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.

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.