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.

Someone sent me pictures of my brother yesterday. They made me cry. I haven't seen him in so long. I miss him.
I don't think I would have necessarily realized it was him if I'd met him on the street. He's like the rest of us...he's getting older. I saw new lines on his face that weren't there the last time I saw him. I wonder how many of them are because of worry about the family he hasn't seen or because of regret. Or even loneliness.
I looked into those eyes. I would have known them anywhere. They're just like mine.
But as I stared into his eyes, I saw something else...I saw what's missing. He's missing his Mama. He's missing his big sister and his baby brother. He's missing out on knowing his sister-in-law and our beautiful niece. He's missing Daddy. He's missing years of Christmases and Thanksgiving turkeys and Mama's red velvet cake. He's missing see his Mama and Daddy get older and retire, and learn to enjoy that retirement.
He's missed out on seeing his little brother get married and become a daddy, and on seeing what a great father he's become. He's missed out on another sister...our little brother's wife.
He's missing out on knowing our niece, Amanda. He's missed seeing his little brother hold his first child, a memory I'll never forget. He's missed her first steps, her first teeth, her first words, her first Christmas...on hearing her call him Uncle Greg or some other nickname...like she calls me Gigi, instead of Aunt Angye. I hope that never stops, by the way.
I've shown Amanda photos of Uncle Greg and her cousins, Matt and Terry. She's met Matt, and calls him "Cousin Matt." But when I show her photos of Greg and Terry, I don't think she gets it. That breaks my heart.
Most of all, he's missed years of being my brother. Just being my brother. And I feel cheated. I haven't gotten to be the big sister to him that I'm learning every day to be.
I realize none of us are perfect...we've all made mistakes and we all have things to say we're sorry for.
But time is slipping by...so fast.
So...like the father in the story of the Prodigal Son, I'll keep waiting by the window...watching. And I hope one day soon...very soon...I can run down that road, throw my arms around my brother, and tell him what's done is done...and welcome him home with a big hunk of Mama's red velvet cake.

My take on health care reform...

Picture this: You’ve been diagnosed with cancer and the prognosis is not good. You’ve had to wait a year for surgery, meanwhile, the malignancy has spread.
Now you finally get to see a surgeon, and not one you’ve selected, but one that was selected for you. You’re told, “It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do for you.” You’re refused any further treatment.
Think it can’t happen? It happens all the time in Britain and Canada, under the government-controlled health care plans that are in place. Those instances are well documented.
Think about how you’d feel if the federal government had the power to not only choose your doctor, but also what treatments can be prescribed and at what age you are no longer eligible for an organ transplant or even receive antibiotics. You can’t even get a second opinion or consult a private physician.
But that would be the case if President Obama’s health care plan is passed. On the surface, it seems like a good thing. It would provide health care to those who don’t have it, so he says. But let’s take a closer look at that claim.
It’s true that medical costs are out of control, but there is no health care crisis in America. A Census Bureau report published last year stated that of the 45.6 million persons in the U.S. that did not have health insurance, 21 percent were not U.S. citizens. Also among those were 17 million Americans who live in households with annual incomes of $50,000, and 7 million live in homes where the annual income is $75,000-plus.
The bureau report further stated that many of the nation’s uninsured are between the ages of 18 and 34, and are choosing to spend their dollars elsewhere, rather than on health insurance, due to the currect state of the economy.
There are those who have no insurance and did not choose it, but that number is small, the report stated. But those folks do not go without medical treatment in this country. According to a report by Families USA, $116 billion was spent on health care in 2008 for those without health insurance.
When you really examine Obama’s plan, it becomes apparent that the plan will cut medical costs by cutting medical care. What gets cut? A doctor won’t decide; a federal bureaucrat will.
But it seems apparent that our president is hell-bent on shoving this plan down our throats. I for one, don’t like being force-fed anything.
Where has England and Canada’s health plan wound up? To foot the bill, the government in those countries has restricted care to the sick and elderly. Is that what we really want, America?
At first, America’s voters seemed to want a universal guarantee of coverage, and seemed to be willing to pay higher taxes in order to get there.
But a poll by USA Today now says different. Americans now disapprove of the way Obama is handling health care. Fifty-nine percent of those polled say the president is spending too much money.
Writing in The New York Times recently, David Brooks sees a collapse on the left: "It was interesting to watch the Republican Party lose touch with America. It's not that interesting to watch the Democrats lose touch with America. That's because the plotline is exactly the same. The party is led by insular liberals from big cities and the coasts, who neither understand nor sympathize with moderates. They have their own cherry-picking pollsters, their own media and activist cocoon… We're only in the early stages of the liberal suicide march. Every cliche Ann Coulter throws at the Democrats is gloriously fulfilled by the Democratic health care bills. The bills do almost nothing to control health care inflation. They are modeled on the Massachusetts health reform law that is currently coming apart at the seams."
President Obama and his cohorts cannot and should not run this nation’s health care system. In the end, it will destroy the health of our nation.

Recently, as I was out having lunch, I witnessed something no woman should ever have to.
I saw a man in really tight knit pants. Pants that left nothing to the imagination. Pants that were, well, in a couple of words, too small. I’ve heard it said that clothes make the man. Not in this case. They can, however, make the man do lots of things he shouldn’t.
After witnessing his, um, attire, I began to think about men and the clothing they wear, and I’ve been taking mental notes the past few days.
I’ve seen young men walking around with their way-too-big britches hanging down so far you can see their underwear. I’ve even seen grown men dressed like that. Pull your pants up already! Nobody wants to see that.
I’ve seen men walking around in clothing that doesn’t match. I’ve seen men with dirty collars on white shirts worn with ties. I’ve seen men with pants that are too short. I’ve seen men wearing socks with sandals.
I’ve seen enough. So I have devised some guidelines for you guys. Pay attention. Us girls are.
1. Clothes need cleaning, unless you plan to reduce your circle of friends. If you have never washed your clothes yourself, here’s a tip: separate them. Wash colors separate from whites. If you don’t, you’ll wind up with pink underwear. And your girlfriend or wife, once you snag one, will find it hard to take you seriously if you are wearing pink underwear.
Also, make sure you read the labels in your clothing so that you are only washing the things that should be washed, and taking the things that should be dry cleaned to the cleaners. Believe me when I tell you that it’s not attractive to wear a jacket with the sleeves only reaching your elbows.
2. Go through your closet and drawers and get rid of all of the clothes that are too small, too large or have holes in them. Also, throw out the clothes that aren’t age appropriate; no one wants to see a 40-year-old man wear a T-shirt that a 13-year-old would be ashamed to wear.
3. If you take clothes to the cleaners, only take slacks, jackets, suits and dress shirts. Don’t take your underwear to the cleaners. When you take underwear to the cleaners, it raises eyebrows. Trust me.
4. Buy jeans that fit. Don’t buy them too tight, and don’t buy them too baggy. Either extreme sends a message you really don’t want out there.
And when buying pants, generally speaking, make sure they’re the right length. We get some flooding around here, but you don’t have to purchase your pants accordingly.
5. Button up your shirt and get rid of the medallion. The 70s are over.
6. No man should ever wear polyester. Ever.
7. Too much plaid never looks good, even on the golf course.
8. Either tuck the shirt in or leave it completely out. A combination is not necessary.
Overall, men, wear clothes that fit you well and are clean and pressed. You can’t go wrong with that.
Now...let’s talk about that comb-over...

I was so happy to be able to head to Tampa recently to help celebrate my niece’s fourth birthday. She was even more happy to celebrate it than I was. We all had a great time, and Amanda got lots of nice – and pink – gifts.
But in the backs of our minds, we were ever-mindful of the one person who was unable to be present at the celebration – my sister-in-law’s father and Amanda’s Papa... Rex Whitaker.
Rex has been battling cancer for some time now. He’s had some tough times and he’s had some not-so-tough times. But through it all, he’s maintained a cheerful disposition and that patented Rex, the bearded wonder, grin.
Days prior to the celebration, Rex was rushed to the hospital with a huge amount of bleeding and he just couldn’t stop throwing up. We weren’t sure why. The doctors weren’t even sure why. And we all waited anxiously on results from tests run just days prior to this incident. It seems he’d found a lump near the incision site of his previous surgery, and doctors had to test it to see if it was a tumor or a cyst.
Then, just a day or so after he was released from the hospital, he had to return and this time, they pumped a lot of fluid from one of his lungs, and they took him off chemotherapy indefinitely. That’s pretty serious stuff when you’re a Stage 4 cancer patient. We found out last Thursday that the cancer is spreading rapidly and his liver is failing.
But even through all of this, Rex has maintained his sweet and positive spirit, as well as his sense of humor, the very things that made me like him from the very beginning.
The first time I met Rex was the weekend of my brother’s wedding to Rex’s only baby girl, Stephanie. I didn’t know any of them well at the time, and I’d only met my soon-to-be sister-in-law once prior to that. But my baby brother is a great judge of character, so I had no doubts that Steph and her parents were wonderful people. And they are.
I didn’t get to spend a lot of time talking to Steph’s mom, Gail, that weekend. She was the mother of the bride, and was understandably otherwise occupied. But I did shoot the breeze with Rex quite a bit. I found that he and I are kindred spirits. He’s got a somewhat twisted sense of humor, much like my own, and we just hit it off. We laughed quite a bit, and even tossed a few zingers at each other. Generally speaking, I thought he was a great guy. I still do.
Since that time, I’ve really come to appreciate Rex’s soft-spoken nature and his jokes. It’s obvious that he’s a father completely in love with his one-and-only daughter, and that’s a beautiful thing to see as well.
As I watch my baby bro, Benny, and his bride raise their own daughter, I am often mindful that Benny has a great example right there in Tampa of what a father-daughter relationship should be – all he has to do is look at Steph and her daddy. I hope Amanda and her daddy will be as close as Steph and hers. I look forward to watching their relationship continue to blossom.
In the meantime, Rex, keep your focus on staying as strong as possible physically and mentally, and on the people around you who love you so much. Know that you will continue to be in my thoughts and prayers. I’ll be seeing you soon...and I can’t wait to hear your next wisecrack.

Kids do gross stuff. That’s just the way it is. I believe, in fact, it’s a part of the kid creed they’re handed at birth.
My 3-year-old niece, Amanda, is no exception. I got an e-mail from my brother (her dad) last week that proved that although my niece is a prissy, pink-loving, lip-gloss-snitching girlie-girl, she also has a gross side.
The unthinkable happened this way: as her parents were putting her to bed, Mommy noticed some specks on the wall. She inquired, hesitantly, “Are those...boogers?” Amanda instantly broke into giggles, but denied the specks were nose candy.
My sister-in-law quickly bid her daughter goodnight and left the room. After she reached the safety of the hallway, she burst into laughter. Boogers are, after all, gross but funny. Everybody knows this.
That’s when Daddy became involved. He, too, questioned the little giggler about the specks, asking again, “Are those boogers?”
She denied it again. “No sir.”
My brother then proceeded to explain to her that he has a booger testing kit at his office, and that he planned to bring it home from work the next day so that he could test the specks to see if the aforementioned wall art is, in fact, the B-word.
At this point, Amanda became serious. She’s a smart kid. A clumsy artist, but a smart kid. She knew the jig was up.
After a brief explanation of what a test kit is and why this fictional thing has a red light on top (she asked), he posed the critical query one final time.
And Amanda came clean.
Before she was able to close her eyes in slumber that night, Amanda got a lecture on why it’s wrong to display that kind of art and she was instructed to use a tissue.
Now, I’m a firm believer that you can learn something every day from those who cross your path and the circumstances you face. It’s the taking of those things and applying them to our own lives that enables us to grow and evolve into better people.
But I’m just not sure I can glean anything from this one.
I’ll be visiting Amanda soon for her fourth birthday. I’ll be joyously helping her to celebrate, and I’ll certainly shower her with gifts and affection. A girl only has one fourth birthday, after all.
And I’m sure that as I watch my smart, funny and adorable niece, I’ll learn something new and I’ll certainly giggle a lot...something we should all do each and every day.
What I won’t do is look too closely at the walls in her bedroom.
There are some things even a favorite auntie cannot be expected to do.

I've been thinking a lot about my brother, Greg, who I haven't seen in a really long time. So I went back and re-read my New Year's column...and decided to post it here. Sigh...

Another new year is upon us, and I can’t believe that 2008 is already done. It was a year of change for me, since I changed jobs and moved to Gadsden County. But I’m glad I made the move. I’m beginning to feel like it’s home.
I hope that everyone had a great Christmas. I know I did. I went down to my baby brother’s house in Tampa, as did my parents. We all enjoyed watching my 3-year-old niece Amanda open her gifts. This was the first year she was truly excited about Christmas and that she really got the whole Santa thing. She was so excited about Santa coming, in fact, that she couldn’t wait to go to bed Christmas eve.
This year, Santa left a little something Amanda really wanted under the tree – a toy laundry center. It’s a washing machine with an attached ironing board and three baskets to put folded “laundry” in. It even came with workable dials on the machine and an iron.
When she began opening it, she said, “I have wanted one of these my whole life!” She then proceeded to yell, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” repeatedly while she continued to peel away the wrapping paper.
Amanda also got (from me, her favorite aunt...she calls me Gigi) a ballerina Barbie, wearing a sparkly pink ballerina costume. There was even a sparkly pink ballerina costume for Amanda to wear herself. I also got her pink nail polish and some pink Crocs, among other things.
In fact, Amanda got a lot of pink stuff. Her favorite color was, until recently, blue. But she’s decided that pink is the new blue, which she tells people repeatedly. So there was an avalanche of all things pink for her under this year’s Christmas tree.
I also got some pretty cool stuff. I had picked out a ring that I liked in October, and my mom got it for me for Christmas, so I knew it was coming. But then I opened a second little box, and found an emerald ring that I knew nothing about. For once my mom actually stumped me. I didn’t see that one coming at all. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
But even that wasn’t the best gift I got this Christmas.
I have another brother that I haven’t seen in quite some time. He wasn’t with us for the holiday again this time. In fact, it’s been years since he’s been with the family for Christmas. So needless to say, the holidays are always a little bittersweet for us.
I won’t go into the details behind the situation; it’s enough to say he’s very stubborn and prideful. And we don’t usually hear from him at all. Not even during Christmas. But this year was different.
You see, his oldest son, who came to live with him a few years ago, has moved out on his own, and his youngest son lives with his mother. So this year, my brother was alone for Christmas.
He must have been really feeling blue, because he called my mom’s cell phone, and left a message. Contained within that message was the greatest gift I got this Christmas. At the end of the message he said, “Tell Angye and Benny (my youngest bro) that I love them.”
Simple little words. Simple little words that meant so much. But it went beyond just that he said them. The words were the icing on the cake. I haven’t heard his voice in a long time. He could have said anything and it would have been just as sweet.
I pride myself on being a tough chick who can handle anything. But I have to admit, when I heard his voice, that pride melted away and I just began to weep.
I wasn’t the only one whose pride had melted at least a little...his must have, too. In my head, I was imagining the Winter Warlock in that Rankin-Bass Christmas special from the 1970s, “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town.”
We’ve probably all seen it: Santa, as a young man, faces off with a warlock who is mean and icy cold, hence the name. But a simple gift – a choo-choo train – melts the heart of the warlock, and he becomes a kind and good man.
Now, my brother isn’t mean and icy cold. In fact, he’s a kind and good man already. It’s just that all that goodness and kindness are just below the surface right now, covered up with a whole lotta stubborn.
So after a Christmas like that, what’s my New Year’s resolution? Although I don’t normally make resolutions, mainly because I rarely keep them, this year’s going to be different.
Anybody know where I can buy a little wooden choo-choo train?

Okay...so I'll now publicly admit that I'm a fan of the show, "Jon and Kate Plus Eight." Up until recently, I've thoroughly enjoyed watching the show. I found their family life, even the ordinary, humdrum stuff, fascinating. It never ceased to amaze me how amplified even the smallest task was for the Gosselins, since they have eight kids.
For those of you who don't know, the show follows a Pennsylvania couple in their early 30s who had twins and then tried for another baby, only to find out they were having six.
In recent weeks, Jon and Kate have made headlines in the tabloids due to rumors of infidelity on both sides of the Gosselin coin. Both have emphatically denied it.
I watched last night as the couple announced, during the show, that they are separated. Jon didn't show much emotion, but then, that's part of his personality, from what I've been able to tell. Kate was obviously fighting tears. Since then, it's been confirmed they have filed for divorce.
I had hoped for better for Jon and Kate but, more importantly, for their kids.
Kate said she just wanted peace. Can't say that I blame her.
But what made me want to blog about this reality show? Sure, this one's had more press lately, but shows like this are a dime a dozen, right?
What made me want to blog was something a coworker said the other day. She said to me, "Did you notice how in the early shows, there was scripture written on Post-its all all around the house? You don't see that these days. They sure have changed."
I'll agree with her that there used to be Post-its of scripture all over the place. I haven't seen them lately. But does that mean either one of them have lost their faith? Who's to say? It's certainly not my place to judge them.
But that offhanded comment got me to thinking...and then I started googling. There are a number of "Christian" websites out there that are analyzing the Gosselins and their religious standing. Most of the ones I looked at were quite condemning. A couple even made the same observation my coworker did.
How interesting. The Christian army is the only one that shoots its wounded. I read that once and it certainly applies here. Stay with me.
It's been my experience that this statement is oh, so true. When a Christian falls from grace, it's not the judgement from a world full of "awful" sinners he has to worry about. It's his brothers and sisters in Christ. (Disclaimer: This doesn't apply to all Christians...I've just seen a lot of this type of behavior, okay?) I've seen it time and time again.
Example (this is a real one): A minister and his wife have marital problems. He decides to leave her and their kids, and they eventually separate and divorce, despite the Godly counsel of others who've spoken to the minister. I watched this unfold, and although I know the guy did wrong, as did a lot of other folks, I saw many turn their backs on him and write him off. A few years later, he came face to face with his sin and repented. Very few of his former friends would even speak to him, even when he tried to ask their forgiveness.
Ammunition, anyone?
I'm not saying that anyone should escape the consequences of sin. We all know we can't. And we cannot, as the church, overlook the sins of others, particularly our leaders. Accountability is something the church must uphold.
But why turn away from those who would repent and seek forgiveness? And what gives us the right to feel we should judge others? I believe Jesus challenged us to pick up a stone and be the first to throw it if we are without sin...and as I recall, no stones were thrown. None should be now.
Who cares if someone has Post-its bearing scripture sticking all over their kitchen cabinets or not...the fact of the matter is that this family is hurting, and instead of judging, we as believers ought to come along side and pray with them and for them.
I think back to the story of Moses and his buddies, Aaron and Hur, recorded in the Old Testament. As long as Moses' arms were held up, the Israelites were winning in battle. When Moses became tired, his arms began to fall, and the army began to lose ground. Aaron and Hur came along side Moses, and held his arms up for him. They enabled him to be a great leader, and that led to a victory for them all.
What would happen if God's people behaved more like Aaron and Hur? If we all stopped pointing fingers and judging one another, and instead held each other up as we battle, we would all win.
So forget the Post-its. When someone is hurting, even when they are in the midst of committing sin, remember that we are not that person's judge. We can, and we must, with God's help, see them through His eyes, and come along side.
Think what we, the church, could do if we could ever grasp this concept.

This is my column for the paper, June 25 edition...

I was thinking the other day about how different my life would have been had my mom not married my stepfather.
What is a stepfather anyway? It’s just a new dad...not a replacement for the old one. Maybe, more like a supplement or an enhancement to the previous situation.
Whatever.
But in my case, my mother, my brother and myself were just getting by. Being a single mom is not an easy task, and it’s even harder when your “ex” is no help whatsoever. I can’t imagine what my mom dealt with on a daily basis.
And then along came Billy Morrison. He was willing to not only take on a new wife, but her two kids as well. The first time we – meaning my brother, Greg, and I – met him, Greg asked him, point blank, “Are you gonna marry my mama?”
Despite that horrific question, Billy stuck around. And he did marry our mama. He eventually adopted Greg and me. And somewhere along the way, he became “Daddy” and not “Mr. Billy.”
I know Father’s Day was last weekend, and after years of doing these types of columns, I didn’t want to do another one. Father’s Day also fell this year on June 21, which was my parents’ 40th anniversary. I think I was more focused on that part of the day.
But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered, and felt that I just had to write about it what would my life have been like if Billy Morrison hadn’t come along?
Here’s what I’ve got so far.
• I wouldn’t have the last name Morrison.
• I wouldn’t have grown up in Lincolnton, Ga., thereby making me a lifelong Red Devil fan.
• I wouldn’t really understand how to divide words into syllables – somehow I didn’t get that in school, and Daddy sat with me for a loooong time, working with me until the proverbial light bulb came on.
• I wouldn’t know I dislike tomato juice. Daddy made me try it once. A whole glass of it. He didn’t want me to waste it after I’d ordered it in a restaurant. I thought it was pretty.
• I wouldn’t understand that if someone squeezes me really hard, it makes me tinkle. Thanks a lot for that one, Daddy.
• I wouldn’t be a safe driver. Daddy made me drive in circles in the American Legion parking lot until I perfected the needed skills.
• I’d still have braces. Daddy drove me to the orthodontist to have them removed.
• I would have dated much more in high school, but I’d probably have gotten hurt much more, too. Dating is risky business.
• I wouldn’t have a baby brother named Benny. Can’t imagine my life without the little twerp.
And last, but not least, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. Every little girl is shaped, at least a little, by her relationship with her daddy. I’m no exception to that.
I read somewhere that anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a daddy. It takes someone even more special to be a stepfather.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. I’m glad we didn’t scare you away.

Okay...so here's my first official post to the Red on the Head space...I will be adding to this periodically, as the spirit moves me.
On my mind today? I'm wondering about life. I wonder if someone's measuring mine with a tape measure like the one Mary Poppins used. Her measurement read, "Practically perfect in every way." I wonder what mine would say.
There are days I feel like an utter failure. I haven't done the things that were expected of me. I didn't get married, although I'm not opposed to the institution if the right man came along. I haven't produced any redheaded grandchildren. I don't own a lot and I don't care if I ever do. I haven't written the great American novel yet, although I've written some darn good stuff in my day, if I do say so mahself.
But I have done a lot of things I'm quite proud of. I've earned my spot as a journalist and editor. I have worked with lots and lots of students over the years as a student "minister" (or whatever you'd like to call it) and I think all of "my kids" have turned out quite well – not my doing, mind you. It's all a God thing. I've served on several mission fields. I've forged relationships with some of the greatest people on the face of this planet. I have placed incredibly high importance on my family. I have loved and honored my parents. I adore my niece and nephews. I'm so proud of them and their daddies I could bust! I have sung songs that have moved people to tears. I have written stuff that did the same.
So I guess I'm not a total dud. Mind you...I am not throwing myself a pity party. I don't believe in them. They're a waste of time. But re-evaluation...now there's something worth doing.
When I think of me, I prefer to think of myself as an unclaimed treasure. And so...as such...I sally forth.
I love that term...sally forth. Such a great mental picture.
So, I'll continue to forge ahead...I love the Steven Curtis Chapman song, "The Great Adventure." It's been my creed. It's been how I've chosen to live my life. So I suppose Mary's tape measure, when held up to my life, would read, "Saddle up."
And with that...I sally forth.