There are few things in this world to compare with the love of a mother. Or with having a good mama. I know this firsthand.

My mama has been there for me my whole life. I've said it a million times...I would not be who I am today without her. She's been my biggest fan, my sharpest critic, my loudest cheerleader, my strongest supporter...and my hero.

There have been times in my life that I have felt that there was just no one in the world who was there for me...except for my mama. Even during those times when I felt completely alone, I still knew that I had at least one person in my corner.

So this year, on Thanksgiving, I'll have a lot to be thankful for. I have a wonderful family, which I'm learning to be thankful for more and more every day. I have wonderful friends that I can count on. I have a fantabulous best friend in one Miz Autumn Jones. She's such an inspiration. I have a great job that gives me joy and satisfaction, at a time when many people can't say the same. I have a home, a reliable car, a soft fuzzy kitty cat, more shoes than I'd care to admit, and I have, most importantly, my mama.

I hope I have her for many more years to come. Love you Maw!

By the way: That's Mama making her famous dressing on Thanksgiving a couple of years ago. And yes...her tongue was sticking out at me!

Everybody's had Harry Potter fever these days, and since the latest installment, "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" is in theaters, the fever has gone sky high. I had planned on seeing it this past weekend, but alas, the things of life conspired to keep me Harry-free. For now.

But I did do some reading online, and I found something that completely ticked me off. In an article that focused on the three main stars of the Potter movies, Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint, it was discussed how the trio would make the leap from childhood to adulthood, and from those iconic roles to, well, not those roles.

It was generally agreed upon that Radcliffe and Watson would make the jump and, in fact, had already begun to do so. But then they discussed Grint. The main point? Well, he's going to have a difficult time. Why? He's a ginger. A redhead. And a bit "different" looking. The article said, "…he'll never be a leading man."

Are you kidding me? Seriously? So let me get this straight…because this kid has red hair, he can hang up his acting shoes because he'll never be good at anything but playing Harry Potter's hapless, redheaded sidekick…? Needless to say, I was completely cheesed off by the time I finished the article.

When I was a child, I was made fun of a lot. I mean a LOT. Why? Because of my red hair. Not only did I have red hair, but it was wildly curly, and I had pale skin with freckles. I didn't look like the typical girl next door. I wasn't blonde and cute with dimples. I didn't quite fit in. I was called "redheaded woodpecker" a lot. Funny sounding name…now. But at the time, that name sliced me like a paper cutter…hard and fast. And it left scars. Big ones.

Once, I think I was in the third grade, a boy in my class saw me walking across the playground at recess. Apparently, I had my head held high. Don't remember where I was going or what I was doing, or even why my head was that high…but there I was. That boy walked up to me and told me I was way too ugly to walk around with my nose up in the air like that.

I walked around the rest of the day, staring at my shoes. The sad thing is, all these years later, I still look at the floor as I walk. Maybe I'm still subconsciously in the third grade, a poor little redheaded girl with very hurt feelings.

Whether or not that's true, I still feel ugly most days. I still don't fit the perfect mold of the perfect female…you know, that beautiful woman you want to hate, but because she's so beautiful, you just can't? Oh, there are days when I can muster up cute. Sometimes I can even manage the thin side of pretty. But beautiful? No way. Not me. Ever.

At least, that's how I feel. Because when I look in the mirror, I still see curly red hair, pale skin and freckles. And now, I've added some wrinkles to the mix.

But the thing is, I read today that Jesus sees me like his bride. I was reading a friend's daughter's Facebook post, and this young woman had written that she had attended her cousin's wedding, and she couldn't get over the look on his face as he watched his bride walk down the aisle. And she realized that's how Jesus is looking at us as we come toward him…his bride.

I began to recall some of the weddings I've attended, and I knew the look she was talking about. A look of complete and utter love and awe. Wonder. Satisfaction. Amazement. Joy.

And Jesus looks at ME like THAT??!! Hard to believe. But he does. He sees me, coming down the aisle, looking just the way I do, and he radiates joy…because I belong to him. Wow.

I may be a redheaded woodpecker…but it's okay. I belong to someone who appreciates me and loves me just as I am. Glow-in-the-dark skin and all.

The new Harry Potter movie comes out tomorrow. There are midnight showings all over the place tonight, but I have to get up and go to work tomorrow, so I won't be seeing it today.

I will, however, treat myself to seeing this epic flick this weekend. I'm looking forward to it.

I was thinking earlier, what is it that makes us adults love Harry Potter? The obvious answer is that it's a great escape. When we pick up this book and read about Harry's wizarding world, we escape from the cares and tribulations of our own lives, even if just for a little while.

Or maybe it's the flying and wand waving. Dunno.

What I do know is that for me, Harry Potter's world is different, mysterious and a little on the dark side. In other words, right up my alley. I've always loved that kind of stuff.

When I was a kid, I rushed home from school to watch Barnabas Collins et al in "Dark Shadows." For you poor, uneducated folk, that particular show was basically a soap opera about vampires. I loved it.

I was also completely enamored with "The Munsters" and "The Addams Family." I never gave up hope that one day my parents would announce that we were moving to Mockingbird Lane, next door to the Munster family. Or to whatever street it was the Addams family lived on. I wanted to hang out with them so bad. Still do. I mean, come on. Their house was a museum, when people came to see 'em…and they really were a scree-uhm.

I am still not quite sure why these shows appealed to me so much as a small child. I guess it was because I always felt so different. I was a redhead with wild curly hair amongst the perfectly straight-haired blonde children of the corn. I didn't ever feel that I fit in. Maybe I thought I would if my friends' last names were Addams or Munster.

Whatever the reason, I do know this…they were good folks. They were weird and preferred their swamps and lightning storms over our manicured lawns and sunny skies, but I loved them. And I'm convinced they loved me back.

I suppose the Harry Potter characters and the world they live in are the same for me. They're in a world apart…apart from my own reality and all its strife. All of these characters had problems, but they're not my problems. And everything is resolved neatly in under three hours.

So this weekend, I will escape. I will visit Hogwarts and I will cheer on my favorite wizards and witches as they take on the dude without a nose who really needs a manicure.

And by the way…I've read the final chapter. They win.

We had baptisms at church yesterday. My church has a tradition of presenting those who are dunked with a candle. It's pretty cool.

The candle sits on a table before the baptism, unlit. That represents the person before Christ; full of potential, but without light. Then, just before the dunking, the candle is lit, representing Christ coming into the person's heart and life.

But there is always one more candle. The extra candle represents the fact that God isn't finished yet. There are more "candles" out there, full of potential, waiting to be lit. It's a challenge for us all to remember that we must share the light.

Another thing that happens during a baptism service at E3 is that the person who's to be baptized tells his or her story, and has those who have been "light" to him or her come up and stand with him or her during the baptism. It's a beautiful picture of what investing in someone's life can produce.

My pastor said there are no awards presented in Christendom; we don't get trophies for how many people we lead to Christ or how much we do for the kingdom. At least, not on this earth. But being able to stand with someone you've led to Christ or helped along the way as that person is baptized is its own reward.

During the 11 a.m. service, which I attended, there was only one person who was baptized. The others got dunked during the 9:30 a.m. and 7 p.m. services. I watched the faces of her friends and family members as they watched her being baptized. There were tears and smiles of pure joy. I could relate.

I've had the privilege of seeing lots of teens come to Christ and be baptized over the years. Some of them I've led myself, some were led by others. But we all had the same destination: the foot of the cross. And each time, I wore a smile from ear-to-ear, and shed lots of tears. That young man or young lady went from being one of my kids to my sister or brother in Christ the second they asked Jesus into their hearts. The eternal reward is that I'll see them in heaven. I need no other trophy or recognition.

I also thought back to the people who had a part in my salvation experience. I was 11 years old when I "got saved." I watched my mom experience it, and I saw a change in her countenance. I didn't call it that then; I just remember that she looked different. I couldn't put my finger on why at the time, but I could definitely see it. And I wanted whatever it was she had. So our preacher, Benny Pate, came to see me and explained it all to me, and I asked Jesus into my heart. I got dunked soon after.

I will never forget what happened at the end of the service. Our church had a tradition of asking newly-dunked people to stand down front at the end of the service, so the church could shake their hands or give them a hug. People lined up and did both. But there was one that stood out to me. Mrs. Myrtle Cliatt.

Miss Myrt, as we kids called her, had polio as a child, and so she had a very pronounced limp. But she was a spiritual giant in my eyes. She knew the Bible from cover to cover, and often answered questions I had. Even the ones that might seem silly to most adults...Miss Myrt answered them all, and never judged. She always hugged me too. And her husband, Mr. Ralph, looked like Santa Claus, complete with beard, rosy cheeks and twinkling blue eyes. He brought me a lollipop every Sunday, even after I was too old for that sort of thing...but that's another story.

On that Sunday, I stood there with wet hair and shook hand after hand. Then it was Miss Myrt's turn. She limped toward me, and she said, "The angels are rejoicing in heaven." Then she hugged me. Simple words. Simple act.

I didn't get it then. But I do now. The angels rejoice every time a sinner comes to repentance. The amazing thing is this: they have no need of repentance, and maybe don't even fully understand it. But they still rejoice every time one of us comes "home." Imagine how they'll act when we finally do get home...to heaven.

I imagine that I'll see loved ones who've gone before me...and there will be great rejoicing by both angels and my loved ones...and I'll see Miss Myrt. She won't be limping, though.

Miss Myrt was one of my candle-lighters. She invested in me and it paid off...for both of us. So thank you, Miss Myrt. The angels rejoiced when you came home for sure.

I recently adopted a cat, who's now almost 5 months old. I have named her Suki, which in Japanese means "beloved." I thought it was kind of a neat name.

I am a single woman, in my forties, and I have a cat. I do not own multiple cats. If that were the case, I wouldn't fight you in identifying me as a cat lady. I might even let you get away with calling me a crazy cat lady. But I don't have multiple cats. So don't even think about going there. Okay. It's out of my system now.

Cats are great snugglers. Everyone knows this. For those of us who are owned by cats, we know that they snuggle with us when they are good and ready to. Not a minute before or after.

As I snuggled with Suki the other night – we were watching a marathon of Addams Family shows which we both enjoyed tremendously – she suddenly sat up on my lap, cocked her head to one side, and just began to stare at me. I found myself wondering what could be going on in that little kitty brain of hers. So I found myself faced with the question: If my cat could talk, what would she say?

I decided instead to look at what she might say, but would really mean. That, of course, is more in line with the feline mandate…

Here's what I've got so far…

• I may appear to be independent, but I ask for your loving care and attention.

What she means: I am the boss. Serve me.

• I rely on you for my well-being more than you know.

What she means: Go out and make money to buy me things.

• I will not be a burden to you or demand more of you than you care to give.

What she means: The more attention you give, the more I will require. You may want to think about hiring me another slave.

• I will be a peaceful island of serenity for you to gaze upon, and a soft, soothing body to caress, and I shall purr with pleasure to rest your weary ears.

What she means: I will tear around the house at 3 a.m. and bite your mother when she comes to visit.

• I pray you will give me a variety of nutritious foods and fresh water.

What she means: I will require Evian, chilled, but not too cold. Any food you offer will be rejected for a much more expensive brand.

• I love to sleep. I pray you allow me a warm, sheltered place where I can rest peacefully and feel secure.

What she means: Don't you dare wake me. I know where you sleep, and I will get revenge. Scrape-the-skin-off-your-ankles-in-the-middle-of-the-night, claw-filled revenge.

• If I am suffering from illness, please care for me gently and see that I am treated by loving and competent hands.

What she means: I reserve the right to mangle the most expensive hands you can hire.

• If you treat me well, I will love you faithfully all my days.

What she means: I might accept you as my slave, if you behave yourself.

Yep. That's about right...

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." -- Matt. 11:28-30

Rip current. One minute you're happily swimming along, and the next you realize you're no longer in control and you can't seem to get to the shoreline, no matter what you do. You can put forth a lot of effort and fight, but no matter what you do, you won't be able to correct things. All you'll accomplish is making yourself completely drained. The best thing you can do, in this scenario, is to let go and float. The current will push you back in.

This is the way it is with grace. Sometimes we try to force it. We recognize a promise God has given us, and when we don't see instant fruit, we panic. We begin to swim toward shore as hard and fast as we can, but it only makes us tired. Our efforts are counterproductive. Why? All of our efforts are not going to bring about God's promise of grace any earlier than His appointed time. When we exert so much energy, even when we are so sure we're doing the right thing, the end result is always exhaustion. Being tired accomplishes nothing.

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace...

When I think of rhythm, I think of dancing. And lately, I've been hooked on watching "Dancing with the Stars." I find myself mesmerized each week by the moves, the costuming, the music, the sparkly sequins…

So I decided to look at this whole baffling concept of unforced rhythms of grace in the context of ballroom dancing…in the hopes I'd come to understand it better.

• Only one person can lead. If both try to lead, the result is a hot mess as you each try to lead the other in opposite directions.

• If the wrong person leads, the dance won't flow properly. And don't "steal" the lead; let your strong partner lead you.

• Finding and following the flow and rhythm of the music covers a multitude of wrong steps.

• Find someone who knows more than you do and follow them.

• Don't worry about getting it perfect. As time goes by, and you work at it, you'll get better.

What does this teach me about the unforced rhythms of grace? Obviously, only one person can lead, and that person is Jesus. When I lead…well, hot mess.

I have always been blessed to have people in my life that I can look up to spiritually; people I can learn from and grow with. I try to make sure I hang around these people and follow the Christ-like example I see in them.

Staying connected with God allows me to flow with His rhythm, so even if I'm not always following His lead, I don't get far before I realize He's changing the steps around.

And last, I find that, like with a rip current, if I just let go and allow God to gently lead, despite any mistakes I may make, I get better at this whole grace thing over time.

I suppose learning the unforced rhythms of grace is, in an overly-simplified way of looking at it, to let go and let God. Stop fighting the current. Stop stealing the lead. Just let go…and let Him guide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greater love has no man than this...

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

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

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

1. Write a book.

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

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

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

5. Master sign language.

6. Mentor young women to be Proverbs 31 ladies.

7. Own my own newspaper.

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

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

10. Get a dog.

11. Find a new way to express myself artistically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like to think so. I hope so.

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

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

I Always…

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

Love the smell of rain.

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

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

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

Watch Doris Day movies.

Apply sunscreen.

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

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

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

Giggle.

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

Mix cheese in with my grits.

Cry at sad movies.

Enjoy quoting Mel Brooks movies.

Cry during those battered animal commercials on TV.

Enjoy watching a dog get excited to see me.

Love hearing my niece laugh.

Love the smell the air has right before it snows.

Thank God for loving me in spite of me.

I Sometimes…

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

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

Write in my journal.

Get spring fever even when it's not spring.

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

Get blue.

Get giggly.

Get jiggy.

Wish I still lived in Oregon.

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

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

Wonder why God loves me.

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

Like to mix butterbeans with mustard.

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

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

Lose my temper.

Sing opera in my car.

Go faster than the speed limit.

Wish I lived closer to my parents.

I Never…

Apologize for who I am.

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

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

Mix my barbecue and my cole slaw.

Put milk in my coffee.

Get enough of smelling flowers.

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

Regret giving my heart to Jesus when I was 11.

Am sad that I have red hair.

Bite my toenails…anymore.

Write letters to anybody but my niece.

Knit.

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

Jog.

Yell at kids, animals or old people.

Want to grow up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And everybody wins.

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

It was, her Daddy said, a tough day.

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

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

These are the things I learned:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's the best lesson of all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No balloon critters needed.

I am preparing to move. Again. Oy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wouldn't have had it any other way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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