It's raining outside, it's just a few days before Christmas, and once again, I'm dreaming of a white Christmas. Lord have mercy, do I miss snow!

There is just something magical about waking up to a fresh new blanket of snow. It's like sometime during the night, the earth was covered with newness. New snow makes it feel like we all get a fresh start...a clean slate.

I can always tell when it's going to snow, you know. It's not just "that look" the sky has, but there's a smell the air has right before it snows. And I apparently have a sixth sense that allows me to sniff that scent right out. I always know. And I am like a little kid at Christmas...I can hardly wait.

Speaking of Christmas, there's nothing like a white Christmas. When it's snowing outside and you're gathered with loved ones on Christmas day, it just makes it that much better.

One of my favorite things to do when I lived in Oregon was to just sit and watch the snow fall. Watching those big old flakes fall slowly to the ground gave me such a peaceful feeling. I loved watching it fall, looking at it covering everything, including the mountains...heck, I didn't even mind shoveling the stuff.

As I look outside today and watch it rain, I have to admit, it's disappointing. I'd much rather be looking at snow falling. And since I'm going to Tampa for Christmas, I know I won't see any. But it's okay. I'll be with my family, and that makes it all better.

Besides, snow or no snow, Christmas is a special time. It's not about snow. It's not about Christmas trees and decorations. It's not about gifts. It's not even about gathering with loved ones. It's about a baby's heart beating for you and for me. It's about a Father longing for his prodigal children, and the great and glorious steps He took to bridge the gap.

There's a popular bumper sticker saying that you see everywhere during the holidays: "Jesus is the reason for the season." While it certainly is a time to celebrate His birth, the holiday, I think, is more about God reaching out to us. We are the reason that Jesus gave His life, so I think perhaps we are the reason for the season.

I'm sure that when Mary looked into her baby boy's eyes, she saw that, too.

"Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people..."

Yesterday's sermon was flippin' awesome. Pastor Brian is doing a series called "The Blessed Life" and he's really putting it out there. It's good stuff. This particular sermon opened my eyes to something. It came from chapter 6 in Matthew – you know, the whole, don't worry, God will provide part...basically verse 24 until the end of the chapter.

I've read those verses over and over, because I tend to worry sometimes. I never understood why I would get them stuck in my craw, so to speak. In these verses, God tells us that He cares for the birds and the flowers, and reminds us that if He cares for them, why wouldn't we think He'd care for us? That's been my sticking point. I've been convinced that I didn't matter enough – that God couldn't really care about me.

It is so weird to think that, because everything I know and believe tells me that He cares for me. He sent His son to die for me. Duh...of course He cares for me. But deep down, I didn't think I mattered; that I was truly lovable. And God spoke to me on this yesterday.

I think it started when I was a small child. My biological father walked out of our lives when I was very young. He was just never around. When my step-dad wanted to adopt us, I just knew my dad would show up and say, "No. Those are my kids. No one gets to be their dad but me." He didn't. He never called, he never sent a birthday or Christmas card, he didn't show up for graduation...just silence. I remember thinking, even as a small child, that if I were somehow better, smarter, pretty or accomplished something big, then my dad would somehow know about it and want to be a part of my life. That I would matter to him.

At some point, I figured that it was because I wasn't truly lovable. That I wasn't worth it. If I had been, he would have made the effort. And I've bought into that my whole life. It's bled into other relationships, into big and small choices I've made, and into my relationship with God. I know God cares for me, but I still didn't think I mattered. I thought, somewhere deep down in my heart, that God just loved me because He was supposed to. I have done the same thing with my Heavenly Father that I did trying to get my earthly father's attention – I tried so hard to do the right thing, say the right thing, be the right thing. I felt I had to make myself worth loving.

These verses say that birds are oblivious to the fact that God cares for them – their every need is met (verse 26)...and that I am far more valuable than they are to God. Me...? Valuable? Me...? Loved and cherished that much?

This is such an elemental truth, but yet the roots of it just never went deep into my scarred heart. And now I get it.

It has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with Him. I am worth loving because I am His creation. He loves me for me. I have value. I am worth loving.

Wow....just wow.

Monday was extra mean to me this week. It began when I made the decision to roll over and sleep in just a little, since I and my cat were snug in our warm bed. When I decided it was time to get up, I realized it was also time to jump in the shower – and do so quickly. It was then that I realized I had no water.

You see, a garbage truck had taken out our water main in the wee hours of the morning, and I had no idea, because I was snug in my warm bed, dreaming of the silky voice of Severus Snape. I let the good folks at work know that in my current state of stink, I would be in late, and would be working at home until I the water came back on and I could, um, de-funk myself.

Long story short, the water didn't come back on for quite a while and I was stuck at home. I can work from home, but I'd rather work from, well, work. I like to keep the two separate, if possible. My home is my refuge. I don't like to mix work and home. But mix them I did. I do not have a sugar daddy, therefore, work must happen.

When the water finally did come back on, my toilet didn't work. So I'd been home, for hours, with no water and no functioning toilet...and still no toilet. You can do the math.

A couple of calls later, I had a plumber there to fix it. It was a quick repair, thank goodness, and my bladder settled down once again. I again attempted the shower thing and once clean, felt human again.

I had planned on going to work dressed as a beat-up Florida fan. I was highly disappointed that I didn't get to do so...Halloween doesn't always fall on a weekday, and it hasn't fallen on a weekday after Georgia spanked Florida in a long time. I planned to relish in this. Alas, I did not get to celebrate as I'd planned. I was bummed.

I also missed out on seeing my "coworker" Rocco the bulldog, dressed as the Dogfather. I was double-bummed.

What I did get out of the day was a reminder. You see, when the plumber, resplendent with his crack in full view (>-<), fixed my toilet, he replaced the float thingie. And now my toilet has Turret's. It makes this loud whistling noise...just...whenever.

At first, I thought, "I'm calling this guy back and have him come and fix it immediately." Then when I heard it again, I heard laughter. And not my own. It was God laughing.

No, I'm not going nuts. The Psalmist wrote that "He who sits in the heavens laughs." I knew that and believed it. One has only to look at a platypus to know God has a sense of humor. I had just never heard Him laugh. I know it was Him. He enjoyed the humor in my gotta-work-at-home, I-stink-out-loud, haven't-a-pot-to-pee-in Monday...topped off with a Turret's-stricken toilet.

It was, after all, funny.

I think I will put off calling the plumber back. I'll just chuckle every time the Turret's kicks in, and remember that He who sits in the heavens is laughing with me...not at me.

I love fall. I love the little cool edge in the air. I love the sound of crunching leaves under my feet. I love getting out my old sweaters and feeling like they're new because I haven't worn them in so long. But the best thing about fall is college football. I love, love, love, watching me some Georgia Bulldogs.

But this year, alas, I haven't been able to watch them play. Not one single time. Insert sad music here.

The reason is simple. I cut off my cable. I've been meaning to do it for a while, both as a money saver and a time preserver. I was spending way too much time in front of the television, and not enough time out living. So the cable had to go.

For the most part, I don't miss it. I have a wireless blu-ray DVD player, and I have Internet service, and I also have Hulu and Netflix accounts. So if I want to watch a movie or a TV show, I can. It's kind of cool, actually. I can watch what I want, when I want.

But I have to admit, I've gone through withdrawals when it comes to my Dawgs. I have an app on my iPad that allows me to check play by play action, live. So there's that. But it's just not the same. Sigh.

But I don't regret my decision. It's forced me to spend more time doing other things, and that's never a bad thing. I enjoy my hobbies and getting out, going and doing stuff...so it's all good. And the extra money in my pocket each month isn't bad, either. Getting rid of cable wasn't really that big of a sacrifice.

But thinking of this got started thinking about other sacrifices I could make. What else can I do to free up time for quality stuff in my life? I also cut out spending time on social media when I'm home. I do go online to blog or research for my personal writing. I just don't spend time on Facebook or Twitter during the evenings, and rarely on the weekend. I thought I'd miss that too...but I find there are other, more satisfying ways to spend my time.

But what else can I do to simplify my life? I think my next step will be to de-clutter. In fact, that is going to be my winter time project. When it's too cold to go out, I'm going to spend time digging in closets and drawers, getting rid of...stuff.

This is in direct contrast to the way most of us live. We work hard to make more money to buy more stuff. But does this really contribute to the quality of life we each have? Not really. No one is going to stand up at your funeral or mine and say, "Boy, she had a lot of stuff! Isn't that awesome?"

No...people will look at the contributions you've made in this life. And I'll have more time to make those contributions if I unclutter my life.

So here goes...I'll keep you posted...

We're reading and learning from the book "Radical Together" at my church. All our community (small) groups are studying it. I've only read the first four chapters and I'm thoroughly impressed. The author sure has a clear understanding of what God intended the church to be.

As I read one of my chapters for this week last night, I was engrossed by the part about worship. I've always thoroughly believed that worship is a daily, lifestyle thing. It's not just about what you do in church on Sundays. The question was raised in the book, what if the people of God, gathered in one place, ARE the attraction, rather than the preaching or singing that day? AND IS THIS ENOUGH?

That stopped me dead in my tracks. Wow. Whoa. Right between the eyes.

If we, as God's people, are the attraction for the worship service, and someone just stops in to visit one Sunday, what is the impression that's given? What am I communicating? Am I showing that I deserve to die, but because of God's grace I live? Am I showing it in my face, my body language, my actions? Or am I just kind of there, along for the Sunday morning ride? What are we saying collectively as a church?

I am a sinner, saved by grace. My penalty is death. I deserve the sentence I am given. But because God loves me, He intervened, and sent His son to die in my place. I now have eternal life because of what God did for me. In spite of me. That's cause for celebration. That's cause for worship. That should be reflected in my lifestyle of worship, and it should certainly be reflected in my worship on Sunday mornings, or any other time I gather with God's folks.

Are we enough? Is how we worship enough? It's not about the music or the lighting or the instruments or the song choices or the sermon...it's about what we bring to all of that. And is what we bring enough? Enough to lead others to the foot of the cross...

I admit that sometimes, my worship isn't enough. I am still thinking about my own issues, or what someone else is doing, or maybe just too tired to "get into" worship in church. All too often, I find myself worried about the people around me. I get caught up in their experiences, or worried that I might distract them if I "get into" worship "too much." Someone once told me that those around her that clapped and spoke during the service distracted her and made her angry. I've been hyper-sensitive about that kind of thing since.

But worship isn't about pleasing those around us. It's not a horizontal thing. It's a vertical connection. Period. It's me, connecting with God who loved me in spite of me. So I don't care what you think. I am not concerned if you don't like that I lift my hands. I don't even care if you get all offended if I speak out loud. Deal with it. Heaven won't be a quiet place, with angels floating by, softly playing harps. People will be seriously worshipping God...forever. Loudly. So get used to it.

Jesus said that if He was lifted up, He would draw all men to Him. In other words, our worship, collectively as the church, is crucial. We have to focus, collectively and individually, on that vertical connection with Him, lifting Him up. When that happens, others will be drawn to Him.

That's what worship must be. Drawing closer to Him. No smoke machines or fancy lighting required.

Last Sunday in church, I sat in front of an older couple. The woman had a walker and the man had a cane. I'd never seen them before, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. They both had great difficulty walking. But they were in church, regardless.

During the worship time, I felt something grab at the back of the pew, and I looked around and it was the older gentleman, straining to stand up. He began slowly clapping his hands and then lifting them to heaven. I thought he would fall as he kind of teetered back there, but he never grabbed for the pew. He just kept lifting his hands.

Then I caught sight of his face. He was just about glowing. Made my day. Made me long for heaven. Made me feel guilty that I had grudgingly gotten out of bed that morning to get ready for church – I wanted to sleep in.

You could say, "Well, at least you did get up and get yourself to church."

Yeah. I did. But I was still a little disgruntled on the way in, after my cat had kept me up part of the night. I sure did want to sleep in.

I'm glad I saw that older man, doing his thing. Taught me a lesson.

And I hope I get to stand next to him again. In heaven.

For the past couple of days, I've had the old hymn, "Trust and Obey" stuck in my head. Funny how that happens…the lyrics of those old hymns come back to me, time and time again.

When I was growing up, it seemed such a chore to sing those songs. It felt like every Sunday morning, we sang the first, second and last stanza of the same old hymns from the Baptist Hymnal over and over. The words and music changed, but I never seemed to notice. I just sang them, hanging on until the final note.

It wasn't until I was in my early 20s that I came to realize that there were stories behind those hymns and biblical truths in each and every one. When I sang them again and again, I memorized them. Those truths are written on my heart even today. Which is why I can recall so many of the songs.

What used to make me roll my eyes in my foolish youth now thrills my soul, because I realize that what was true back when that songwriter penned the song is still true today.

The story behind "Trust and Obey" starts with Daniel B. Towner, who lived from 1850 to 1919. He was music director for several churches and schools, including the famous Moody Bible Institute, and wrote the music for many well-loved hymns.

In 1887, after an evangelistic meeting at which Dwight L. Moody had spoken, a young man stood up to share his story. As he talked, it was clear he didn't know a lot about the Bible or acceptable Christian doctrine. But his closing statement spoke volumes: "I'm not quite sure. But I'm going to trust, and I'm going to obey."

Towner was so struck by those words that he jotted them down, and that was the basis of the famous hymn he wrote. The chorus of the song is: "Trust and obey, for there's no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."

So this song stays with me even today. No eyeball rolling at all. Just an appreciation for the truth. And grateful that Mr. Clinton Hogan made us sing so many of those "stan-zahs."

I got to see my niece's first dance recital a couple of weekends ago, and she came and spent last weekend with me...along with her Daddy. Amanda went to work with me on that Friday, while her daddy went to work here in Tally. It was cool to spend that special time with her. She kept telling me, "I'm being very professional, Gigi..."

Yes. Yes, she was.

I can't believe she's 6 years old already. I can't believe I'm 48. It doesn't feel like either of us should be this old. I still feel like I did at 21. That means Amanda probably feels just as good as she did at 3. Or something like that...

It's funny how when you're young, time seems to drag on. You just want it to pass quickly, so you can get to the grown-up stuff. Then, when you've finally gotten to the grown-up stuff, time seems to accelerate all of a sudden, and it just doesn't seem to slow down. Ever. That's when the desperation kicks in, and you start grabbing onto stuff, trying to slow time down. I feel sometimes like there are claw marks on everything around me from how I've been grabbing and clawing, trying to slow Father Time's march down just a bit.

Time's been on my mind a lot lately. My sister-in-law's father has only a short amount of it left. I got to see him a couple of weekends ago, and it's probably the last time I'll get to see him before cancer takes him. Cancer...I've learned to hate that word. It's taken so many people from me that I love. It's even scared me once...but fortunately it was only that...just a scare.

Amanda looked at me last weekend and said, "Gigi, my Papa is dying. Did you know that?" I said, "Yeah, honey, I know." She said she didn't understand why the doctors would tell him that he's dying...she thought it was mean to do so. I explained that he probably wanted to know, so he could be sure to make every minute he has left extra-special. I asked her if she would want to know if she was dying, and after thinking for a minute, she said, "Yeah. I would want to know so I could make every day special."

Yeah. Make every day special. Shouldn't we do that anyway?

So these days...I keep thinking about sis-in-law's dad, and thinking about how they each must feel. It's hard to watch someone you love die. So many raw emotions. But such precious time, those last days. Such precious time.

I did a bucket list a while ago, and I've come to realize that the things I listed there just aren't that important. Sure, there are things I still want to do...things I will do. But if I really only had a short time left, I don't think I'd be thinking about whether I'd jumped out of a plane. I think instead I'd be making sure to spend time with those I love the most. Making memories for me and for them.

So now, I've reworked my bucket list, and I'm going to work at it as if I only have a short time left...because in reality, none of us know how much time we have. My new bucket list has only one item: Make sure the ones I love know that I love them. That's it. That's my legacy.

Jumping out of a plane or writing the next great American novel....? Sure. I may still do those things. But I want to be remembered for something more. By those I love most.

I read Amy Poehler's graduation speech the other day for the Class of 2011 at Harvard. The woman is a genius. Amidst the jokes, she told them that when they are feeling scared, hold someone's hands and look into their eyes. And when they're feeling brave, do the same thing.

Did I mention the woman's a genius?

So it got me to thinking…if I gave a commencement speech, what words of wisdom would I give? Here's what I've been thinking.

First of all, the commencement speeches I have heard in my lifetime have all said the same thing: You've accomplished much, now go out and do your best to accomplish more. Students were told to call their mothers, and that they are the future and they should "reach for the stars."

In other words….the same old thing. My speech would have to be different.

So I thought, when I graduated, what would I have wanted to know? No one asked me. They just started speechifying.

First of all, I think I'd want some useful advice. Like, don't microwave aluminum foil. And how to be prepared for the zombie apocalypse. I'd really be interested in that. I wish someone had told me to take advantage of my looks while I was in my 20s, such as they were. Now that I'm in my 40s, and I'm rolling up my boobs and stuffing them into my bra each day, I wish I'd known how to take advantage of them while they were perky.

I also wish someone had told me to slow down…that I had my whole life in front of me and I didn't have to accomplish everything by the time I was 30. Yeah. That would have been useful information to have.

I think that if I were the one speechifying, I would start with the things that have mattered the most to students while in school: grades, pizza, beer, the opposite sex, and freedom.

First of all, grades. You will be graded your entire life. In school, it was all A's and B's, etc. In your career, you will receive performance reviews. You won't get a letter stamped on a piece of paper or a gold star, but you will definitely be told how you're doing. Grades will still matter.

In your personal relationships, however, you'll find that grades are the last thing you should be worried about. Don't grade others and don't accept them grading you. Learn this now, and you'll have much more fulfilling relationships throughout your lifetime. Grades will still matter.

Pizza is the perfect food for a student. It contains all the basic food groups, and can be consumed for breakfast, lunch or dinner. It can be eaten hot or cold. You can even get it without leaving home. Sweet.

But here's the thing. Left sitting on its own, pizza gets hard and crusty. It can grow mold. It becomes useless. Same goes for your brain. If you don't continue to use it, it will also become useless, hard and crusty. Be a lifetime learner. Never stop asking questions, exploring new areas of knowledge, and challenging yourself to grow.

Beer is to a teenager what a slim waistline is to a fat chick. It's the ultimate goal – that elusive thing that you can't have, but don't want to be without. When you're underage, it's the thing you most want. When you're of age, it's the thing you most want. To students, being able to get beer is the ultimate sign of adulthood. If you can buy it, you've arrived.

I could say the expected, don't drink and drive, be responsible stuff. But instead, I prefer to look at it this way: don't give in. When it seemed everyone around me was drinking beer, I just didn't want to. Granted, it was because beer looks like horse pee to me. But the lesson here is that you just should do what's best for you. Figure that out, and stick to it, no matter what everyone else is doing.

The opposite sex will hold an appeal for you throughout your life. Men will always be from Mars, and women will always be from Venus. We'll never completely figure each other out. Anyone who tells you they have is lying.

There are a lot of young men and women out there who are just jumping from relationship to relationship. They are working hard at finding their Mr. Right or Miss Perfect. The reality is, those people don't exist.

The thing is that each time you jump from relationship to relationship, you give a piece of your heart away. And what's left gets broken time and time again. By the time you do find your someone special, all you have left to give that person is a banged up, cracked, chipped, duct-taped internal organ that looks like it's been through a war. And really, it has.

When it comes to the opposite sex, it's good to spend time with them. But guard your heart. Don't give it away to just anyone. Take your time, make sure they deserve it, and then, when the time and person is right, you'll be able to give your whole heart.

For students, freedom is everything. In high school, you're just starting to spread your wings. Very often, your struggle to take flight is what causes problems between you and your parents. You want to fly and they want to keep you close to the nest.

In college, you really get your first taste of freedom. You get to be on your own, no one telling you what to do, and you get to make your own choices.

But with that freedom comes responsibility. That's the thing they don't tell you. There are consequences for every action. Remember that. Each choice you make will impact your life at some point, whether it's now or in the future. Wise up and realize this now, and you'll have less regrets later.

The good thing about freedom is that the decisions you make can have positive impact as well, both on you and those around you. You can choose to live your life freely in such a way that others will benefit and grow, because of decisions you've made. This, people, is how we change the world.

And speaking of the world, here are my last words of wisdom; Rebuild the world; it's broken.

The generations that have come before you have caused the chaos and brokenness that you see all around you. It's time to break the cycle. You can rebuild the world.

And as a member of generations older than you, I quote to you the lyrics of Katy Perry...

You're from a whole other world,

A different dimension;

You open my eyes,

And I'm ready to go;

Lead me into the light.

Class of 2011, lead us into the light.

I wonder how much clarity a person has when he knows he's going to die. Do the leaves get greener on the trees? Does a breeze on his face feel a million times better? Does he see something in the eyes of loved ones that no one else can see?

I don't know. But I've often wondered. It just seems that people who know this about themselves have such clarity, and very often, such peace.

I've often wondered why we aren't born with expiration dates on the bottom of our feet. Perhaps if we knew when our final day was going to be, we'd all behave a little bit differently. Maybe we'd appreciate others more. Maybe we'd take the time to experience life a little more and work a little less. Maybe we'd say "I love you" more and "I don't have time right now" a lot less. Maybe there would never be a need for that thing where you hold up your pointer finger, indicating to someone he or she will just have to wait while you finish your phone call.

But God knows best. He probably didn't think we could handle it. And we'd probably do all we could to be sure that we live far past that pre-set date. We'd somehow muck it up.

But would it hurt to live like that? Even for just a little while?

I don't care to know when my final day would be, but I do want to live like there's no tomorrow. After all, God didn't promise us tomorrow, only that He'd be with us through today. So I think I'll let Him guide me through this day, since He knows what tomorrow brings. Especially if tomorrow is the date stamped on the bottom of my foot.

Today I got a little reflective. I walked by a mirror.

Seriously, I did get a little reflective about the people I've known in my life. I've been blessed with the opportunity to live different places, and consequently I've made friends all over the country. Friends that I wish I could spend time with more often.

But each of them have been a special blessing to me. When I think of these folks, I think of Melissa, Wanda, Sherree, Pam, John, Renee, Aimee, Earl, Scott, Randy, Penny, Loren, Danny, Teresa, Tammy, Karleen, Spike, Michael, Dale, Alicia, Donna, Ron, Terri, Ken, Faye, Allen, Sheilah, Alana...I could go on for a really long time here...if you don't see your name, please don't be offended. Just know that when we all get to heaven, there's a party at my house scheduled for the first 1,000 years. And you're all invited.

But there is one friend that has just stood head and shoulders above the rest. She and I worked together at one time, and we just...clicked. I think we recognized the same twisted sister in each other, and we became fast friends.

Since that time, we've shared a lot of laughs, some tears, some secrets, some not-so secrets, some struggles, some victories and a lot of those really good hugs that smoosh your boobs. She became my friend, but somewhere along the way, the friend part faded and I realized we were just sisters. God just forgot to give her red hair (He would never think of giving me brown hair).

I am thankful for Autumn. I wish we lived closer together so we could spend a lot more time together. I miss just hanging out with her. Autumn and I can sit together in the bathroom and flush the toilet and we'd find something about that which would make us giggle. Seriously...it doesn't matter what she and I do when we get together. We always laugh, we always are real, and we always support one another.

When I think of the things I admire about my sistah-friend, I have to say that faithfulness would be at the top of the list. Autumn is faithful to her belief in Jesus, she's faithful in her service, she's faithful in her daily walk and she's faithful to her husband. She's also faithful to her family, even when there are bumps in the road.

I also love that Autumn is so positive. She just looks at things and says, "Oh well...it is what it is." And deals with it. She likes to say she puts on her big girl panties and gets on with life. I admire that when life gets tough, she pulls up those britches and just forges ahead.

Autumn might not think she's a strong woman, but she is. She has faced some junk in her life, and has come out on the other side all the better. Not everyone does. She's smart enough to know that all of our life experiences can make us or break us – she chose to let them make her.

I love that Autumn has such a heart for God. She loves to sing and worship Him and talk to Him. She loves His word, and strives to live by it. She is one of those rare people that understand that God whispers to us because He knows that when He does, we have to get closer to Him to hear what He's saying. And she's willing to crawl right up into His lap.

Autumn is accepting of other people. She doesn't see color of skin, or status or job title...she just sees people. And she treats them all equally. She just accepts people as they are, warts and all. Only...she doesn't seem to notice the warts.

One of the greatest things about having Autumn as my friend is that we "go to the bathroom" for each other. Your mouth's hanging open...you should close it.

Of course, I don't mean that literally. A while back, we found ourselves calling each other and asking for prayer support. To get some privacy in order to pray, we would each go to the bathroom. There aren't many people I would kneel at a porcelain altar for, but Autumn is certainly one of them. And I know she prays for me, whenever and wherever. It doesn't matter how big or how small the concern is – we just pray.

So...despite the fact that God forgot to give her red hair, I am proud and honored to call Miz Jones my sistah-friend. I know that when the time comes for that party, she'll be right by my side, and we'll be giggling and still sharing jokes that make no one laugh but us.

Now...that will be some kinda heaven.

I had to post this picture. It just screams summer to me. I long to go back to those carefree days when I could just run around barefoot, playing out in the yard until dark, and then catch lightning bugs until Mama called us inside. Sigh. Those were the days.

These days, I'm more worried about paying the bills, work, my waistline, high blood pressure, job responsibilities, paying the bills, car maintenance, and oh yeah, paying the bills. Seems like that's all I do. Go to work. Pay bills.

There's got to be more to life than this. There actually is. I know there is. It just doesn't feel that way right now.

So in my head, I'm like my niece, Amanda, playing barefoot on the beach at sunset. You can have my body, worldly responsibilities. But you can never have my imagination.

What a weekend we had. History in the making…twice.

First of all, the world looked on as Prince William married his long-time sweetheart, Kate Middleton. It was a grand and glorious wedding. The bride was radiant, the groom was gushing, and the Queen looked constipated. But then, she usually does. It was a glorious day to be British, I suppose.

For us Americans, however, the whole wedding thing was eclipsed when justice was done. Osama bin Laden was finally found and justice was served in the form of a bullet through his eye – sorry, Toby Keith. You said there would be a boot stuck somewhere, um, indelicate. You were off a little. But who cares?

For all those who died or who lost loved ones on Sept. 11, 2001, there is finally justice. For that matter, there is justice for all Americans. We were all wounded on Sept. 11, and bin Laden's death is certainly a balm for our wounds.

I salute our U.S. troops who have been tracking those responsible for Sept. 11 since, well, Sept. 12. They are the heroes here. Not our president.

I say this because I'm a little angry this morning that there are so many people who are pointing at Obama and saying he got the job done. Nope. He didn't. First of all, the order was given to hunt down and kill bin Laden long before Obama took office. Obama just happened to be the one in charge on "the" day.

Give credit where credit is due, folks. Obama didn't track bin Laden for years. He didn't risk his life doing surveillance at the compound where bin Laden was found. He didn't put his life on the line when the time came. He simply said, "Okay. Let's do this." And then he waited for word as to whether our men and women in uniform had completed the task set before them.

Since that word came of bin Laden's death, Obama's been throwing around the word "we" quite a bit. You haven't earned that, Mr. President. You could say that if you'd served in the military. You haven't.

I'm also angry because there are those saying that since Obama got Osama, the election is now sealed up for the president…that there's no way he won't get re-elected in 2012. God, I hope he doesn't.

Why, you ask? Well…here are my reasons:

1. We have unprecedented budget deficits, yet Obama is still spending.

2. Obama has frozen past discretionary spending in place.

3. Obama is expanding the federal government at an unprecedented pace.

4. Obama has proposed $1.6 trillion in new taxes on families and businesses in the coming decade.

5. There will be no entitlement reform, despite the fact that Social Security and Medicare are expected to be permanently in the red.

6. Obamacare. This mess will need lots of money to implement the alphabet soup of healthcare-related changes and increases. More spending.

7. Obama promised to keep unemployment under 8 percent. Yeah, right.

My No. 1 issue with Obama, however, is that when it comes to America's fiscal crisis, Obama represents no hope and no change. It's business as usual in the White House, something Obama promised to change.

I literally shake in my boots at the mere thought of another four years with Obama in the White House. His political agenda is costing us dearly – in more ways than one.

I have a dream. I want to own and operate my own newspaper in my hometown of Lincolnton. I have wanted to do this since...well...ever since I was a little girl.

Unfortunately, the fates have conspired to squish my dream into oblivion. I don't have the funds I would need. I just have the dream. Good thing dreams are free.

I even have the perfect name for it...The Devils Advocate. It would be a tabloid style paper, and I'd offer it to the community free, and it would be supported by advertising. I'd have a killer website, which is essential these days, and it would thoroughly cover news and events there, and be accurate and unbiased. And it would cover the HECK out of some LCHS sports. Go Big Red!!

But again, I don't have the money to fund my dream. Sigh. Sigh again.

Maybe one day. Maybe.

(I just felt the need to vocalize –sort of– my dream. Been looking out the window of my office and daydreaming a bit today...)

In Matthew 27, the story is told of the crucifixion of Jesus. One of the most amazing things about it for me is that the temple curtain, at the moment of Jesus' death, was split in half. But it wasn't torn from bottom to top, like a person would have done it. It was torn from top to bottom. God ripped the curtain.

That curtain separated the Holy of Holies from the rest of the temple. It was considered to be God's special dwelling place in the midst of His people. It was sacred. It was where the most Holy God was.

The barrier was there to be sure that man couldn't carelessly and irreverently enter into God's awesome presence. Even the high priest had to take extreme measures before he entered: he had to wash himself, put on special clothing, bring burning incense that would provide smoke to cover his eyes from a direct view of God and bring blood with him to make atonement for sin.

But at the moment when Jesus cried, "It is finished!" that curtain was torn. The veil was too high for human hands to have ripped it from top to bottom. It had to have been done by God.

The point? Well…this is what Easter is all about. God RIPPED apart the separation between sinful man and Himself, and gave us direct access to Him. We can now enter the Holy of Holies – God's dwelling place – because of the sacrifice of Jesus. No other sacrifice is needed.

For Christ didn't enter the earthly version of the Holy Place; he entered the place itself, and offered himself to God as the sacrifice for our sins. He doesn't do this every year as the high priests did under the old plan with blood that was not their own; if that had been the case, he would have to sacrifice himself repeatedly throughout the course of history. But instead he sacrificed himself once and for all, summing up all the other sacrifices in this sacrifice of himself, the final solution of sin. (From Hebrews, Chapter 9)

God ripped that curtain to get to me. Wow. That's what I'll be celebrating this Easter.

Who needs the Easter Bunny?

Today I read about a Methodist pastor who voiced his opinion on his Facebook page. His congregation was so upset about what he posted that they had the guy fired.

What was the gist of the post? Well, it appears the guy spoke out in support of Rob Bell's book, "Love Wins." In the book, Bell criticizes the belief that a select number of Christians will spend eternity in heaven, while everyone else winds up being punished in hell. If you view the promo video that's posted on YouTube, you'll hear that Bell believes that Jesus came to rescue the unsaved, and he finds it difficult to trust a God who people would need to be rescued from, since He's the one that will send the unbelieving to hell. He writes, in his book, that this goes against Jesus' message of "love, peace, forgiveness and joy."

Yes…Jesus came to save the lost. No…God doesn't send people to hell. He sent Jesus, His only Son, to die so that no one would have to go to hell. When a person rejects this offering, he condemns himself. That's the truth of the matter. Bell seems to gloss it over by taking the blame for this rejection off mankind's shoulders and placing it squarely on God's.

The title of the book is "Love Wins." Yes. It does. I read the final chapter in the Bible, a book Bell clearly hasn't spent a lot of time reading. Love does win.

But there's also accountability in that love. Bell teaches that Jesus is all warm fuzzies, goodness and light. But He is also God. God is just. He cannot exist with sin, so if any of us wish to spend eternity with Him, which is heaven, then we cannot continue in our sinful state. If we do, we will spend eternity without God – that is hell. Jesus taught this in Matthew 25:31-46, in the Parable of the Sheep and Goats. Allow me to paraphrase…

On that day, everyone gathered around God's throne, and humanity was separated into two groups, like sheep and goats. Mankind whispered to each other, "Did you accept Jesus?"

Responses varied. "I went forward at that youth rally!" "I played in the praise band at church!" "I went to church every Sunday!" "I grew up in church." "My parents were Christians." "I'm a good person!"

Jesus, frustrated with all the excuses, silenced the crowd with his commentary.

"This isn't about going somewhere. Didn't I teach you to pray 'your kingdom come?' I came to bring heaven here, not take you elsewhere. Heaven isn't a place you go, it's the presence of God. Those who have responded to God's grace will spend eternity with God. That's heaven," Jesus said.

People cried out, some rejoicing they had accepted Him, while others were in anguish that they had rejected the gift of God's Son. Some even yelled out that they'd never heard of Jesus.

But Jesus spoke again, His words stunning those gathered there.

"You accepted me as a child soldier in Darfur; as a Thai child enslaved in sex trafficking; as a refugee trying to enter your country. You accepted me as a black youth on death row, as a homeless veteran on the street, as a gay youth victimized in high school. You accepted me as a drug addict and prostitute, as a runaway teen in need of a meal and as an inmate needing a visit," he said.

The room grew silent as a graveyard. Those on both sides of the divide realized the groups were not separated by their doctrines or ideas about Jesus, heaven or hell, but instead by their response to the saving grace of Jesus in those who were vulnerable and oppressed. This reality felt, in that moment, like an eternal punishment for those who had ignored the cries of Jesus in their fellow man. But for those who had heard and responded, it was like eternal life.

Amidst cries of "What are you talking about?" and "When did we see you that way, Jesus?" God's Son said, "If you refused to help the least of these, who are my brothers and sisters, then you failed to do so for me."

One group will go into eternal punishment; the other into eternal life. Their punishment? Knowing it could have been different – if only they'd made a different choice.

Accountability. It's a word that Bell should become acquainted with. We all should.

Today I began a new quest. I've started a new journal. This one is a little different. I read about a book called, "Wreck Your Journal," a paperback that's set up as a daily journal in which you're supposed to do all sorts of crazy stuff like doodle, write random comments, and smudge samples of whatever you're eating on the page. I liked the concept, and thought for a moment about doing that myself.

Then I decided to make my own. So I bought a journal, and for the next year, I will carry it with me, every day, wherever I go. I will write down whatever I feel like...whatever I think...whatever I'm doing...whatever pops into my head. I may even have guest journalers. It'll be the ultimate in random rambling, and it will be the next year of my life.

It's a much better way for me to journal. I like to write down things the old fashioned way, pen to paper, in addition to my random musings here. It's much more...intimate. So those journals, well, I keep them to myself. After I'm dead and gone, feel free to peruse. But not before.

I've been journaling since I was a little kid, and I've been very off and on about it. I'll start one and then I get busy, or forget about it, or just don't feel like writing. But I think this new adventure will be a success. I am, after all, the Queen of Random. Random bursts of me, on paper...yes. The world will be able to handle it. Hopefully little bursts of my day to day life will bring a laugh, maybe a tear...but it certainly will bring me. Isn't that what life's about anyway...bringing random bits of yourself into the lives of others?

I looked out my window today and thought how appropriate to begin this journal today. As I look outside my office window, I see green bursting out everywhere...the start of a new season. A fresh new page, ready to be filled with the random thoughts of Mother Nature.

I also wore my new ring today. I found a Sarah Coventry vintage crystal ball ring. It made me happy and reminded me of the rings I used to spend my allowance on at the dime store when I was a kid in my hometown. I would run in there and buy a smaller version of this ring, and then I'd wear it...until the ball would fall off. They were, after all, cheap rings.

But I loved them, and they made me happy. I thought they were so pretty. So I'm wearing a reminder of my childhood today.

Maybe my random journal ramblings will do the same for others one day. Maybe someone will pick up my journal and read that I wore this ring today, and they'll remember their own special childhood memories.

Or maybe they'll just see the cheese I smeared on the page from my lunch.

Whichever way it goes, I bet they laugh.

Well...I went to the doc last week for an ear infection. Paid good money for the doctor to tell me what I already knew. But I also found out that I have high blood pressure, something I didn't realize had been creeping up on me.

Generally speaking, I enjoy very good health. Many people I know my age and younger take multiple pills every day for various ailments. Until now, I've only taken vitamins and my allergy medicine. I feel really good most days, and have never really had any major health issues.

Guess I was due.

So I'm off on a new adventure. I am adding more walking to my regimen. I am changing my diet – even thinking of going mostly vegetarian, as that's a healthy alternative. All in the name of lowering those BP numbers. We'll see how it goes. It certainly won't hurt to do those things regardless of what the BP numbers are.

So...here we go. In the words of Forrest Gump, who is often called Forrest Gump, "Life is like a box of chocolates...you never know what you gonna get."

Indeed, Forrest. Indeed.

Easter is coming. Must...decorate...eggs...

Suki and I have been dealing with an infestation of fleas in the past week or so. I have tried it all. I've sprayed, powdered, sprinkled and vacuumed. And that's just the carpet. My poor cat has been through it all. Pharmaceutically speaking, she should be waving her little paw back and forth in front of her face and saying, "Duuude...I've got 12 paws..."

I have been stood up twice by Terminix. The first time they stood me up, I tried to turn the other cheek. The second time, my cheeks were infested and I had no patience. They bore the full brunt of my red head. Terminix...not my cheeks. You know what I mean!

Actually, all in all, it hasn't been that bad. I haven't seen any fleas anywhere but on her. But I know the little boogers have probably laid about 5 million eggs in my carpet, so I have a bug guy coming tomorrow to spray the snot out of the place. He is NOT from Terminix. And I will be on hand to make sure he sprays EVERYTHING.

Suki will then be taken to the groomer for a bath (kiddies, we don't attempt this at home on our own), and she will get one more flea-killin' pill. After a few things are washed in nice, hot, soapy water in the washing machine I hope, fingers crossed, we'll be done with this battle. I hate the thought of little blood-sucking bugs crawling around my home. And I'm a vampire fan. Go figure.

Somewhere...a group of tiny little bouncing bugs just laughed...evil villain style.

Note: For those of you not-so-hip folks...that's Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Get it??!!

As I sit here typing this, I hear birds singing outside and I can see a big tree blooming with some sort of white, fluffy flowers – I have no idea what kind of tree it is but it makes me happy. I see daffodils and all over town, I can see Japanese Magnolias blooming. I do know what they look like...NOT white and fluffy.

Spring has sprung. And it's not even March yet.

However, I did wake up this morning to chillier temperatures. I literally stopped in my tracks and thought, "I hope you're not toying with me, Mother Nature." She got me all excited about spring and daffodils and going barefoot again and flip flops and capri pants and azaleas and dogwoods…well, she better not be messing with my head. Does she KNOW I have red hair?

How cruel it would be to give us a taste of spring and then snatch it away. I remember, years ago, when I still lived in Augusta, the azaleas and dogwoods were in full bloom everywhere as everyone got ready for the annual pain in the butt that is The Masters. Then there was a frost. And everything died – or at least turned a dull brown. The entire city, or at least, the golf-loving part of it, went into hysterics.

That was the year truckloads of azaleas were brought in and replanted, and when you entered the gates of The National in white shoes, you went home in green shoes, thanks to the spray painted grass. It was insane. But it was enough to fool the golf crowd. They like pretty things and apparently aren't too bright.

But alas, even spring has a dark underbelly. It's called pollen. It's already reared its ugly head. My white car is slowly turning yellow. And I've already begun to experience the sneezies in the morning. I'll have them until that annoying bee on the nasal spray commercial carts away all the "dehydrated pee," as someone called it this morning.

I don't even want to think of pollen as dehydrated pee. I mean, just think about what kind of creature could produce that amount of…never mind. Moving on!

Ahhh….I do love spring though. It's like the world gets a fresh start. There's a sense of renewal everywhere. And I love the scent of a clean slate in the morning.

When I was a kid, I sometimes saw older people hunched over and walking very slowly. I always felt sorry for them. Especially for the ones who were obviously in pain.

These days, I feel like an old person, hunched over and obviously in pain. Getting older is not for sissies.

Back in the early 1990s, I walked in my sleep. I hadn't done it since I was a kid. But for some reason, I did one night, and I was rudely awakened when my backside landed squarely on the bottom stair of the townhouse I shared with my roommate at the time, Teresa. She heard what she thought was a gunshot, and jumped out of bed and came running. I was quite proud. It took a major noise to wake that one up.

The noise she heard wasn't a gunshot. It was my tailbone breaking. The sound is one I'll never forget. I can't. My back won't let me.

Since they can't exactly put your butt in a cast, all doctors could do was help me manage the pain. They gave me morphine, which I have to say, is good stuff.

We had a party planned, with about a dozen of our friends for the weekend after I fell. Since I couldn't make it back upstairs, Teresa brought upstairs to me. I put on some sweats, took my medicine, and put on a smile, prepared for our guests. I remember nothing after that.

According to Teresa, and several of our friends, I was pretty much knocked out. I laid down in the floor, leaning against this big, green beanbag chair I had at the time, and slept. With a big dumb grin on my face. They used me as a coffee table, so I'm told. Thank God no one had cell phones and that YouTube wasn't even on our radar yet.

Since that time, I periodically have back pain. It usually starts out minor, because of something minor. This time, I cleaned the bathtub, and when I stood up, something just gave way. I was in some pain the day after, but a couple of days later...hoooo boy.

The funny thing – and I mean funny ironically, not funny ha-ha – is that people are always telling me, "You're just going to have to be more careful."

Excuse me, but how is this possible? I can't just not live my life. I have stuff to do, and since my maid, chauffeur, cook, valet, butler and personal assistant all quit, I have to do it. I can't stop living for fear of hurting my back. And I won't live in fear.

Fact is, most of the time, I don't hurt. And I'm fairly careful. I don't lift heavy things, and I know my limits. I say no when I need to. When I begin to hurt, I stop. When I need to rest, I do so. I do my regular stretching exercises for my back.

The doctors have told me that I have a small piece of bone near the sciatic nerve on the left side, and that appears to be the culprit. Thanks tailbone, for thoughtfully leaving me a souvenir. Every now and again, I'll move just the right way, and that piece of bone pushes against that nerve, and my back, as well as down my left leg, becomes painful. Short of surgery, there's really nothing they can do.

And I ain't going through surgery.

So...here I sit, uncomfortable and with a pain in my back and left leg...again. It's more like a pain in my butt.

Ironic. That's where it all started.

Today is Valentine's Day. And once again, I celebrate it with just a couple of Dove chocolates from the community pile of holiday candy in the kitchen at the office. I sigh heavily after re-reading that last sentence. No candy and flowers for me. Just pity chocolate from a coworker.

I had hoped by now that I wouldn't have to celebrate these holidays alone. By "these" I mean Christmas, New Year's and Valentine's. As if dealing with Christmas and then New Year's alone wasn't enough, then us single folks get slapped with Valentine's Day…the national day of remembrance…remember you are alone.

I have joked about this day. I have said if Cupid did shoot me, I'd pull his wings out. I have posted on Facebook that valentines make me poop. I have said that I hope on Feb. 15, Cupid wakes up in the fetal position in a pool of his own vomit. All of this makes me sound so very bitter. I'm not really.

It's just difficult. I don't like being reminded that I'm alone still. Who does? I got slapped in the face with it the other day. Someone told me that she envies me for not having a man to have to take care of. After I removed the dart from my chest and handed it back to her, I reminded her that not having a man to take care of also means I don't have a man to take care of me. The response? "Oh."

Yeah. Oh.

My mother heard this exchange. We later talked about how I am waiting for the right man…not Mr. Right. Not Mr. Right Now. But the right man for me. Even if it takes until I'm 70. My mother said she's glad I'm waiting, since it will save me from a lot of heartache. But what about the heartache of waiting? That's just about as bad, in my humble opinion.

But I believe my heart's too special to hand over to just anyone, so I refuse to give it to some dude just so I don't have to order for one when I call out for Chinese. I intend to wait for God's best, no matter how many Valentine's days I have to go through alone.

So…stupid Cupid…stop pickin' on me. I'll call you when I need you.

Mama Knows…

She falls and scrapes her knee, it hurts so bad she cries…

She stands up and runs right inside;

Mama fixes her up, makes it better,

Then looks at her with those eyes…

Mama knows…

She tried so hard at school today but just didn't understand…

That math stuff's hard, couldn't get the answer to come out right;

Curled up on her bed, Mama strokes her hair,

Speaking only with those eyes…

Mama knows…

Who does that boy think he is? Did he know how much she cared?

She told him how she felt, he just walked away;

Didn't eat a bite at supper…

Mama watches her baby girl sleep that night…

Mama knows.

Suitcase packed, the car loaded, off to college she goes;

One last look around her empty room, she sighs…

So many memories, so much lies ahead.

Mama watches her baby leave…

Mama knows…

In a dress all white with lace; a soft, snowy veil, one last glance…

Her life will change, along with her last name;

Touching her pearls she wonders if she's ready…

Mama smiles over her shoulder…

Mama knows.

In the hospital, worn out after hours of struggle

Now forgotten as she holds her own little girl;

She smiles and thinks, "Will I be a good mother?"

Mama says not a word, just smiles, softly cooing…

Mama knows…

Years have passed, children grown and out on their own…

Gray hairs fill her hairline, and she stares at empty rooms;

So many happy memories, so much love;

Where did the time go?

Mama knows.

Mama sits in a chair by a window, watching seasons come and go…

Her memory's long gone, and she can't talk like she used to do;

She wonders if Mama knows she loves her, how she wishes for more time…

Mama's eyes say everything she needs to hear with just one sweet glance...

Mama knows.

Note: I wrote this after watching someone help her mother, who obviously has Alzheimer's disease.

My niece, Amanda, was supposed to dress like she's 100 years old for her 100th day of kindergarten. This is the look she went with. Wonder what she thinks someone in their 40s is supposed to look like? I'm not sure I want to know...

I'm a woman on the edge...and I am not quite sure what is down below.

I have a feeling that God is up to something. The last time I had this feeling, I wound up in Oregon for over two years as a volunteer missionary.

I'm not sure what He's up to, I just know in my heart it will be life-altering somehow. I am praying. I am seeking. I am searching. I am emptying my heart and my pockets, my shoes, my purse, my briefcase...I'm laying it all out...asking God where I'm about to jump.

The funny thing is, He doesn't owe me an explanation. He doesn't have to tell me what's next. He just says, "Trust me. You'll like where you land."

I'm more like the sign that warns me I could die if I fall over the edge.

I'm a woman on the edge. I have no clue what's below. But the view up here is pretty darn nice.