all want to cheer, eat hotdogs and sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" and dream about the day I can once again (like in Field of Dreams) have a catch with my dad.  

The Stand In

There is a 50% chance that you are a daughter.  If not, there is an even greater chance that you have a daughter, are married to a daughter, have a sister who is a daughter or if nothing else, you’ve had a mom who was a daughter.  By now you have, no doubt, figured out the topic for today.  Guys don’t make assumptions that this post will be a squishy, feely, chick thing.  This topic does affect you so you might want to give it a chance.

There are three girls in my life that are known as my daughters; one bio, one step and one grand.  I love them all whole heartedly and I hope someday to have an in-law and more grands, but I will try to be patient.  In addition to the daughters that I share my DNA or my last name with, there are some young girls that I consider to be my daughters, even if the state of Oklahoma or biology does not.  These girls bring me joy, pride, love and even the occasional heartache just like any daughters.  They were born daughters to others, but God has blessed me with the opportunity to help nurture and encourage them.  For this awesome gift, I am truly grateful.   However, the gift has come with a heartbreaking realization that not every daughter is cherished as she should be.  You see, I was brought into this world and raised by a mom who was fantastic at her job.  She was, and still is, loving, selfless and totally devoted to her children, three of which are daughters.  So it came as a complete shock to me that there are women who bring daughters into the world and then quit.  They don’t show love, they don’t cherish, they don’t mom.  This was completely incomprehensible to me.  Unfortunately our society has become somewhat accustomed to dads that aren’t there, but moms?  Uh, uh….NO….this isn’t supposed to happen.  Moms throw themselves in the path of danger to protect their babies, moms don’t eat so their kids can, moms wear thrift store clothes so their daughters can wear mall store clothes.  Which leads me to ask the question, “What kind of woman can walk away from her daughter”? 

Before you start thinking that I am being overly judgmental and must be utterly insensitive to the struggles of women, let me explain a few things.  I know that some women struggle with life to the point that it becomes too difficult for them to be who their daughters needs them to be.  When these women are true moms, they make the heart-wrenching, courageous decision to allow someone else to step in to be a temporary mom.  When these struggling women dig deep, and fight for the sake of their daughters, they will eventually overcome the struggles to be reunited with them, and rightfully so.  I have seen this story up close and I can tell you, it is a most precious thing.  These moms are true moms.

I’m most disturbed by the dead-beat moms, the women that give in to their struggles.  The women whose daughters ache to be a part of their lives, but there is just no room.  I have seen the pain in these daughter’s eyes.  I have held them on mother’s day when they cried.  They only want what every daughter wants.  They long to compare the lines of their hands with their mom’s hands, to learn their great-grandmother’s meatloaf recipe, to go shopping for their prom dress, to cry on her shoulder after their first broken heart.  Do these women even know what they are missing? It makes me so angry that I want to get right in their faces and scream, “what is wrong with you….you don’t deserve her”!  I apologize for the outburst, but how can you not feel the same way?

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is in Luke 8:43-48 when Jesus healed a woman that had been suffering and alone for twelve years.  She had faith that he would heal her and he did.  Afterwards, he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well, go in peace”.  It was the only time in the bible that he addressed someone as daughter, so he must have known how special it was.   He knew that she was lonely and hurting and needed to feel like someone’s daughter.  He has a way of knowing these things.

There are some really great guys in this mix that have stepped up and taken on the role of mom and dad.  There are some awesome grandparents that parent.  Some extended families that have gone above and beyond.  Suffice it to say these girls are cared for by many and shrouded in love.  They are good girls that have hope in a future of happiness in spite of the pain they cope with.  They are brave in the face of adversity and yet I know them well enough to know that there is still an emptiness in their hearts that can’t be filled.  I will not stop trying to fill it.

 As I said, I’m grateful for the opportunity to be a stand in mom to some really special girls.  There are most likely times when they wish I wasn’t quite so motherly, but they know it comes from the heart.  I’m not the only woman that God has placed in their lives and I hope that they see his provision as a means to show his love for them.  As for the women that can’t seem to overcome their struggles and have disappointed their daughters, there is a large part of me that wants to punch them in the uterus followed by a round-house kick to the throat (that’s for the guys).  But the part of me that wants to love like Jesus does, knows that those women are also daughters.  They are broken and they may not be doing the mom thing right, but they are worthy to be loved like all daughters are.  Maybe, with the help of some stand-in moms, these girls will grow to be strong women and can teach their own moms how to love, and cherish them.  Hopefully, with God’s love as their guide, they will all know what it means to be called daughter. 

THAT’S IT!!!!  I love you girls!

The WOOH Guy

Having been raised in a Southern Baptist Church during the 1970’s and 80’s, I tend to experience a bit of distress whenever someone gets too loud or “irreverent” in church.  It wasn’t too many years ago, when even clapping was frowned upon to show appreciation for a song, or as a response to a lively point in the sermon.  No sir, not even a spine tingling rendition of How Great Thou Art would invoke applause.  When the choir lady belted out the last high note, there were nods, smiles and maybe a few subtle “amen’s” from the deacons, but absolutely NO cheering or clapping.  No wonder I fell asleep so often.   For many years this practice confused me.  You see, I was allowed to clap, WOOHhoo, fist pump and jump up and down at my high school football game or at the Van Halen concert, but the next morning at church I was not to show God that same kind of enthusiasm.  We could WOOH for our Quarterback or for David Lee Roth, but not for God?  It didn’t make sense to me.  I will address the Van Halen years in some other blog, but for now it just makes a good illustration. 

I have made no secret about the fact that I watch a lot of bad television.  At the top of my list is the Dr. Phil show.  For that matter, I’ll watch almost anything filmed before a live studio audience, (except for Jerry Springer, which is too bad even for me).  At the end of every show, the audience claps and WOOH’s, WOOH’s and claps all the way through the goodbye’s of the host and all those closing credits.  Everyone knows about the “APPLAUSE” sign that comes on to tell the audience when to clap, but these audiences were taking it to a crazy new level.  They would carry on a LOT longer than they would have naturally.  So I asked myself what makes them continue on, when you can see in their faces that they want to stop?  One day when watching attentively as Dr. Phil walked across the stage to retrieve his bride, Robin, before exiting the studio, I noticed that every time the audience applause would start to fade, someone in the background, off camera, would begin to WOOH, which would result in the audience spontaneously following into more WOOH’s and bigger applause.  This happened time and time again.  Not just on the Dr. Phil show, but many others as well.  The Price is Right, Dr. OZ, they all had this mysterious WOOH guy that would keep the audience inspired to keep going.  This sort of makes sense, because no one wants to watch a show where the audience quits clapping and starts putting on their coats to leave.  No, we want to see these people excited, positive, and enjoying themselves.  Then we will surely tune-in again tomorrow to find out how Lindsey Lohan’s stepbrother is coping with the failure of his second tell-all book. 

I began to think about what life would be like if we each had our own WOOH guy.  Wouldn’t that be fantastic?  When we’re suffering on the fifth day of that sinus infection and want to give up, he pops out and starts cheering and clapping to help us want to keep going?  When trying on the 13^th pair of jeans that still won’t fit, she would WOOH and clap us right out there to try on just one more.  When our marriage starts to stale, our jobs get unbearable, kids make us nuts or our finances simply won’t cooperate, our WOOH guy lifts us up with some well placed “WOOHOO’s” or a “You can do this!” just to keep us going for one more day. 

It turns out we do have a WOOH guy.  Just like in the T.V. shows, he stays out of the limelight, but when you know him, you are aware of his presence.  I know this sounds a bit crazy, but when we lean on the Lord for our strength, he is there to lift us up and remind us that we CAN make it a little longer.  When Paul said, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” Phil. 4:13, he was reminding us that Jesus is our WOOH guy.  He didn’t walk among us, give his life for us and provide us with eternal salvation just so we could live our lives defeated and tired.  He wants to be there for us, to encourage us, to help us keep going until we will be with him always.  He told us, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me…. I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 14:1;16:33)  To me, this is the same as saying, WOOHOOOO (fist pump) WOOHf WOOHf WOOHf, You Go Girl, We Will…We Will..Rock You!!!  You get the picture.  I’m thinking about telling the world about this revelation.  I mean if Ashton Kutcher can wear a ball cap that says, “Jesus is my Homeboy”, then I can where a T-shirt that says, “Jesus is my WOOH guy!” 

I’m not recommending that you stand up in the middle of a church service and start cheering and clapping, because that would get you an automatic glare from the nearest church lady.  But I do think that we can show our WOOH guy how much we love him by having the same amount of pride and enthusiasm in our relationship with him, as we do in our love for our football team or for Van Halen, or .38 Special, or Toby Mac.  Again, you get the picture.  So the next time you are watching a show that was filmed before a live studio audience, listen for the WOOH guy and remember, that no one can cheer you on better than the one true WOOH guy.  He is the way, the truth and life or as I like to think of him, the WOOH, the truth and the life!

Six Hundred Ninety-Five Thousand Three Hundred Ninety-One

695,391

This isn’t just any random number.  For one thing, it is the population of Memphis, TN.   It is the number of feet in 131 miles.  It is the number of minutes in one year and four months.  It is the cost of the new football stadium scoreboard at our local public high school.   It is the number of square kilometers in the state of Texas.  Wait…what?  Yes I said that right. It IS the cost of the new football stadium scoreboard at our local public high school.  No not the cost of the football stadium, the cost of the scoreboard.  In case you missed it, that number was $695,391.00.

There are a variety of things one could think or feel upon hearing this.  Perhaps shock, incredulity, even anger, but if your reaction was something more along the lines of pride or envy, I’ll give you a warning, this won’t be pleasant for you.   The first thing I have to come to terms with is that, being on the wrong side of a popular way of thinking immediately puts me in the category of “kook”, “closed-minded”, or the ole’ “poor thing just doesn’t get it”.  As if the fact that I disagree with the populace must mean that I am an angry, bitter radical that hates any form of fun.  But the truth is, I have had more fun with this particular subject than I’ve had in a long time.  In fact, thinking about spending nearly $700,000 on a high school field scoreboard makes me laugh till I get the hiccups.  Since there are roughly 85,000 people in this town, one can assume that there are roughly 85,000 differing opinions on the topic.  Mine is just one of those.    

There is the obvious opposition to spending $695,391.00 on a freakishly oversized metal structure with LED readouts that displas the score for all of twelve varsity and JV football home games a year.  The opposition might make the point that since the national average salary for a high school teacher is $43,000 a year, the school could employ many more teachers for that $695,391.00.  Just in case you got more math practice watching the scoreboard at football games than in your math class, it means the school could employ 16 additional high school teachers for a year.  OR every teacher in the entire district could receive a $750.00 Christmas bonus.  Maybe with that money, a program could be funded that teaches parents the importance of being fully engaged in their children’s education and not simply their extra-curricular activities.  Heck, we could hire scantily clad Hooter’s girls to strut around carrying huge number cards to display the score, for a fraction of the cost of this scoreboard……and it would make more sense.    

What is not so obvious is the subtle, slow, creeping acceptance that it is not only OK, but that it is necessary to spend this kind of money on something so insignificant.   Yes I said insignificant.  Let’s be painfully honest for a moment.  In the big picture of life, the scoreboard at your high school’s football field is not likely to be included in many of the defining moments of your life.  If it is, then you should seriously think about broadening your horizons.  Awkward!

Again, let me reiterate that it is not High School football that I have a problem with.  Actually I love it.  The screaming fans, the marching bands, the rivalry, the sense of community.  The old drunk fat guy with boundary issues sitting behind you.  The smell of pot smoke wafting up from underneath the bleachers.  These are the things that make America great.  BUT, I fear that spending $695,391.00 on a scoreboard cheapens the game, makes a mockery of it, says to the opposing team, “we can’t seem to make our team be any better, but boy howdy look at our scoreboard”.   Why not spend a measly $100,000 on a scoreboard and the other $590,000.00 on something that makes more sense, like heated stadium seats or valet parking.  I know this seems pretty absurd, but sometimes it takes the absurd to illustrate the absurd.  By my kooky, closed-minded, confused way of thinking, not much is more absurd than building a high school football scoreboard that costs (say it with me now) $695,391. 

I acknowledge the proponent’s justification that the money was donated by sponsoring corporations as well as other donations and not from tax-payer dollars.  They will also say that the football program is a big draw for other sponsors and therefore the money spent was worth it. Or that the behemoth collection of glowing lights will flash images of advertisements so large and bright that people prone to seizures will have to look away, and those advertisements will eventually pay for the scoreboard.   As soon as my wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare at their silly justifications has passed, I realize that laughter is the only logical reaction.  So there ya have it.  I may be finished with this particular rant, but this is far from over.  I will periodically be reporting in on all the things that one can do with $695,391.00 that WON’T make our town appear that we are showing out, or overcompensating, or simply saying, “mine is bigger than yours”.  Interpret that however you want.  I was talking about the scoreboard. 

Powwows and Hurricanes

When you meet someone for the first time and you ask them where they are from, they are most likely going to tell you the place that they were born, or maybe the place they consider home.  The place they go to visit Grandma and Grandpa or the place with the sights and smells, to which most of their memories drift.  Home, for me, is and always has been Oklahoma.  Having lived in or just outside of Tulsa County my entire life, I have developed some pretty strong opinions on what it means to be an Oklahoman.  But when asked what part of the country Oklahoma is in, there is usually a pause, followed by a furrowed brow, and confused eye shift because it is very difficult to define. 

Since the state is geographically located close to the middle of the country, it is sometimes considered a Midwest state.  Like its true Midwestern neighbors, there is plenty of agriculture, a lot of middle class working people, and an unabashed love of America.  Oklahomans have gotten their kicks on Route 66, just like our neighbors from St. Louis and Chicago.  However, about the time you start to get comfortable with the notion of being Midwestern, you look down at the strikingly bright red orange dirt on your cowboy boots and realize you’re not in Kansas anymore. 

I believe there is an imaginary line cutting across the Oklahoma plains, that when crossed, changes the ground from normal dirt color to the magnificent red-orange that covers two-thirds of the western part of the state.  I’m sure there is some sort of lengthy scientific explanation for it, but all I really know is that Moms all over western Oklahoma grimace at having to wash those stains out of white socks.  I found it easier to throw them away.   The red dirt and flat open land is probably one reason that many people associate Oklahoma with the West.  As a child, when I would travel to Ohio to visit family, the children in the neighborhood would ask me if I knew any Indians and if there were tumbleweeds blowing down my street.  I would have sarcastically replied that I smoked a peace-pipe just last week while getting our family wagon recovered.  Considering all this, it’s no wonder people think we are a Western state.

Since part of this land was named “Indian Territory” until just over a hundred years ago, the culture of the Indian Nations, from the more well known Cherokee and Creek to the lesser known tribes, have left a footprint on Oklahoma like no other.  There is a tragic history linked to how the Five Civilized Tribes came to call Oklahoma their home.  The Trail of Tears as it came to be known is probably one of the most difficult memories in the history of these proud people.  Their ability to endure and flourish nearly two hundred years later is a testament to their spirit.  I have always been proud of Oklahoma’s Indian heritage but I am painfully aware that many generations before me were not.  In spite of what they’ve had to overcome, many Indian Nations call Oklahoma home and for that I am grateful. 

 I have traveled around the country a bit and have established MY own opinion of where Oklahoma fits into the fabric of this great nation.  I believe we can and should be considered Southern.  That’s right; it’s not just me, but many people adamantly declare that Oklahoma is a Southern State.  I have always leaned this way, but my travels around the South have solidified it.  My friends from Mississippi and Alabama, with their Southern gentility, are too polite to argue with me about it. However, I have learned that traditional Southerners hold firm that a state is not truly Southern unless it fought in the Civil War with the Confederate Army.  I can certainly understand their position.   Those were the states that risked and lost everything for what they believed in.  They were the states that had to fight and claw their way back during the reconstruction period.  But I would ask them to think of it as a compliment, when other states want to be considered one of them.  Here is the gist of my argument.  Oklahoma IS a Southern State for the following reasons.  We drink our tea sweet.  We have not four, but five directions:  North, South, East, West and Yonder.  We worship our Lord on Sundays and our college football teams on Saturdays.  We fry almost anything.  Instead of telling someone we think he is an idiot, we just say, “bless your heart”.  We drink pop, not soda.  We are friendly to everyone, even the “foreigners” from New Jersey.  With all that said, I can hardly see why there is even a debate.  But I imagine there will always be a question about who we are, what region we belong to, and what culture we call our own. 

It you think I have accidentally failed to mention our relationship to Texas, you are mistaken.  It wasn’t an accident.  Just like their tourism department once said, “Texas; it’s like a whole other country”.  In Oklahoma, we believe that.  Yall stay on your side of the river and we’ll stay on ours, except of course, for game day. 

To restate the obvious, Oklahoma is very difficult to define.  It is a complex mix of cultures, landscape, economy, and lifestyles.  Where can you go to a powwow to watch a “Fancy Dance”, visit a state of the art theater to see a world class ballet company, or go to a honkeytonk for some bootscootin all in one weekend?  Oklahoma.  Where can you get stranded in a blizzard with record cold temps, wilt in a severe drought with record hot temps, live through earthquakes, tornadoes, ice storms and hurricanes without ever leaving your home?  Oklahoma.  What other state has produced so many NASA Astronauts, medal winning Olympians, award winning performers, famous politicians, athletes, and had a flippin Rogers and Hammerstein musical written about them for Pete’s sake?!?  I’ll tell you what state. Oklahoma!  That’s right, O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A!  You know you’re singing it right now.  So if you are reading this post from anywhere else in the country and you thought you knew a lot about us, I have only one thing to say,……”Yall come down yonder,  have a pop, and we’ll talk about things.”  By things, of course, I mean Oklahoma State football.  Love YALL!!!

A Graceful Age

A year ago, I turned 45 and had a bit of a mid-life crisis.  By the way, I DO consider 45 as mid-life because it is my intention to live to be 100.  Part of the crisis was the realization that there were certain irreversible changes happening to my physical appearance.  In short, I was looking old and haggard.  Immediately I embarked on a quest to find the best concealer and homeopathic methods for "reducing the signs of aging" as the advertisers so delicately word it.  A facial and makeover done by an understanding friend helped in the moment, but I woke the next morning looking exactly the same as the day before.  Though I have tried to be grateful about how God made me and have never really been self-conscious about my appearance, there was an increasing amount of concern over the everchanging minute details that looked back from the mirror each day.  Natural light became my nemesis.  Flourescent lighting, forget it.  The makeup bag I carried in my purse became fatter and more well worn.  I reluctantly accepted that I would need to start buying higher end department store cosmetics and that my "easy breezy CoverGirl" days were over.   

My apologies to any men reading this post, because there is most likely no empathy or even understanding of these issues.  Believe me when I say the feeling is mutual from my gender.  I may let my husband write a counterpoint to this someday about the trials of the ageing male, but for now, this is about women.  Deal with it.  

The parade of elixers, cleansers, remedies and cosmetics went on for many months.  There were even a few times when drastic measures were considered, but a fear of looking like someone from the "Real Housewives" kept me off that ledge.  Not that there is anything wrong with cosmetic surgery, it's just not for me.  Midway through my 45th year, something happened that completely changed my attitude.  My mom, my two older sisters and I got to spend a rare weekend together.  These are the women that I feel the most comfortable with, that I can completely be me around, and that have the ability to make me feel like the 6 year old baby sister with one look.  They are women that I trust completely and I knew that if I shared my concerns with them, they would help me find the right combination of chin hair remover and excess neck skin reducer to make me feel like my younger self.  But something even better happened.

After I shared my crisis with them, there was very little response.  It wasn't that they were unintrested, but more that they didn't understand why I was so concerned.  You see, they had gotten what I had failed to get.  Aging happens, just like weather happens, and there is nothing you can do about it, you might as well embrace it and enjoy it.  So throughout my time with them, and for the first time in a long time, I looked at them.  Closely.  Which led me to the most profound conclusion.  My two sisters and my mom, with whom I share DNA, who are older then me and cosmetic surgery free, are without a doubt the most beautiful women that I know.  They have the same sparkly blue eyes that I looked to for approval as a child.  The have the same smiles that brought me out of many a funk, when I was a teenager.  Their arms and shoulders produce the same hugs that have shared in my joys and comforted me in my failures throughout my life.  I realized that if I am blessed enough to be even a fraction of how beautiful they are throughout this thing called getting older, than I am TRULY blessed.  In fact, God has blessed my family with many generations of beautiful women.  My cousins, beautiful;  my neices, beautiful.  It's not just the women in this family by blood, but some have married into it and they share in this beauty. 

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I have changed my perspective on how it looks to grow older.  There seems to be a better way to hang on to my youth.  I have added a few new items to my make up bag.....contentedness and serenity.  They can't be purchased at a designer cosmetic store.  In fact you can really only receive them from God.  After all, He was the one that said, 1 Samuel 16:7 - "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." (NIV)  Accepting that truth has brought me nearly out of this crisis.  Oh I still cover the grays, conceal the dark circles and pluck the random chin hairs, but I do this with the knowledge that God has me in His hand and my future has nothing to do with how I look, but how my heart looks to Him.  

Now as my 46th birthday comes and goes, I pray that my daughters, neices, and granddaughters will embrace the idea that, how their heart looks to the Lord, is so much more important than how they look to the world.  I pray that someday when I am even older, grayer, more wrinkled and speckeled, that they will look at me and see the same powerful beauty that comes from the women in my life that have paved that graceful ageing road before me.    Love all you beautiful ladies!!!!  

 

A Straight Line

Most people agree that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.  Why is it, then, that we do not apply that same simple equation to all things in life; specifically in the way we communicate.  OK I know this is already starting to sound boring, but stay with me here.  Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, can make me more crazy than a person that talks endlessly, but never really says anything.  I realize that I have the attention span of a three year old on Mountain Dew, but is it really necessary for the lady at the book store cash register to review every book she's ever read while ringing me up?  Just take my money and tell me to have a nice day, thank you very much.  If people don't get to the point within a sentance or two, they should know that my thoughts have moved on from what they are saying,  to when I'm going to make time to pluck my eyebrows or how to get the motor oil fingerprints off of my favorite tea pitcher.  Don't ask. The irony of my rambling on about this subject is not lost on me.  This is, however, my blog so you must have some reason to still be here and I can assure you, I am on my way to a point.

It's not just the going on and on about nothing that I get frustrated with, there is the whole matter of saying something, but meaning something else, and expecting the person with whom you are speaking to know the difference.  Allow me to give you an example.  When my husband says, "can we bake some cookies tonight?", what he really means is "will you bake me some cookies tonight?".  Why he does not say what he means, I will never know.  It has taken me over a decade to figure out exactly what he meant in the first place.  He doesn't want to flat out ask me to bake the cookies because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate, however, if he could somehow get me to think that he will be involved in the baking of the cookies and it was actually my idea and I offered to do it, he gets his cookies and I never knew the difference.  As you might guess, dealing with someone as direct as me  has caused my poor husband more than a few "misunderstandings".   My motto is "I mean what I say and I say what I mean".  The implication is that there is never an underlying meaning or slip of the tongue.  This is, of course, far from the truth.  In a perfect world of communication, there would be no saying one thing and meaning another.  There would be no misunderstandings because we would all say exactly the right thing and the other person would have complete comprehension.  Which leads me to my last (and most important) communication peeve.

Every communication expert will tell you that over 90% of communication is non-verbal, meaning when we talk with someone, less than 10% of our communication comes from the words we speak.  The other 90% is in our body language, facial expressions, use of space, eye contact, etc.  So with these facts, it is safe to assume that we lose 90% of our communication skills when we e-mail, text, Facebook, twitter, etc.  That's 90% folks.  Imagine how difficult this sentance would be if I eliminated 90% of it?  It would look something like this:
Ima     w    i  lt    t    s   t   nce    ou    b   I  mi      d   %  it? 
Difficult to fully understand what I was saying in that last one huh?  It is for this reason that I will no longer communicate via text with someone that doesn't know me really well, unless it is something short or insignificant.  I will only communicate on Facebook if I am saying something cryptic or silly.  Trying to carry on a meaningful conversation or having a disagreement with someone using these forms of communication can be a really slippery slope.  Texting and Facebook communication is definately convenient (and safer than risking a never ending phone call from the aforementioned talker), but there is much danger for poor communication.  I have seen (and shamefully been involved in) many Facebook fights that really ended up causing hurt feelings and scarred relationships.  Who among us has not been blindsided by the dreaded "unfriend" in the midst of one of these.  In some circles, this is the social equivelant to ripping the sleeve of your shirt and announcing "you are dead to me!".  I ask you, what could possibly be worse.

Once again, I am guilty of doing the very thing I said frustrated me which is  rambling on.   The point I have been laboring to get to is this;  we have so much power with that little fleshy muscle called the tongue and we should be ever mindful to use it for good and not evil.  We have the power to bore, to educate, to encourage, to destroy, to spread love or to spread hate.  The Bible says, in James 3:5 that "the tongue is a small thing, that makes grand speeches.  But a tiny spark can set a great forrest on fire".  So, for all you ramblers and sufferers of diarrhea of the mouth, remember God gave us two ears and one mouth.  Each to be used accordingly.  For those of us that speak our minds and think that we have every right to do so, remember, just like toothepaste, once it's out of the tube there's no putting it back in.  Let us all be mindful of what we say, and how we say it.  I will leave you with this nugget of wisdom gained from one of my favorite sources of knowledge, The Real Housewives of New York, that goes....."say only what you mean, only don't say it mean."  Now those are words to live by.

How to Lose a Shoe

There are so many important things to talk about.  Serious topics that warrant much thought and contemplation in the conversations.  Things like, how the current political discourse is dividing the country; genocide in Sudan; or childhood obesity.  Today I want to discuss a topic that has had me asking questions and seeking the wisdom of sage counselors for a good deal of my life.  I want to know why there are so many single shoes laying on the side of the road? How does this occur?  A single shoe.  By itself, without it's mate, alone and discarded in the gravely no-man's land that is the highway shoulder.  There are numerous possibilities for the shoe finding itself in this situation.  But I cannot seem to find a peace about any of them.  The most obvious being that it was tossed out or fell out of a moving vehicle.  But is there more to this than meets the eye?  Could this shoe have decided it had enough of being worn on a smelly foot all day and decided to run away?  Was there some sort of quarrel with it's mate leading to a trial separation?  Is there a shoe revolution being waged against forcing shoes to stay in pairs?  Their picket signs would read "It's Not Fair, No More Pairs, WE ARE INDIVIDUALS"!  There is really nothing more intriguing than the story of the single shoe on the side of the road.  Wouldn't it be great if the discarded single shoes could be collected and somehow recycled and repurposed into something useful like a pop can cuzzy or a planter?  That way we would feel better about the fate of the single shoe.  At present there is a social stigma attached to it.  We are uncomfortable with it.  Probably because we cannot explain it.  This is precisely why I felt the need to dialog about it.  Open up a conversation.  Get people talking. 

Some interesting things I've observed about the single shoe; it is almost never a women's dress shoe, it appears more often on major highways instead of neighborhood streets; the number of single shoe sightings do not seem to change with the season; and last but not least, vehicles NEVER stop to pick it up.  Again, this is most likely due to the unsettling nature of it's circumstances. 

Being in a ministry family means that at any given time you are involved in collecting donated items for people in need.  I've worked in a women's shelter that collected clothes and shoes, as well as numerous clothing drives and fundraising garage sales where clothes and shoes were donated.  Oddly enough, there is almost ALWAYS a single shoe mixed in with the donated items.  One would think that the single shoe donation would answer some of my questions, but it only results in more, leaving me utterly confounded.  Over the years in working with donated items, I've learned the hearts of the people donating.  They are done with their stuff, but they hope that someone else can still use it.  With that in mind, how do they reconcile donating the single shoe?  Do they believe that there is a poor soul out there with only one leg or foot that happens to need that exact kind, gender and size of their single shoe?  But what if they needed the left shoe and only the right shoe was donated?  DOH!

OK enough of the silliness.  In spite of my concern for the plite of the single shoe, there is a bigger picture at which we should look.  Having worked on mission in Mexico, with people that truly needed shoes, I have a general understanding of the importance of a good pair of shoes to improve the quality of life.  There are some positivley spectacular ministries that collect and distribute shoes to people all over the world AND there are shoe needs to be met right here in our town.  So the next time you are driving down the highway and see that sad, neglected (or perhaps just independent minded) single shoe on the side of road, let it be a reminder to you that someone out there needs a PAIR of shoes.  Go home, grab a pair of your shoes and give them to a local charity.  If you are one of those people that has a single shoe stuffed in the back of your closet because you don't know what to do with it......why not fill it with concrete, bedazzle it and call it a doorstop.     Thanks for listening.    See you next time.

In the beginning......

So here I go with my first Blog post.  Not even really sure what a "blog" is.  I'm thinking it was originally called WEBLOG or some geeky thing like that.  Don't know, don't care.  I've spent hours trying to come up with a clever name for the blog.  Hours I can not get back mind you!  I tend to be pretty particular about what I read and to whom I listen, so with that said, I assume that there will be very few, if any, people that want to read what I write or hear what I have to say.  Even so, there will be a great deal of satisfaction gained by my simply saying it, even if no one is listening (or reading).

If this first post gets complete a miracle will have occured.  Worrying about a second post is futile.  Hopefully there will be more than one as I, in all my self-importance, believe that I have much to say.  Again, regardless of whether or not anyone is listening.  So "My Potluck Sunday" blog post number 1 is underway.  There is one thing of which my readers should be aware.......my second language is sarcasm.  It may be difficult to distinguish between sincerity and sarcasm, but I believe that is a fine line anyway.  Be warned.

If anyone is at all curious about the name of the blog, and even if they are not, it is a nod to my role as pastor's wife.  Yes I am married to a Baptist preacher.  This being the sole reason for my wanting to blog at all.  While I am blessed, honored and mostly surprised at the idea of serving the church in this role, I can be honest when I say that being a pastor's wife has its challenges.  One of which is the notion that I should be careful of what I say at any given time.  For example, I am on Facebook all the time, but quiet most of it.  That blank status update field poses a question, "what's on your mind?"  but alas, I can not answer for fear of offending.  Please don't misunderstand.....I am not whining or complaining about this.  There are just times when everyone else I know is spewing and sputtering about what is on their minds and I feel an obligation to keep my mouth shut.  Even now, I keep typing thoughts, then deleting them, out of concern that I may be misunderstood.  I have found that I am only one "misunderstanding" away from being placed on the prayer chain without any explanation.  It is in those times that I am most likely screaming at the computer screen (with my mouth shut, which sounds a lot like when you scream underwater). 

Is this normal?  I have no idea.  After months of being frustrated with this fact, I came to the conclusion that blogging might be the answer.  Turns out there are A LOT of pastor's wives that blog and most of them have a clever name for their blog like, "Diary of a Pastor's Wife", or "Not your typical pastor's wife".  With those self-explanatory titles taken, I decided to think about what most people REALLY think when they think about a Baptist preacher's wife.  Sadly I believe that most people think about big hair, fake tears, judgemental stares and casserole dishes.  From there is was a pretty easy jump to "My Potluck Sunday".  This name could be either simple and forthright OR it could have a deep seated, passive agressive sarcastic meaning behind it.  Time will tell.

For the most part, I would love if you or anyone you know would like to join me in these rants and raves.  Feel free to tell me "what's on your mind".  Till next time.....