I'm a sucker for lost or hurt animals. I can't watch those commercials on television that feature the Sarah McWhat'sHerFace song, "In the Arms of the Angels." I cry every time, once I see those sad, lost, lonely little faces.

So when I went to the shelter to adopt a pet recently, I had a hard time walking through the dog kennels. Every dog seemed so happy to see me, and twice as sad when I walked past. I wanted to bring them all home. I told the shelter volunteer I didn't want to know any of their back stories until I'd made my choice, knowing I'd start blubbering like an idiot and risk being put in a cage myself. But alas, they had no small dogs.

But on the way back to the dogs, a 4-month-old kitten, with hair the same color as mine, latched on to me. She wouldn't let me put her down. When I held her, she put one front paw on one side of my neck, and the other on the other side, and nestled her head there, like a little baby. She had me at, "Purrrr."

So although I went in to adopt a dog, which is still on my bucket list, I came home with a new kitty I have named Suki. It means "beloved" in Japanese. She's so much fun. And so much work. It's like having a toddler in the house. When she isn't snuggled up on my chest, she's off somewhere, being suspiciously quiet, obviously getting into something. I have to watch her every move.

But every night, when we curl up to go to sleep, and she climbs up and nestles at my neck the same way she did that first day, all is forgiven. When she's close like that, I can hear this soft little whirring sound…her own special brand of purring.

I like to read about shelter animals too, and I love when I read about one who's had a particularly hard life who's now found a new forever home. I read about one this morning named Pepper. A lab and boxer mix, Pepper was found in Colorado shivering and stumbling around a trailer park. He is mostly blind, and has suffered some brain damage, so he wobbles a bit when he walks. No one knows if he was born damaged, or if he suffered damage and was abandoned by some stupid human who didn't want to deal with his special needs, but a good samaritan found him and took him to the local animal shelter.

Because Pepper can't see, all the noise and chaos in the shelter scared the bejeebus out of him, and he became terrified. But even in that state, he still licked every single hand that reached out to him. Since he wasn't doing well in the shelter, a foster home was found for him, where two other dogs were being fostered.

After thoroughly checking him out and letting him know they were in charge, the other two dogs just sort of accepted Pepper. He quickly got used to his new environment and loves running around his new yard, and jumping in piles of leaves. His lack of sight hasn't slowed him down at all, now that he's able to explore on his own terms and get used to things.

But one day, Pepper's new foster mom took him and the other two dogs for a walk. Pepper got a little anxious…maybe because of all the sights and sounds he couldn't recognize or explore in his usual way. Whatever the reason, he began to whimper.

The other two dogs took notice, and came alongside Pepper, and not only guided him, but offered some doggy encouragement as they walked their given path.

What a beautiful picture both of these stories present for us Christians. We were adopted by our heavenly Father, just when we needed it most. And when we snuggle up close to Him, just like He's eager for us to, we can hear His still, small voice, speaking encouragement and love to us.

And just like Pepper, sometimes life presents circumstances that we can't understand. Sometimes we just can't see what's going on, but we can feel that things aren't right. We begin to whimper, too.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a couple of caring friends come alongside us and offer guidance and protection, as well as loving encouragement? That's how it's supposed to work in the church.

God intended for the church to be a place of learning, growth, and service. But He also intended it to be a refuge. It should and must be the one place we can all go, when we can't even find the words to express our pain…when all we can do is whimper.

Lord, my prayer today is kind of a twisted version of the prayer of Jabez, found in 1 Chronicles 4:10...

Oh, Lord, please make me a blessing to those in need; enlarge my whimper radar, and guide me that I might hear and see those in need. I pray your hand will be with me, that you would keep me from having a "deaf" heart, that I won't be grieved at my own epic fail.

Yesterday in church, we talked about grace. My pastor talked about how grace is the one area in which today's church, globally speaking, fails the most. He said what I've been saying for years…the Christian army is the only army that shoots its wounded.

Sad. So sad. But unfortunately, so true. We've all been there. We've seen it done. We may have even been a part of it. We may have been "shot" at a few times ourselves.

I think that Satan no longer is worried about the world. It's taking care of itself. He's now completely focused on destroying the church. And he's doing a bang-up job. We're shooting each other left and right, all while he just sits there, grinning.

My pastor also mentioned land mines, and how they're used in warfare. They aren't designed to kill; they're designed to wound and disable. He said that a smart enemy knows that if he has land mines set, and his enemy falls on them, that enemy will be injured. And the enemy is counting on the compadres of that wounded soldier to be compassionate, and care for him. It takes a lot of personnel to care for a wounded soldier, and it slows down the entire army. That's what the enemy wants. It makes his job easier.

That started me to thinking…and wondering how land mines work. So I did a little research. Land mines are one of the most deadly legacies of 20th-century warfare. They are designed to explode when triggered by pressure or a tripwire. They are usually found on or just below the surface of the ground. Any person or vehicle that comes in contact with that land mine will be disabled when the mine releases an explosion of fragments at high speeds.

Mines are often laid in groups, called mine fields, and are designed to prevent the enemy from passing through a certain area, or to force an enemy to cross into a particular area. They're also used to force an enemy to slow down, until reinforcements arrive.

There are about 100 million land mines located in 70 countries in the world, and since 1975, land mines have killed or maimed more than 1 million people. Land mines can remain active for more than 50 years after they are planted in the ground. This has led to a worldwide effort to ban their use, and a movement to clear away existing land mines, wherever they may be. This can be a tough task, however, because a lot of them are in unmarked fields.

To find these mines, soldiers probe the ground – they literally poke the ground with a stick, knowing that each poke could cost them their lives. Trained dogs are also used. These dogs can sniff out the vapors that come from the explosive ingredients in the mines. Metal detectors are also used, but also require personnel to be put at risk.

Once a mine is found, two chemical agents are shot into the ground to deactivate it. The first solidifies the triggering mechanism and the soil around the mine, which allows soldiers to get in closer. Then the second agent solidifies the mine and the soil permanently, so that the mine can be dug up and destroyed. This whole process is dangerous to the personnel involved.

But even though there is an effort to clear away mines, new mines are being laid at a rate 25 times faster than they are being cleared.

Now…if you apply all of this to some spiritual thinking, with specific leanings toward grace…

Land mines are like cruel words or actions spoken by a fellow Christian. They lie on or just below the surface. These words or actions aren't designed to kill; just wound enough to slow you down or hurt you. They're most often unintentional, but can be filled with specific purpose. Very often, this type of mine does bring in reinforcements, although the parties may not always work together.

This type of mine has a very subtle tripwire, and it affects both sides; and one sets off a reaction in the other. Perhaps the mine-setter has been hurt before and reacts out of pain and bitterness. Perhaps he sees something that rubs that still-raw wound and instead of reaching out in kindness, he seeks to harm. Perhaps he just wants someone to share his misery. Whatever the reason, once that tripwire is tapped, it sets forth rapid-fire pain and suffering that inflicts new wounds on top of old.

The truth about this type of mine is that once it's been detonated, it doesn't just cause harm to the one who receives a direct hit…it can cause harm to anyone nearby, including the one who set the mine in the first place. The disturbing part is that in this case, it's not often there are compassionate soldiers to come alongside the wounded, despite witnessing the pain. You see, this type of wound is infectious. You can't touch it and not be touched.

The saddest part is that these mines, once set, remain forever. They cause harm to anyone who comes near, whether by accident or even if a person is seeking to disable the mine. And these mines are being set at a mind-blowing pace; more are put in place every day. More and more soldiers fall, helpless, hurting and in need of compassion. How many have to fall before we stop the madness?

Thankfully, there is a foot soldier, who came into the world not to condemn it, but to poke for the very mines we set. He willingly risked His life to walk through the mine fields, seeking to destroy the very things that will destroy us. But we are now called to be His foot soldiers. We must pick up a stick, and head for the unmarked fields. We must extend grace to one another, no matter the cost. We must learn to fall on a mine for those around us – to take on their pain and suffering, rather than push them away.

Greater love has no man than this...

There's all sorts of talk these days about bucket lists. People develop such lofty lists, it makes my head spin. I've read some lists that made me think, "No way!" Then, at other times, I've thought, "Way to dream..." when a person's list was less than what I thought it could have/should have been.

But that's not the point of a bucket list. This is one list no one can tell you how to create and no one can pooh-pooh. It's truly unique.

Many of the lists I've seen online had 101 items. Not sure why 101, but it seems to be the going number of bucket items. That number seems a bit overwhelming for me. So I'm starting with 11. Why 11? Well, I met Jesus at 11 years old, and I figure that's a good number for me. So here goes...

1. Write a book.

2. Journal on a regular basis so those who come after me will know what was going on within me...or something like that.

3. Travel. Where...? Well...Italy, France, Ireland, England...anywhere I haven't already been. I just want to see things I've never seen before in places I've never been.

4. Know what it's like to really be in love.

5. Master sign language.

6. Mentor young women to be Proverbs 31 ladies.

7. Own my own newspaper.

8. Weigh 130 pounds. In my whole body. And not just muh butt.

9. Grow something green and keep it green longer than six months.

10. Get a dog.

11. Find a new way to express myself artistically.

I realize that some of these things are quite lofty. Others are well within reach, with some work. But they're all do-able. And I plan to get to work.

And when I've checked most of this list off, I'll start another one. Maybe it'll have 12 things on it...who knows...? Doesn't matter. The point of these lists is to live...really live...before you kick the bucket.

So off I go...living...one list item at a time...

Today at church, our pastor talked about animal groups...how they're called various things in groups. Like, a flock of birds...a gaggle of geese...a pride of lions...a pack of wolves...he remarked how it's funny (weird not ha ha) that animal groups have names like that.

Then he talked about rhinos. A group of rhinos is called a crash. Probably because although a rhino can run 30 miles per hour, its vision is only good for 30 feet. So if you're 31 feet away from a "crash" of charging rhinos, you should probably move. And fast. That's most likely why they're called that.

Then he talked about how he wanted our church to become a crash. To come together and charge forward toward what God has called us to do...even if we can't see what's ahead. He even said that whatever is standing at 31 feet ahead of us had better move, 'cause we're coming. I thought that was a cool way to look at the church's mission.

He also talked about fingerprints. My fingerprints now aren't the same as what they were when I was born. This is because life, well, happened. As we live life, our hands grow, we get scars, burns, whatever. And it changes our fingerprints. I have a scar on my right "pointer" finger where my brother once dared me to stick my finger just inside a metal window fan. When I stupidly accepted the dare, he pushed my elbow, sending my finger further in and resulting in a fairly deep cut. My scar is a reminder of that joyous occasion.

The pastor also talked about what kind of fingerprint you leave on this world...that fingerprint includes all the scars, burns and changes to your fingerprints brought on by the life you've led.

So that got me to thinking, as I sometimes do anyway, what kind of impact have I had on this world? We all leave fingerprints, regardless of whether we want to or not. The impact is the thing. The impact can either be positive or negative...felt or not felt. Have I made a positive impact on the lives of others? When I die, will there be a legacy left behind, bearing my fingerprints?

I like to think so. I hope so.

If not, running in a crash of rhinos will seem pretty pointless...

Today I saw that someone I know had created an Always, Sometimes, Never list..so since I'm an original (wink wink), here's mine...These things can be quite revealing...

I Always…

Love my family. Even when they're all ridin' my last nerve.

Love the smell of rain.

Am happy to remove my shoes and stroll barefoot on the beach or on some really green grass.

Enjoy my Daddy's barbecue chicken and my Mama's potato salad.

Make a U-turn to go get me some doughnuts when the "Hot Now" sign comes on at Krispy Kreme.

Watch Doris Day movies.

Apply sunscreen.

Bite the peak off of an ice cream cone before I start to lick around and around it.

Break apart my Hershey bar and eat each piece one at a time.

Yell really loud for my Georgia Bulldogs and the Lincoln County Red Devils.

Giggle.

Contemplate the mysteries of the universe by looking at the stars or the clouds.

Mix cheese in with my grits.

Cry at sad movies.

Enjoy quoting Mel Brooks movies.

Cry during those battered animal commercials on TV.

Enjoy watching a dog get excited to see me.

Love hearing my niece laugh.

Love the smell the air has right before it snows.

Thank God for loving me in spite of me.

I Sometimes…

Think about what life will be like without my Mama and Daddy and get very sad.

Get all teary-eyed watching my baby brother being a Daddy.

Write in my journal.

Get spring fever even when it's not spring.

Wonder if I've made any kind of impact on this world.

Get blue.

Get giggly.

Get jiggy.

Wish I still lived in Oregon.

Look at men's booties...but always with a very subtle eye.

Decide to be alone with myself…I am very good company.

Wonder why God loves me.

Think about what my life would have been like if I'd made different choices.

Like to mix butterbeans with mustard.

Prefer to sit in a swing and see how high I can go.

Wish I could keep my Christmas lights on my front porch all year long.

Lose my temper.

Sing opera in my car.

Go faster than the speed limit.

Wish I lived closer to my parents.

I Never…

Apologize for who I am.

Mix a bunch of junk in with my ice cream…I am a purist.

Cheer for a team I don't like…I'm talking to you, Florida.

Mix my barbecue and my cole slaw.

Put milk in my coffee.

Get enough of smelling flowers.

Play connect the dots with my freckles…although I am tempted.

Regret giving my heart to Jesus when I was 11.

Am sad that I have red hair.

Bite my toenails…anymore.

Write letters to anybody but my niece.

Knit.

Work hard to create that "smokey eye" makeup thing.

Jog.

Yell at kids, animals or old people.

Want to grow up.

I read story today that started me to thinking about bearing the burdens of others. I came across the story after briefly hearing about the pain a friend of mine is suffering.

The story is about young father of five, who was struggling to not only support his own family, but the family of his father as well. The young man found work as a security guard to keep protesters away as the government bulldozed slums in Mumbai, India. The job made him heartsick, but he had to work. He worked at the job until the day came when his own home was to be bulldozed. That was when he realized that instead of the government using its money to get rid of the blight, it could instead use the funds to improve the homes. This would, he knew, accomplish the purpose of making the city look better. It would also prevent hundreds of people from becoming homeless.

Although his story was remarkable, it wasn't his story that caught my attention. I wondered why he was also taking care of his father's children. Then, there it was. A simple sentence. His father was an "untouchable," whose job it was in the village to whip himself when bad luck fell upon the people who lived there. An untouchable is someone who is seen as "unclean" and is therefore polluting the community. The untouchables have no rights, and just speaking to one can lead to punishments as severe as death. This is why the young man cared for his father's family. His father could not.

But his father's job was to whip himself when bad luck fell upon his neighbors. Those same neighbors who wouldn't speak or interact with him. The same people who ignored him, no matter what his state of being was. In other words, if he was starving, they ignored him. If he was cold or injured or sick, they didn't care. But he was still expected to punish himself on their behalf.

I thought, what an accurate picture of what Jesus did for mankind. He came to this earth, sort of like an untouchable, and was rejected by his own. He allowed himself to be beaten for the "bad luck" that had fallen upon us – sin and the death it brings. He paid the ultimate price for our state of being.

I wondered, how many of us would go to such an extreme for those who are suffering around us? How many of us would feel another's pain to such a degree that we would be willing to beat ourselves on their behalf? Would we be so willing to step into their shoes and feel their pain? Would we take on that pain as if it were our own?

No one is immune from troubles in this life. Scripture provides us with comfort and support as we bear these burdens. We're taught in the Bible that we must believe God will deliver us from our trials and tribulations. Jesus said, "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

But we are also admonished to take on the burdens of others as well. Galatians 6:2 reads: "Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."

Are we to beat ourselves due to the suffering of others? No. But we are to come alongside our fellow man and lift them up in their suffering. Why is this important?

The best example I can think of is found in Exodus 17. God's army was fighting, and as long as Moses kept his arms up, the outcome was positive. But when his arms came down, the battle was unsuccessful.

Moses was only human. He could only hold his arms up for so long. So Aaron and Hur came alongside him and held his arms up for him. That simple act of friendship not only made things better for Moses, but for all of God's people. Everybody wins.

Beating yourself isn't necessary. But coming alongside others and holding them up as they struggle is.

And everybody wins.

My niece, Amanda, started kindergarten today. According to her daddy, she strutted into her classroom like she owned the place. Mommy and Daddy, however, tearfully watched their baby take her first steps toward independence.

It was, her Daddy said, a tough day.

But this will be an exciting year for Amanda. Everything she needs to know in this life, she will learn this year. There's a famous poem that says so. With kind regards to Robert Fulghum, who wrote that poem, I am revising it a bit, just for you, Amanda. But I will start it the way Mr. Fulghum did:

Most of what I really need
To know about how to live
And what to do and how to be
I learned in kindergarten.
Wisdom was not at the top
Of the graduate school mountain,
But there in the sandpile at Sunday school.

These are the things I learned:

Share everything. I don't think you'll have any problems with this. One of my favorite things you've said as a little girl, so far, is when you said, "I'm happy to share with you." And you meant it. I know you always will. Share your smile, your sweet spirit, your laughter, and your wicked sense of humor. And oh yeah…share your sense of accessorizing. The world can never have enough bling.

Play fair. You already know how important this one is, because you have already developed into the family's accountability police officer. You make sure we all remember exactly what we said, how we said it, when we said it and why we said it. And you make sure that we follow up and keep our promises. You learned that from your Daddy.

Don't hit people. This is an important lesson for us all. No one likes to be hit. And no one likes to be the one doing the hitting either. Hitting other people doesn't make us feel any better or make the hurt or anger go away – it just makes us feel worse that we caused someone else pain.

Put things back where you found them. Memo always said if you put it back where you found it, you'll always know where it is. This applies to more than just your socks and shoes…it applies to your heart, too. If you keep your heart close to Jesus, your family and your home, you'll always know where it is.

Clean up your own mess. You can't expect other people to do this for you, even when you don't feel like doing it yourself. When you clean up your messes, you have a greater appreciation for the circumstances that led to it. You learn and grow by rolling up your sleeves and getting a little dirty.

Don't take things that aren't yours. You should never just take from others. Don't take their toys or their cookies. But you shouldn't take their words either…when people say mean or unkind things, you just let those things go. It's when you "take" them that those words can become hurtful.

Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody. This is probably one of the hardest things anyone ever has to do, because it means swallowing your pride. It's hard to apologize when you're in mid-swallow. But it can be done. And often. The most important part of saying you're sorry is the part where you truly mean it. Don't say it unless you mean it. People can tell the difference.

Wash your hands before you eat. Your Mommy already taught you about this one. Remember to do it at the end of the day, too Wash the bad stuff from the day away. Don't let it stick to your hands and get all over everything.

Flush. Well, everybody knows you should flush when you're done. But when you're done saying you're sorry, be sure to flush, too. Don't hold onto a grudge. Once you've apologized, let it go. Holding a grudge doesn't ever hurt the person you're holding it against; it only hurts you.

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Well, that goes without saying. But they're a treat. And treating yourself now and then is a good thing. But don't treat yourself too much, or you'll be so full of yourself, you won't have room for anything or anyone else.

Live a balanced life. Make sure you take time out for the things that matter, big and small. Take time to appreciate the way Dixie wags her tail, and the way your Daddy's face lights up when he laughs. Or the way your Mommy can't watch a sad movie without getting teary-eyed. Those are "small" things. Sometimes the big things will be so big that it gets harder to see the small things. But don't forget…they're all important.

Learn some and think some. Never stop learning. Oh, I know by the time you're a teenager you'll think you already know all there is to know. But that's not true. You should spend your whole life learning. There's just so much to learn, that it takes a lifetime to discover it all. Take the time to go outside, lay on the grass, and look up at the clouds every now and then…it's the best place to just think things through. Never be afraid to be alone with your thoughts. Remember: sometimes the voice in your head is the one who knows best.

Draw and paint and sing and dance. Always stay in touch with the part of you that wants to be artistic and just cut loose, whether it's painting a picture or singing a song or dancing a little jig. And remember to do these things like no one is watching…that's when it's best.

Play and work every day some. You're going to have to work all your life. You'll have to work in school, then at a job, then to take care of yourself and your family. With all that work, you have to play some, too. Do both, and do them with all your heart, but don't do them at the same time.

Take a nap every afternoon. You may not always get to take long naps, but when you can, enjoy them. There's nothing wrong with getting a little shut-eye. But if you can't take a long nap, take a few minutes to just close your eyes and take a deep breath. This helps anytime.

When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together. It's important to always look both ways before you cross the street, and hold an adult's hand. When you grow up, and get out on your own, this is very important too. Always check out all your options, and stay close to people you know you can trust.

Be aware of wonder. Never lose the ability to look at what and who God has created with your eyes and your heart wide open. If you do this, you'll live in a constant state of awe at who He is and who He's making you to be.

And that's the best lesson of all.

Today I was thinking about balloon creatures. You know, the crazy creatures a clown makes. Sometimes you can get them made into hats at carnivals and county fairs.

You can get a balloon made into just about anything. I've gotten balloon dogs, balloon flowers, balloon hats…and I was watching a movie the other day where a guy made a bicycle out of balloons. Pretty impressive.

Then I started thinking about those poor balloons. Sure, I know they don't have feelings. They don't feel it when they are twisted and contorted into any number of odd creations. They don't care that' they're being manipulated and bent to someone's will. But I still felt sorry for them.

Then I started thinking, what if I was like that? What if I were being twisted into some odd creation by some random dude, who was only doing it for his own enjoyment or to entertain others? Don't think I'd like it very much.

But isn't that what satan tries his best to do? He tries so hard to bend us and twist us into something else, for his own enjoyment and entertainment. He certainly doesn't do it because he has our best interests at heart. He twists, bends and ties us off into something unrecognizable…if we let him.

The good news is that we don't have to let him. We aren't without power. We aren't without say-so. When satan starts that mess, we only have to utter one word: Jesus. That's all it takes to make that clown run, screaming for his mommy. The name of Jesus makes him weak and causes him to shake where he stands.

The bad news is that sometimes we forget this. We forget that we have power through Jesus Christ. We forget that all we have to do is call on His name and all of hell shakes. All we have to do is say to the mountain, "Move!" and it does.

How can we forget that? What makes us forget? Perhaps it's just the busy-ness of life. We get caught up in the day-to-day, and the thought gets pushed aside. How sad for us.

There are those people who don't understand faith and obedience who would say that as Christians, we are being bent, shaped and tied according to God's will, much like a balloon animal. The argument is that we are mindless minions who get no say-so in what happens to them; we merely "do God's will."

But here's what they miss: obedience is not about getting molded into whatever someone else wants. God intended that our walk of faith be an adventure, motivated by our love for Christ and our desire to please Him. Obedience is about discovering God, not about avoiding consequences. God intended obedience to be a journey taken one step at a time. For each step we take in obedience, we are blessed by God. We can then take another step. And more blessings follow.

Sometimes, we think we need to back off from obedience because it seems safe to do so; but in so doing we deprive God of the opportunity to demonstrate His awesome power in and through us. We must remember James 2:17, which reminds us that faith without works is dead. In other words, we cannot have unshakeable faith without obeying.

Here's the thing: obedience does not lead to being tied up in knots. It leads to steadfast faith. Think Noah…Paul…Abraham…Daniel in the lion's den. All of these men obeyed and it led to steadfast and unshakeable faith.

No balloon critters needed.

I am preparing to move. Again. Oy.

I do not look forward to this. I hate packing up my worldly possessions, and hauling them from Point A to Point B. I hate all the details that go with moving. I hate paying deposits, and having to deal with asking for deposits already paid to be returned. I hate having to go back to the old place, one more time, to make sure everything's all clean and clear. I hate going to the new place to clean and prep. I hate sweating. I hate lifting. I hate newsprint on my stuff and little packing peanuts scattered everywhere. It's all a pain in the butt.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you just stay put?" I can just hear the question rolling around in the brains of those who know me...and to you I say, "Shut up!"

Sorry...that was the frustrated mover in me speaking out.

I have moved a lot in my lifetime. It started when I was in college, out of necessity. You rent a room at someone's house, and you can only stay there so long. So you must move. Then you rent an apartment with a roommate, and then someone graduates, gets married or moves out for whatever reason. So you move...

Eventually, I got off the roommate train, and decided to go it on my own. Now I move only when my job dictates. Still no fun. Necessary...but no fun.

I will say this: moving keeps you from becoming a pack rat. If you have to pack it up and haul it, you're less likely to hang onto it. I have never been one to rat my pack...I've always kept things pretty streamlined. Even as a kid. I kept things organized and if I didn't need or want it anymore, it went bye-bye. I'm still like that. If I haven't touched, worn or used it in a year, it has to go.

On the flip side, this whole move thing is kind of exciting. The whole idea of being nomadic is somewhat exciting and romantical and junk. But the sentiment can only get you so far...and then you find another box that has to be hauled.

Will I ever settle down in one place? Maybe. If God so leads. For now, I'm keeping my options open. And I'm keeping my boxes and plastic bins. I wonder if U-Haul gives frequent driver rewards...

I have had the honor of working with some great kids over the years. During the time I worked as a youth or student minister (director, coordinator, whatever...) I was always considered part-time or bi-vocational. But in my heart, it was always a full-time gig. When involved in ministering to others, there is no such thing as part-time.

I "retired" from youth ministry a few years ago, because I felt it was time to give more attention to myself and, more importantly, to my family. My family has been patient over the years, always understanding when I couldn't drop what I was doing and come running. They knew I had a lot of young hearts to guide, and that I took that responsibility very seriously. It took up most of my time when I wasn't working my full-time job, and therefore I had no life outside of my students.

I wouldn't have had it any other way.

It may seem selfish at first glance to think that I gave up student work, at least in the way I'd been doing it, for myself (I'll always be involved in student work in some way...). It's understandable to think someone would do that in order to spend more time with his or her family, but to give more attention to yourself? Isn't that ridiculously selfish?

Maybe. I don't think so. At some point, I think you have to.

There were other reasons the time was right for that move, but I don't want to get into that. Not the reason for this blog post, and it's all in the past. I'd like to leave it there.

I've been fortunate enough to have maintained contact with many of "my kids." I was told once I shouldn't call the kids in my youth group that, but I still do. Once my kid, always my kid. I've kept in contact with many of them, initiated by them (because I didn't want to be the creepy old chick who couldn't let go). In recent years, it's been mostly through MySpace or Facebook. And it's been so great to see where their lives have taken them. I'm proud of each and every one of them. They're all wonderful young men and women and I am blessed to have been a small blip on the radar screen of their lives.

With that contact I have seen the joys unfold in their lives, like children, or the sorrows, like the loss of a parent or other loved one. It's been heartbreaking at times, because I can't hold their hand, or hug them close and pray with them like I used to. But I do pray for them. Oh, boy...do I. I always will. At other times, I've been so excited for them that I just about exploded...when they got married, had kids, graduated from college, had success in their careers...whatever. They're my babies...and I'm proud of each of them.

I think I'm most proud of my last youth group at Old Union. I was closer to them that any other group I've ever worked with. And that's saying something – I've had amazing bonds with several student groups over the years, but there was just something extra special about Old Union's group. Maybe it's because I learned and grew more during my time there with them than ever before. Maybe it's because I saw so much growth in them...so much faith and obedience. It was awesome to behold.

I began thinking about that group because I saw some pictures of one of them getting an award in the military. And I realized there are several of my kids from Old Union who are serving their country...Chip, Ryan, Guy, Heather...and Karissa's husband, Erich. Although he's the one that's deployed, Karissa's serving too.

It's an amazing thing that they are all sacrificing so much to serve their country. It takes discipline and serious guts. I don't know if I could do it. I have a lot of respect for these young men and women. I've always thought they were awesome...but now I think they're even awesomer...not a word, I know, but it fits.

I saw that sacrifice in a picture that Karissa has posted on Facebook...I don't know if it was taken the day her hubbie deployed, or before. But you could see the sacrifice...the anguish...the love.. I couldn't help it...I began to weep. I wept for my Rissa Roo, who's at home with her babies while her husband is deployed for a year. I wept for Guy, Ryan, Chip and Heather...who are serving...they're so young...I still see their young faces as kids and it's hard for me to think of them somewhere in a uniform, carrying a gun.

But I have to remember they are babies no more. They are American service men and women.

I thank you, my kids. Freedom isn't cheap.

(If there are others from that group, I didn't intentionally leave you out...I just don't know you're serving...)

I haven't posted in a while. Haven't had anything much to post on this most personal blog. I'm now writing eight blogs a week at my new job, and that's been a sometimes daunting task. But I'm enjoying it...in addition to all the new things I'm doing at work. I'm learning a lot of new skills, and that's been fun.
I recently visited my niece, who just graduated from her pre-k class at Van Dyke Day School in Tampa. Cap and gown stuff. Wow. I remember when it was a big deal to don the cap and gown when you graduated from high school. Now, it's old hat. Literally. By the time you graduate from high school these days, you've worn the old mortarboard so many times you've worn the tassel down to a nub. It just seems to me that so many celebrations steal the luster of the moment, you know?
Not that it wasn't a precious moment. I didn't get to go because it happened in the middle of the week and I had to work. But I have a new 5X7 of a little girl with a huge grin, wearing a cap and gown.
My niece is now 5 years old. I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday she was a baby with no hair, making goofy faces at her daddy. And now, she's getting ready for kindergarten. Sheesh. Where did the time go?
As she's getting ready to officially start school, I think we're all getting ready as well. It's hard when your baby starts school. I don't have any chil'rens, so I can't relate in that most intimate way...but I understand that it's hard to let go. It's hard to imagine my brother taking his little girl to school on the first day, and leaving her in the care of someone else all day at a new, public school. She's been in a private, church-run day school for the past couple of years...what a big difference that will be for her. When I asked her about the change, she kind of shrugged her shoulders at first. Then, after giving it some thought, she said, "None of my friends will be there." Then she thought some more, and she said, "But it will be okay. I'm a big girl now."
I thought to myself, how very grown up that attitude is. I also thought, how very much I could learn from that attitude. Here's my 5-year-old niece, facing going to a strange place full of strange people, and she's thinking that it'll be okay...just because she's a big girl now.
I am in a strange new place. With people who are becoming less like strangers every day. And it's okay....because I'm a big girl now.
I think my niece already knows the best things kindergarten can teach her...

I came across this quote the other day, and it just stuck with me...
"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit. " --Dawn Markova
I thought it very appropriate for me. It's dead-on, in fact. It's a very accurate representation of how I choose to live my life.
I am preparing for a new adventure. On June 1, I start a new job. Still writing and editing, but I'll be adding to my skills in ways I never even thought of. I'm excited and scared, all at the same time. Well...not really scared. Uncomfortable is probably a more accurate word. I'll be stepping outside of my comfort zone. I've been quite comfortable in a newsroom for years now. It's been home. And I won't be there come June 1. Uncomfortable...yep. That's me.
But with that discomfort comes the excitement of new growth.
I recently read about the anniversary of the eruption of Mt. Saint Helens. I saw pictures of the eruption and the devastation that followed. I spent a summer in Oregon when I was in college, and I got to see the area firsthand. It was beautiful. Our tour guide said when everything came back after the eruption, the mountain and the area around it was even more beautiful than before. From the ashes of devastation came something so beautiful, it took my breath away. God took something that was seemingly dead, useless...and turned it into something full of life and promise.
I read an article in the LA Times about the anniversary, and it said the first rumblings of that eruption took place nearly two months before...and nobody noticed.
I have rumblings...discomfort...excitement...
I don't know when the eruption will occur, I just know it's coming.
And I can keep moving forward, because I know that the same God who exchanged beauty for ashes is at work in my life...
And just like Mt. Saint Helens, I will emerge better than before.
Rumble, rumble...

Ever feel like a hamster on a wheel? Endlessly running, but never really getting anywhere? I feel like that...more so right now than at any other time in my life. Not really sure why it's bothering me right now...but I feel it more these days.
Maybe it's because I am staring down the barrel of being 50...it's only a few years away...it's something I'm not dreading (I plan to be just as fabulous at 50 as I have always been)...but it does seem to loom large.
Maybe because I will be, dare I say it, half a century old, I feel somewhat hamster-like...
Dunno.
I am working to figure this one out.
In the meantime, I will keep running. I may not get anywhere fast, and I may begin panting and wheezing at any given moment, but I refuse to just stand there and stagnate.
Stagnant stuff stinks.

Mother’s Day. It’s just around the corner. There are many who will celebrate it with bittersweet memories of their mothers who are no longer here. Others are fortunate enough to be able to spend the holiday with their moms.
I am one of those still blessed to have my mother here with me. Well, she’s not here, but she’s still here...if you get what I mean. She doesn’t live here; she lives in North Georgia.
When I think back over the course of my life, there’s one constant thread...the love of my mother.
The other day, I was reading about the red string of fate. According to Chinese legend, the gods tie an invisible red string around the ankles of men and women who are destined to be soulmates and will one day marry each other. The legend reads: "An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break."
I did a little more research and found the story of Yue Xia Lao, a lunar matchmaker god in Chinese lore. The story goes like this:
Walking home one night, a young boy sees an old man standing in the moonlight – it is Yue Xia Lao. He explains to the boy that he is attached to his destined wife by a red thread. Yue Xia Lao shows the boy his destined wife, a young girl. Being young and having no interest in having a wife, the young boy picks up a rock and throws it at the girl, running away.
Many years later, when the boy has grown into a young man, his parents arrange a wedding for him. On the night of his wedding, his wife waits for him in their bedroom, with the traditional veil covering her face. Raising it, the man is delighted to find that his wife is one of the great beauties of his village.
However, she wears an adornment on her eyebrow. He asks her why she wears it and she responds that when she was a young girl, a boy threw a rock at her that struck her, leaving a scar on her eyebrow. She self consciously wears the adornment to cover it up. The woman is, in fact, the same young girl connected to the man by the red thread shown to him by Yue Xia Lao back in his childhood.
I thought the whole concept was kind of cool...being tied to someone, even if you don’t know that person, throughout life. Then one day, discovering that person is forever linked to you and will be your partner.
I thought about my mom again. Granted, the story is about destiny and love, but then again, so is the story of my relationship with my mom. There may not be a red thread around each of our ankles, but there’s no doubt in my mind that God chose her to be my mother.
You see, there is no other woman in this world who could have been my mom. My mom is uniquely equipped to love me, having loved me since the first day she saw my red head. She has supported me, guided me, and given me unconditional love like no other. She has laughed with me, cried with me, guided me, chided me, and she continues to do so, without question. (Well...sometimes there are questions...but they’re always asked in a spirit of love.)
There are no words to describe how much I love my mom. There may have been times she looked to the sky and said, “Why me?” when I was growing up, but I’m so glad God pointed to me and said, “Because she belongs with you.”

The following is a column I wrote last year, that I've been thinking about lately. I've been thinking about "home" a lot, and my folks, and I remembered this column. I was going to write something else for my little bloggity blog...but decided I'd already written it...no need to redo it... Please...to enjoy.
I got to spend some vacation time recently with my parents. I went up to their home in North Georgia and just hung out. I didn’t really plan on much else.
My agenda was this: my mom and I went to Athens on Monday to do a little Christmas shopping. You just can’t buy UGA stuff around here; there’s just not much variety, when you do find it. On Tuesday, we spent the day roaming around the area where she was born and raised, taking pictures and just hanging out.Then on Wednesday, I spent the day doing a whole lotta nothing.
On Thursday, I spent the bulk of the day with my good friend, Autumn. We met up for lunch and did girl stuff...shopping at the mall and such. Trust me when I tell you, lots of giggling and yakking took place, along with trying on of clothes and shoes, sniffing of perfumes and body washes, and lots of makeup sampling. It was a total chick-fest.
I had to come back on Friday. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay put. I mean, after all, who wants to see vacation end?
I dreaded Monday. I knew it was going to be a busy day. And it was. I found I had some catching up to do, and I had to re-do some stuff someone did that they may have thought would help me. It didn’t, by the way.
It was back to business as usual.
I noticed something last week. At some point along the way, I’m not sure when or how, I became the parent and my parents became the children. I find myself more and more in that role. It’s kind of frightening. Aw, heck....let’s just say it. It’s downright terrifying.
I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t desire it. But here it is.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly glad to be there for my parents. They have raised me and cared for me, and now it’s my turn to take care of them.
It’s just kind of weird to be in this new phase of life.
I wonder if they felt the same when I came along. I wonder if they had the same apprehensions and fears. I wonder if they desperately sought out a manual on raising a feisty little redheaded girl who was never afraid to speak her mind. I’m pretty sure they never found a book on that subject.
And now I’m at bat. I’ve got my protective head gear on, my bat in hand and my eye on the ball. It’s just kind of hard to see the ball when your eyes are a little misty.
But I’m in this game to win.

I am truly disappointed in President Barack Obama. 

Just 3 weeks shy of the National Day of Prayer, set for the first Thursday in May each year, rumors circulated that Obama had decided he didn’t want to “offend anyone,” so he canceled it. He didn’t cancel the National Day of Prayer, and will, in fact, sign a proclamation to uphold the tradition. He did, however, cancel the White House service in observance of the day.

That action offends me. And I’m sure I’m not the only one. How dare he take such action at a time when our nation most needs prayer? According to CNN, “prayer is something the president does every day.”

Then shouldn’t he take the time on the National Day of Prayer to set the example for all Americans?

This action won’t stop those of us who wish to pray. It’s the idea of it. Our president is more worried about appearances than the spiritual welfare of this nation. 

Just so you know, we have a long and rich history in this nation of setting aside time for prayer. The first day of prayer was declared when the Continental Congress designated a time of prayer for forming this country in 1775. George Washington declared in 1795 a day of public thanksgiving and prayer, and James Madison proclaimed a national day of prayer in 1813. He later “Obama-ed,” and said his proclamation wasn’t appropriate, saying it implied an inclincation toward a national religion. Thomas Jefferson agreed.

But Abraham Lincoln signed a Congressonal resolution in 1863, calling for a national day of fasting and prayer during the Civil War.

And in 1952, a bill proclaiming an annual National Day of Prayer was unanimously passed by both houses of Congress. President Truman signed it into law. In 1988, a bill was introduced in Congress that fixed the National Day of Prayer as the first thursday in May. It was widely supported, and was signed into law May 5, 1988.

President Bill Clinton said in 1993, that "Through prayer our people take a moment away from the concerns of everyday life to understand the greater power that gives us guidance.  We come together in an act common to all religions." 

Obama understood that in January when he allowed Muslims to pray at the nation’s Capitol in January. He must have suffered some memory loss since then.

I understand that not everyone celebrates religious practices. That’s quite evident. I understand the idea of separation of church and state. I get it. 

But show me one person who has ever been hurt by prayer – whether by engaging in the act themselves or by being the object of someone else’s prayers – and I’ll support Obama’s decision.

Even though I’m disappointed and angered by his decision, it saddens me to think that the first black president of the United States, who has made history more than once since he took office, will now be known for turning his back on the very tenets of what this nation was founded on. 

And at this time in our history, can we truly afford to not be one nation under God? I think not.

Do you ever feel like a Raggedy Ann in a Barbie world? I do. I feel that way often. Sometimes it's because of my looks, sometimes it's because of what I perceive the world, my family, my friends, etc. have expected of me that I have failed to accomplish, and sometimes it's because I just feel pulled and tugged on by life.
It happens way too often. And I know it's not right to feel that way. My Mama would say to me, "God makes no junk." Easier to hear than to believe sometimes.
But I read the following today...and it lifted my spirits a bit...amidst all the uncertainty and up-in-the-air stuff in my life these days...
"We often see ourselves as lifeless 'Raggedy Ann,' while God sees us as beautiful 'Barbie'...
1 Samuel 16:7 says 'God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.' While media and magazines push outward extravagance, God longs for our hearts to worship Him extravagantly.
Don't get me wrong ladies -- every barn looks better with a little paint! There is nothing wrong with looking good, but our focus must be balanced. So, how do we accomplish our Raggedy Ann tasks while taking care of ourselves like Barbie?
The first thing to remember when balancing our lives is that we cannot do it all. We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to be everything to everyone. This often happens when we fear something is lacking, so we wear ourselves out trying to fill the void. We must protect our priorities and relinquish the things that steal our time.
We also need to take care of ourselves. There is a balanced way to do this, and we must care for ourselves if we are going to care for others. Be sure to rest, eat well, exercise and do something you enjoy while maintaining the responsibilities that God has given you. It is rare that anyone needs us 24 hours a day. Make a decision that you will take care of yourself so that you can care for others with excellence.
Finally, stop focusing on what is wrong with you, and take an inventory of what you do right! As women, we often find it easy to name our flaws while struggling to list our strengths. If this is difficult for you, write down five things you do right each day. Make a conscious decision to examine the good qualities about yourself, and focus on those things as you continue to make progress in the other areas.
The Bible says, 'As a man (or woman) thinks in his (her) heart, so is he (she).' So focus on the good things! You are a beautiful 'Barbie' in the eyes of your Heavenly Father."
I'm working on my list...it might take a while...and it'll be a struggle...but I'm working on it!

One of my favorite childhood memories was Easter Sunday morning. I loved getting up and finding that the Easter Bunny had come. My brothers and I always got baskets full of treats, including the typical chocolate bunny that you should always begin eating by biting off the ears.
But even better than that was getting to wear my new Easter dress. For years, my mother made my dresses, as she did a lot of my clothes. We always went to the sewing supply store, and I got to pick out the fabric for my dress. It was mostly fun, except for those years when my mother decided that my brothers and I had to match. I didn’t like that too much. The fabric I picked out never meshed with what the boys wanted.
But in the end, I always wound up with a pretty new frock, and I was proud to wear it. I knew that no one else would have a dress like mine.
Another tradition I enjoyed was the annual Easter egg hunt at the church. I loved coloring and decorating the eggs, and the hunt itself was always fun. There was lots of candy and we actually got to eat the boiled eggs we found. Well...I ate the white part. I didn’t eat the yolks. There was this bucktoothed boy in my Sunday School class who disposed of those for me.
With the way things are today, I’m not sure parents would let their kids eat the boiled eggs. Do they even use them anymore? I think they’ve gone to the plastic ones, filled with candy or little prizes. That kind of makes me sad. It’s no fun if you can’t get one of those little kits, some vinegar in cups, and then dip those eggs until they’re just the right shades of pink, blue and green.
Easter Sunday was something else. There were always so many people there...people we hadn’t seen since...well, Christmas...or maybe the previous Easter. And everyone was all decked out in their new clothes.
I’m not sure who thought up that tradition. Why is it necessary to go out and get a new dress or suit for Easter? Aren’t you supposed to look nice every Sunday morning? Or for that matter...does it really matter what you wear to church? Aren’t you supposed to be accepted there no matter what you wear?
I suppose the tradition is stronger in the South. When I lived in Oregon, it didn’t seem that new clothes on Easter was that big of a deal.
Whatever the reason, I am glad I got to participate in it when I was a child. I had the coolest dresses around...handmade by my Mama.
And that’s even better than having a bucktoothed boy to eat the yolks for you.

I love daffodils. I've loved them since I was a child.
Maybe it was because they heralded the beginning of spring. The weather changed, the days became longer, and we were able to stay outside and play longer.
Maybe it was because they were so readily available. They were everywhere! My dad built me a "playhouse" when I was a little girl, and I had it all decorated. My mom made me curtains, I had a refrigerator, sink, stove, dishes, and a little table with chairs. I loved to play house and would spend hours doing so. And in the spring, I always picked tons of daffodils, and I'd sneak a glass from the house, fill it with water, and put my daffodils in the center of my little table.
I think the reason I loved daffodils so much was not so much their appearance or when they bloomed, but because of their bravery. Where I grew up, they were the first flowers to bloom in the spring. To break through the cold, hard ground and reach for the sky took a lot of guts, especially when you were the first to do it.
That's what I think of now that I'm an adult. When I see daffodils in bloom, I think about their bravery, and wonder, "Could I be that brave? Could I break through difficult circumstances, when no one has cleared the path?"
I love the bright, sunny color of the daffodils, and how they seem to dance in the wind. They reach toward the sun...and dance.
I have learned from these beautiful little flowers. I will break through the tough times. I will reach toward the Son, and dance in the wind.

Daffodils - By William Wordsworth


I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;

A poet could not be but gay,

In such a jocund company!

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:


For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

The other day I was standing at my kitchen window, watching it rain. And I was enjoying it. I love rainy days...when I don't have to go anywhere. I love to sit on the porch, with a good book, and just listen to the rain fall. I even like the sound of people driving through the puddles.
As I stood there, I began to look at the puddles in my yard. There was one particularly large one, and I watched as raindrops landed in it. Each raindrop seem to ripple only so far. None of the ripples from any drops made it all the way to the edge of the puddle.
This got me to thinking.
Granted, those were probably small drops of rain. They didn't have enough strength to reach the edge of the puddle. But even though they weren't going to make it all the way to the edges of that puddle, they still fell. And they still made an impact.
A larger drop would have made quite the splash. The ripples would certainly have created a mini tidal wave in that particular puddle.
I began to think, "How big are the ripples I make? Am I faithful to jump in, even when I doubt I'll make a difference? And if I do follow through and make a splash, big or small, am I even landing in the right puddle?"
Deep thoughts for such a shallow little puddle.
But I began to think about my own life. How much of an impact do I actually have on those around me? Am I impacting them for good? Do I affect them negatively in some way? Am I faithful to try to make a difference, even when it doesn't seem I am?
I began to think of those in my past who have jumped in my puddle...those who've made big splashes and small. No matter the size of the splash, they each created ripples in my life. And I am better for it, whether their impact was positive or negative, because I choose to grow from each experience...each life that touches mine.
But what of my splashing? Has it produced good results for others? I certainly hope so. It is certainly what I aspire to.
Am I jumping in the right puddle? I think so. All my life's experiences, all the ripples, splashes, sloshes and mud oozing up between my toes has made me the person that I am today. And aside from losing a few pounds, I wouldn't change a thing. I like me. I think I'm pretty cool.
I rarely make New Year's resolutions. They're too fragile and often broken before the ink on the punctuation mark is dry. But this year, I've decided to make sure that all of my ripples reach the edge of my puddles. Whatever puddles I jump into. I want to impact my world and the people in it for good. For God.
So...here goes. Cannon ball!!

I'm preparing to write my newspaper column today, and I was thinking back to one I wrote about this time last year...so I decided to share it on my blog. Please....to enjoy.

In this week’s column, I’d like to pay tribute to some people who are very important to me – my friends.
Some of them I haven’t seen in years, but they have never left my thoughts and prayers. Some of them I’ve only heard from on occasion; others, I hear from several times a day through a wonderful little thing called Facebook. There are also those that I see several times a year, and talk to on the phone at least once a week.
These friends are from periods throughout my life – people I’ve known my whole life, people I’ve met in other states I’ve visited or lived in, and even people I know from my college days in Georgia. I also count among my friends my “kids.” I worked for many years bi-vocationally as a journalist and a youth minister, and many of my “kids” have stayed in touch with me, and it is a privilege to still be a part of their lives in a small way as they’ve grown into adulthood.
But no matter how often I hear from or talk to any of them, I cherish them and am honored to call them my friends.
What got me started thinking about this? Well, several things, actually. I get somewhat reflective during the holiday season, and I start to think about what really matters to me. That list always includes my family and friends, and although I was terrible this past Christmas and didn’t send out the first card, I did think of my friends and miss them.
With that in mind, I heard from my sister-friend, Tammy, that she had created this little list of things about herself. Tammy and I “found” each other again in the world of Facebook after having lost touch for several years. She and her husband are friends of mine from my college days, and two people I love dearly.
In her list, she had included a comment about me...so sweet and kind. She listed several friends and family members who have had a positive influence on her life in some way. It was special to me that I was included.
So I started thinking about creating my own list and, of course, that turned into a column. But before I even get started, let me just say two things: First, I know that the people listed here are my friends and you don’t know them. But just remember, there’s always something you can learn from others, so my words about my friends may spark something in you.
Second, if you’re not listed here my friends, don’t think you’re unimportant. I’ve learned so much from the friendships I’ve been blessed with in my life and I don’t have the space here to list it all. Just know you’re loved and appreciated, and we’ll talk later.
My friends are my crowning glory, and what I’ve tried to do here is list a few who’ve blessed me in an extraordinary way and, in my own way, say thanks.
It’s often hard to know where to begin, but I really don’t have that problem this time. I have to start with my friend Autumn. Our mothers got confused and forgot to make sure we were related. But it’s OK.
Autumn is one of the kindest, most loyal, most thoughtful and dedicated people I know. She cares for her family and friends no matter what, often taking action to provide for some need or want with no thought of herself. She’s completely selfless, and no matter what she says, she’s a wonderful example of what a spiritually-centered woman should be. She is an awesome wife, aunt, sister and daughter, and we could all learn a thing or two from her about keeping priorities straight.
I can’t even begin to thank her for all the times she’s listened to me after I’ve had a bad day, jumped up and down with me after I’ve had a great one or cried with me when I was hurting. There’s no one that I can just laugh with until I cry like her. I know that she prays for me, and it’s a major source of strength for me.
If I did have a friendship crown, Autumn would be the jewel in the center.
Then there’s my good friend, Ken. He would be the squiggly metal part of the crown that kind of holds it all together.
Ken is one of those people that even after you’ve been apart for a while, when you come together, it’s like no time has passed. I don’t think I’ve ever told him how much I truly appreciate him. He and I became friends when I lived in Oregon, and he and his wife, Faye, also a special friend, still live there. The Internet has been our friend, and has enabled us to stay in touch.
When we both lived in the same area, we saw each other several times a week, mostly church-related. But we hung out a bunch outside of that also. He and his family are so special to me.
Ken is an “Aw, shucks” kind of guy. He never takes credit for anything. But he is a strong leader and he’s got the same kind of sick, twisted humor that I do. I think that helped us bond.
I have so much respect for Ken. He is an example of faithfulness that is growing more and more rare these days. He is my brother, graying goatee and all.
And last, at least on this list, are my good friends Dale and Alicia. They live in Texas, and we go way back. I have watched them go through ups and downs as individuals and as a couple, and I’ve gained so much respect for each of them and for their relationship. It’s rare to find that soulmate that will stick with you through thick and thin, and these two special folks and their marriage are an inspiration to me.
Dale, like Ken and I, has a rather twisted sense of humor. I like that about him. He makes me laugh, but more importantly, he makes me think. He would be those grippy comb things that hold the crown in place.
And Alicia is one of the most warm, open and welcoming people I know. She could make a rock feel warm and fuzzy. She has never failed to make me laugh, but she has also moved me to tears by her sweet spirit and deep commitment to her faith. She would most definitely provide the rest of the sparkle for the crown.
I could go on and on, but this handful of people are the ones that have inspired and challenged me lately and I will carry their lessons into this new year.
I can’t wait to see what the rest of you bring to my life in 2009 (and now 2010!). It’s gonna be awesome, so bring it on. And please know that I will be offering up a thing or two for each of you as well.
No crowns required.

I got some great news last week. My cousin’s son won his local Patriot’s Pen contest, sponsored by the Thomson, Ga. Veterans of Foreign Wars post and its Ladies Auxiliary. He placed third at the state level.
At first glance, you might think, so what? A lot of kids enter essay contests and many of them win some nice prizes. Happens every day, right?
But this is an extra-special case, considering Tyler Shelton is an extra-special boy.
Tyler is the son of my cousin, Tammy Shelton and her husband, Jeff. Tyler is in the eighth grade and gets all A’s and B’s on his report card. His classes and tests are the same as every other eighth grader at his school.
But Tyler’s accomplishments are a little more extraordinary, considering that he’s got some special challenges.
You see, when Tyler was 10, he began having a lot of headaches. To make a long story short, doctors found an almost golf ball-size tumor wrapped around Tyler’s brain stem. Surgeons were able to remove the whole thing, but it was vascular, and Tyler sustained a lot of damage.
This active kid who loved sports and the Georgia Bulldogs was in a coma for 5 weeks. When he woke up, he couldn’t see, speak, eat, walk or use his right arm. He had severe balance issues and shook all the time. Tammy says it was like having a 65-pound newborn.
Tyler’s come a long way since then. He has regained everything except his balance, and has to use a walker. He’s still in physical therapy twice a week, and doctors say he may never walk without assistance. He’s had seven shunt revision or replacement surgeries.
He gets tired easily and it takes him a long time to do some things, like write an essay. In fact, he was on home care, which lasted for 6 weeks, when he wrote this essay.
But with a lot of effort and determination, Tyler can do anything his peers can. He is a member of an adapted aquatics swim team and has competed in shot put and club. He took first place earlier this year in the 25- and 50-yard freestyle and backstroke in a swim meet.
Tammy says her son has to work at things 10 times longer and harder than most of the other students, yet he still gets better grades than many of them. His school makes only slight modifications for his disabilities. His accomplishments come through sheer grit.
Tammy’s a proud mama. And rightfully so.
Just knowing the determination behind his essay makes reading it all the more special. So I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy reading it, knowing a very determined young man penned it. It appears here, just as he wrote it.
We’re all proud of you and love you, Tyler. You inspire us every day.

Why Should Veterans Be Honored?

Can you imagine going to work everyday not knowing if you will ever make it home? Not knowing when or if you will ever see your family, friends and home again? How would you feel to know that you might be asked to make the ultimate sacrifice of giving up your life to ensure that your friends and family can live a free and secure life? Can you imagine how scary this would be?
History has shown that America's Veterans have done just that. They were ready at a moment's notice to fight to keep our country free. America's Veterans have put their life on the line to provide a secure place to live and raise families for all Americans and many other countries around the world. Their numerous sacrifices ensure that we all have the opportunity to live a protected, free life. Veterans didn't make these sacrifices for the money, the glory or the honor. The bottom line is they make these sacrifices for me and for you.
There are literally thousands of memorials honoring America's Veterans of War in this country. We have the holidays, Memorial Day and Veterans Day. Memorial Day honors Veterans who died in war, while Veterans Day honors all American Veterans, both living and dead. These holidays provide many opportunities to honor Veterans with awards, ceremonies and parades.
I think these holidays are great ways to honor Veterans, but two days out of the year don't really seem to me to be enough to ensure that Veterans know how deeply we appreciate the sacrifices they have made to keep our country free. I think one of the best ways to honor an American War Veteran is to treat them with the dignity and respect that they deserve. We should take care of our Veterans and their families. We should volunteer to help out in any way we can, whether it is sending a card or note to a Veteran in the hospital, helping older Veterans with chores around their house, or just visiting them in the local nursing home. It is our turn to give a little back to them for all they have given to us.
So, the next time you see a Veteran, take the time to tell them "Thank you. Thank you for putting your life on the line for me, my family, my country and my world."
E-mail your comments and suggestions to me at editor@gadcotimes.com.

Me likee this... It made me feel less like a freak! ...Angye

Don't Find Him, He'll Find You

A.J. Kiesling

Author & Contributing Writer

A few years ago someone said the words I most needed to hear as a single woman. Ironically, it was another single woman who uttered these words — a bit of wisdom gleaned from her mother, I suspect. If I could tell her now, I would let my friend know how much her simple reply comforted my heart, and how many times it has anchored me when I despaired of ever finding “the one.” They are words I want you to hear too.

Having just passed the time of year that privately makes every “searching single” wince — Valentine’s Day — it was a relief when the words from this long-ago conversation floated back to me, as relevant as the day they were spoken.

My friend Heather had pulled me aside after our church’s midweek worship band rehearsal that night. The sparkle in her dark brown eyes reflected the joy of a newfound love in her own life — a relationship that indeed turned out to be “the one” two years later.

“So how’s everything going with Joe?” she asked, eager to hear the latest developments of my on-again off-again relationship with a guy from church. I almost felt guilty when my disappointing answer stole the smile from her face. Things were definitely not so good, I told her, and it looked like Joe and I were headed for a dead end.

Before I could stop myself I lapsed into that despairing mode all searching singles are familiar with. I call it the “Why Has God Forgotten Me?” syndrome (you might also call it a pity party). When everyone around you seems to be coupled off or at long last meeting the man or woman of their dreams, you soldier on alone. You purchase your meals-for-one at the grocery store and wonder: Has God forgotten my address?

Sighing, I told Heather, “It’s okay. I know God has someone special out there for me. I just wish I could find him.”

My friend looked at me intently and shook her head. “No, Angie, he’ll find you.” My puzzled look must have told her the words needed repeating: “The right man will find you.”

The words sank into my spirit as Heather continued. “Remember? The Bible says he who finds a wife finds a good thing…it’s the man’s job to find you. You just have to wait.” She rambled on in this vein for a few minutes, but all my mind could register was an overwhelming sense of relief. The pressure was off; the search was over.

If you’re a single guy reading these words right now, you may be thinking, "Great! So shove the burden onto our shoulders!" But believe me when I say this arrangement is not the female gender’s idea — everything within us seems bent on trying to make things happen. We work ourselves into a frenzy trying to go here, be there, attend all the right functions, search online, and discreetly ask our friends for blind-date setups. But I have a hunch this is not what God intended for our single-woman status to look like. In allowing men to be the hunters — the ones who do the searching and finding — He must have a perfect design up His sleeve.

Even though my friend’s words comforted me the night I first heard them, the passage of time has a wearing-down effect. Sometimes the rest and peace inherent in those words get lost in the worry that time is running out. I find myself in search mode again, wondering of every passable guy I meet, “Could he be the one?”

In her classic book "Passion and Purity," Elisabeth Eliot talks about this rather unpopular notion of waiting — of being a single woman not intent on finding Mr. Right but allowing God to bring him to you. The Bible is replete with examples of this pattern: When the time was right, God “brought” Eve to Adam; Abraham’s servant went out and found a wife for Isaac; Jacob, traveling to a distant land, found the girl of his dreams in Rachel. But note this: All of them were going about the business of doing the work God had for them to do.

A few months ago I read a passage in a book that brought Heather’s words back to me. In the (true) story, a father asks his young teenage daughter if she ever worries about who she will marry and whether she is even interested in boys.

The daughter laughs and says, “Oh, Daddy, you and I both know God has a special guy out there for me, and when the time comes He’ll bring him along.”

Once again, those words of quiet assurance stopped me in my tracks. "Lord, give me faith like that young girl," I thought.

We have no divine guarantee that a longing for something ensures ultimate satisfaction, but at least now I know (and keep reminding myself) that as a single woman, if God does have one special man waiting for me, it’s not my job to find him. He’ll find me.

A. J. Kiesling is the author of "Jaded: Hope for Believers Who Have Given Up on Church But Not on God" (Baker). She welcomes your thoughts and comments. Feel free to write her at jaded0351@yahoo.com. For more information about "Jaded," visit her online pressroom.
Copyright 2005 by A.J. Kiesling

This was my column about this time last year...can't believe a year has passed already....but it's a good reminder...ladies...feel your boobies!
I’ve had a scare during the past few weeks. One that, considering what month it is, was a little ironic.
You see, it’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month – and I found a lump in my own breast a few weeks ago.
I immediately went to the doctor, and was sent to get a mammogram and sonogram to find out what was going on in there. I had to wait a couple of weeks for that appointment. Then I had the tests, and I had to wait a week to find out what they saw. It really is true what they say...the waiting is almost as bad as finding out that you have cancer.
Then I finally got the call. They told me I had two cysts, and I would need yet another trip to the doctor to have the fluid taken out to find out if there was anything cancerous about them. As I wrote this Monday morning, I was nervously anticipating that appointment that afternoon.
You see, I’m a bit needle-phobic. I’m the crazy lady that passes out when they try to take blood. I’ve been banned in two states, so far, from giving blood. They don’t like how pale I get and the fact that there’s a liability factor that comes into play as I hit the floor.
Did I mention I don’t like needles?
And Monday morning, I was not looking forward to having a super-sized one coming at me. I told them they’d have to knock me out. They laughed. I told them I’d pass out. They patted me on the arm and said, “You’ll be in a reclining chair for the procedure, so it’ll be all right.”
As the staff taking care of me watched my face get paler and paler Monday afternoon, to the point that my freckles really stood out, they began to take me seriously. And although I didn’t quite get there, I have to say, passing out would be better than that laughing gas you get at the dentist’s office. Works every time.
I now have to have a biopsy. I’m really looking forward to that one.
All in all, having a scare like this really puts things in perspective, and it makes you stop and take the time to appreciate those around you.
Particularly when you have to be away from the office on a Monday afternoon for yet another doctor’s appointment, just before you have to begin laying out the paper, and the office is already short-staffed. I have to say, our staff pulled together and did what needed to be done to make sure this week’s paper made it to the press on time. I appreciate them more than I can say.
And to my fellow chicks out there, remember to do your self-examination each month to make sure your “girls” are healthy. And remind each other to take care of this.
We’re all in this together.