Sometimes life makes no sense – this week was no exception

It was the summer of 1985. I was serving as a Baptist Student Union summer missionary in Reedsport, Oregon. I was there to lead youth and children's activities at Highlands Baptist Church. 

It was a great summer. We had a really good group of kids of all ages. There was one kid, however, that stood out to me. His name was Jay Newport, and he was 11 years old. 

I moved each Saturday, after staying with a host family from the church for the week. And each Saturday, Jay would ride his bike over to the house where I'd been staying to help me load my suitcase in the car. I know he also came to just talk. He was full of questions, and full of wonder about the world he was growing up in. I loved talking with him. It tickled me to see his blonde hair bobbing up and down as he would ride his bike to each house. I loved the twinkle in his big, blue eyes as he talked. And he always hugged me before he left. Even if he was just leaving the room. Such a sweet kid.

One of the group's favorite pastimes was to go to the Umpqua River to swim. There was an area on the river called Buzzard's Bay, and it was kind of like a lagoon. Shooting off of that area, the river had some gentle rapids that the kids would ride on inner tubes. That's where we went one sunny afternoon. 

And it's where we lost Jay.

Jay and some of his friends were taking turns riding the rapids, since there weren't enough inner tubes for everyone. Many of them had on lifejackets. Jay was wearing a bright orange one. I was over by the lagoon, watching the kids who were there, while another adult, Russ, watched Jay and his friends.

Suddenly, we heard one of the boys yell that Jay had gone under the water and hadn't come back up. Russ immediately jumped in and began looking for him.

I ran up the bank of the river, and grabbed a cane pole we'd been using. You see, once you went down the rapids, the current, if you could catch it, would gently float you back to where the rapids began. But if you missed that turn, you'd wind up way downstream. We'd already pulled several kids back into the current using that pole. I thought maybe Jay had missed it, and I'd find him laughing somewhere downstream.

But, I didn't see him as I hurried along that bank. The water was so clear you could see to the bottom, and as I looked, I spotted a bright orange lifejacket, caught on something. I was horrified to realize that it was Jay's body. I yelled for Russ, and jumped in to get Jay. Some nearby fishermen saw what was going on, and came to help me. One of them called for help on his CB radio – this was way before cell phones.

We got Jay out of the water, and Russ and I began to perform CPR. He had a big knot on his forehead, and had obviously struck his head. We worked on him for at least 10 minutes, hoping that he would sit up and cough up the water in his body. 

But that didn't happen. 

I will never forget the sound his body made each time after Russ blew air into his mouth and I started compressions again. It was the most empty sound I've ever heard in my life. 

The ambulance came and took Jay to the hospital in Roseburg. The pastor and I talked to Jay's parents there. I'd say it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do – telling them that their son was gone – but that wasn't the most difficult part of that conversation. The hardest part was hearing them say again and again that it wasn't my fault. I just couldn't believe that at the time.

The next few days were a blur. I spent time counseling the kids. I helped in any way I could at Jay's funeral. It was days later before it all hit me, and I took the time to deal with my own feelings. 

That was the last time I was in Roseburg. This week, all of this came rushing back after I heard of the shootings at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg. I can't imagine the horror those students felt, running from a gunman. But I do know what grief feels like. I also understand what it's like to throw your hands up and ask why. Those left behind after these shootings are doing just that.

The young people slain this week will never grow old. They won't finish college. They won't become doctors, lawyers, teachers or whatever else. They won't get married, have children and then grandchildren. Same as Jay.

It's unfair. It's cruel. And it's insane. 

We aren't promised tomorrow – all we have is today. So on this day, hold your kids close and hug them a little harder. Do it for an blonde, bright-eyed boy who lived his 11 years with gusto. 

Even if you're just leaving the room.

Where you cast makes all the difference...

I haven't written in quite some time. Haven't had the time – nor the inclination. Because, well, reasons. Topping the list is the fact that I write for a living, and when I have free time, well, not so much.
But that doesn't mean I don't have things to say or that life doesn't go on.
During the past couple of years, I've struggled with the day to day of living in the town that's currently home. There are a handful of very loud, very mean-spirited people who have made it clear that I'm not wanted or welcome here. That's been tough to deal with.
I should also say that there are a lot of really good people here who have made me feel quite welcome and at home.
But during the past few months, I've come to terms with the mean stuff. I've realized that I've been backed into a corner by these rude loudmouths, and I've let them keep me there. That's not normally how I'd behave. I'd usually come out swinging. But this time...well...this time has been different. Not sure why. Just. Different.
But in these recent months, I've been spending more time in the word, and my prayers have progressed something like this...
"Lord, get me out of here!"
"God, please get me out of here!"
"Father, I hate this place. Please rescue me."
"Are you listening?"
"Are you hearing me at all? Is this thing on??!!"
"Lord, if you want me to stay here, then you're going to have to work a miracle."
"Father, teach me to love these people like you do."
"Please God, change my heart."
"Lord, if you want me to stay, close all other doors."
"Lord, help me to love them like you do."
"OK, Lord. I'll stay."
And I am actually OK with it now. Fancy that. I'm OK with it.
For the longest time now, I haven't been sure what to do. I was unhappy here, and wanted to be rescued. When the rescue boat sailed right on by, I had no idea how to proceed.
I think Peter was like that. He always knew what to do – he went fishing. He knew fishing. When you go fishing, you get your nets, you get in the boat, and you catch stuff. Boom. Done.
But in John 21, Peter didn't know what to do. Peter and the boys fished all night. Cast and pull the net back in. Over and over. And...nothing.
Then Jesus showed up. And his solution was simple: "Cast your net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some."
Now, I'd have probably been annoyed. "We've been here all night," I'd think. "There's nothing there," I'd think.
But Peter and the boys did what Jesus said. And the haul was unbelievable. Huge, ginormous fish – and in abundance.
Here's the thing: They didn't have abundance until they cast on the RIGHT side of the boat. I've been casting my net on the wrong side of the boat.
So now, I'm casting on the right side, and I'm waiting for the abundance.
Because I know it's coming. Huge and ginormous.

Doesn't have to be at midnight...

Been a little down lately. I admit it. 

I'm not in a great place. I'm not happy about the lemons that life has chucked my way, and I refuse to make lemonade. 

I'm getting sick of that stuff.

I have been searching for ways to get past this…to get back up. I googled "what to do when life gets you down" and that's what I got – "get back up."

Smack my head. 

When life hands me lemons, I usually avoid the urge to chuck them right back, and instead, grab my Bible. I did this the other day. And this verse reached up and slapped me on the noggin:

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. -- Jeremiah 29:11

When I've read that verse before, I have focused on the fact that these plans exist. Hey, knowing that God has plans for me gives me a certain amount of comfort. Same as everyone else. 

And just like everyone else, I tend to begin throwing questions out there…What are these plans? When the heck to they kick in? How long do I gotta wait?

But when I read it the other morning, I read "I KNOW" the plans I have for you. He knows. I don't need to.

Okay. So I get that. But it doesn't make the waiting any easier. I sometimes feel like I've spent my entire life waiting.

I've waited for a husband to show up. Still waiting.

I've waited for that fabulous, life-changing novel I'm supposed to write to just flow out of me. Still waiting.

I've waiting for that wonderful, fulfilling and fabulous job that will give credence to the old adage, "Love what you do, do what you love." Still waiting.

I've waited for the perfect number to appear on the scale. Still waiting.

I've waited for the heavens to part, angels to sing, rainbows to appear and trumpets to sound as God tells me what the heck I'm supposed to be doing. Still waiting.

I don't do waiting very well. I want things to move and to shake.

I suppose that's how Paul and Silas felt (See Acts 16). They were arrested and thrown in jail after being attacked by a crowd and beaten. They were in chains. Waiting. 

They used their time in a way I admit, I probably wouldn't. They sang hymns and praised God. I'd have been whining and complaining. Pretty sure of that.

God showed up at midnight. Suddenly. There was an earthquake and their chains fell off and the doors flew open. And it wasn't just Paul's and Silas' chains that fell off – the other prisoners were freed as well. That's moving and shaking.

I am incapable of waiting patiently. But I can wait expectantly. 

I want my chains off. I want the doors to fly open. I want the chains of those around me to fall off. Don't even care if it doesn't happen at midnight. 

I just want it to happen.

While I wait, I guess I can just search Pinterest for recipes.

Gotta do something with all these stupid lemons.

Broken whiskers

One of my favorite things is to rub my cat's face near her whiskers. I'm always careful to go in the right direction, because I don't want to damage them or cause her pain. She always closes her eyes and just looks like it brings her so much pleasure. So I do it every time she's curled up in my lap.

I've often read that if a cat's whiskers are damaged, it not only causes them discomfort, but they can become confused or disoriented as well. I didn't know why – so I googled. 

Turns out, whiskers are not some psychic connector or tool. They're just long hair. But they are deeply rooted in follicles which are surrounded by muscle tissue that is rich in nerves and sensory cells. These cells are connected to a special area in the cat's brain. 

Whiskers are a type of environmental scanning system. A cat's whiskers are sensitive enough that they can pick up small air movements, letting the cat know something is near, even in the dark. Whiskers help cats "see" in the dark. If they're broken, cats can have trouble walking straight, and can get disoriented and fall. In fact, blind cats rely almost solely on their whiskers to help them navigate.

What happens if a human's "whiskers" are broken, I wondered. My heart is, in effect, my whiskers. It guides me, points me in the right direction, and helps me "see" in the dark. But what happens when it's broken?

Well, after I cry a river and eat my weight in mint chocolate chip ice cream, I get up, dust myself off, and limp my way back into functioning society. 

Trouble is, my heart has been broken so many times I can't count. You see, I tend to fall fast, and I give my heart too quickly. That's been my pattern. The past few years, I've been much more guarded. My "whiskers" have been at full attention.

But if you're too guarded, you can appear unapproachable and uninterested. Not what I want. When a cat is angry or defensive, its whiskers are pulled back. When the cat is happy or content, the whiskers are relaxed and pushed forward. I think mine have been pulled back so long now, I look like I've had one too many botox treatments.

But I can't seem to help myself. I don't want to feel that kind of pain again. 

But worse than that is the pain that is coupled with fear – and I have that in spades. I am terrified of growing old alone. And it looks like I'm fully headed that direction. Not a thought I relish.

I also sometimes feel my "whiskers" are just broken in the sense that maybe they just never worked right. Maybe there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm just a freak. I don't know. 

Pardon me while I wallow, but the holidays are coming, and usually during this time of year, when everyone is buying the perfect gift for their honey, I am stocking up on ice cream. Insert heavy sigh here.

When I look in the mirror, I see broken whiskers. 

Lord, help me to open my heart, but use my brain in the process. Help me to relax my whiskers. Help me to see beyond them. Help me to see myself the way you do.

I'm not a mom – and it's OK

I’ve had this column sloshing around in my brain for a couple of weeks now. I started it the week before Mother’s Day, and then decided to wait.
The reason? I’m writing about the pitfalls of being a non-mother.
Let me start by saying when I was a little girl, I wanted to have a family like the Waltons. I used to watch the show and think how great it would be to have a whole house full of kids running around. I wanted to have a few myself, and then adopt as many as I could get my hands on.
I was also influenced by my mother, who is the middle child out of 11 – she often says there were five before her and five after. She still tells me stories about growing up in a household where there were often more mouths to feed than there were biscuits. But even when that was the case, they sounded happy.
And I have to admit, my big, loud, all-in-your-business Irish extended family is one of my favorite parts of my life. I have aunts and uncles galore, and cousins out the wazoo.
But, as often happens, life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I haven’t married (although I am currently accepting applications), and at my age, it’s a safe bet I won’t be having any offspring without a – cue the angelic chorus – miracle from above.
I have to say, I’m OK with that. Oh, I have my moments, and on Mother’s Day, it’s sort of hard to watch my friends who’ve had kids get those adoring, googly-eyed looks from their children.
But overall, I’m happy with my life. I believe things work out the way they are supposed to, and I have two handsome nephews, and a glorious and beautiful niece I can spoil rotten and send home. I’m very good at being an aunt.
What harshes my mellow is that moment in church when the well-meaning pastor asks all mothers to stand, and everyone applauds. What would happen if he asked all who are not mothers to stand? Would there be applause? Not likely. So there I sit, gutted.
I’m not saying it shouldn’t be done. There is no greater calling and no harder job than that of being a mother. They should be recognized and appreciated for all they do. I just wish it could be done in a way that didn’t make me stand out so much.
Another blow is when someone says, “You can’t possibly understand what it means to truly love a child, since you don’t have any of your own.”
Well. Smack me right in the face.
I beg to differ. I do realize the bond between a mother and a child is phenomenal and beautiful, but don’t tell me that I can’t fully love someone else’s child.
I worked for many years as a student minister in churches in North Georgia and Oregon, while I kept working as a journalist. Talk about your crazy schedules...
During those years, there were many times I took in the children of others who were, for whatever reason, unable to care for them. I’ve had young girls come and stay with me because their mothers were with a boyfriend who was a little too touchy-feely, who used drugs, who didn’t want their kids anymore or who were  just plain too wrapped up in their own lives to care about their daughters. I took those kids in and loved and cared for them until their parents were able to welcome them back home. I did it gladly, and I’d do it again.
And each year on Mother’s Day, I hear from most of those young women. I get cards, posts on my Facebook page, calls and letters.
Why do I share this? Because I know I am not alone. There are other women out there who have no children because of infertility, choice, miscarriage, cancer...there are as many reasons as there are women.
So to those who are moms, thank God for you. Without you, none of use would be here – literally – and we certainly wouldn’t be who we are.
To those who long for children but are unable to have them, forgive those of us who say inappropriate things or make assumptions, and make it harder than it already is for you.
To those special women who are foster moms and/or mentors, I applaud you for your efforts to make a difference in the lives of others. We need more women like you.
To those women who have become step-mothers, and are loving and caring for another woman’s children, thank you for stepping up and opening your heart.
To those women who gave a child up for adoption to provide a better life for him or her than you can provide, may your heart be comforted and may you have peace. Would that we were all so selfless.
To those mothers whose children have abandoned this precious relationship, I grieve with you for your loss, and hope you will find joy when your prodigal son returns home.
And to pastors everywhere, I must say I appreciate the desire you and your congregation have to honor mothers on their special day...but I ask that you consider those women for whom sitting there as mothers stand all around them is like having salt rubbed into an open wound. Find a way to honor all the women in your congregation and the contributions they make.

Here's my column for tomorrow's paper...

It’s that time of year again – New Year’s resolutions. You make ‘em. You have good intentions. You fail.
At least, that’s how it goes for me. Which is why I quit making them a long time ago.
But this year, I have found the one resolution that I can wholeheartedly keep...so here it is: If it doesn’t nourish your soul, get rid of it.
That’s it. That’s my one resolution. But then I started thinking about it, dangit. I found that more are needed. So I started nosing around for other resolutions that would not only make a difference in my life, but in the lives of those around me as well. Here’s what I’ve got...
Capture the little moments. I find myself leaning toward this philosophy more and more with each passing year. It’s these little moments that bring the most joy.
Realize your unlimited potential. This is oh, so difficult, but oh, so worth it. We all have unlimited potential. We just have to believe and tap into it, and nourish it every day.
Build faith, worry less. Do one, the other fades away.
Work smarter. No two words were ever more difficult or more necessary.
See the good. In people, in situations, in life...in general. Spend your time looking for the good in all things. If you focus on that, you won’t have time to worry about the bad.
Be inspired and inspire. I am always looking to others to see what I can learn from them, but I need to spend more time seeking to be inspired,  as well as learn to spark inspiration.
Be present. I spend a lot of my thoughts each day worrying  about and planning for what’s next. And in doing so, I often lose sight of what’s right in front of me. I have got to fix that.
Don’t worry about what others think. Most of us have struggled with this at one time or another. Here’s my take on it...if I’m making both the good Lord and my Mama happy, it’s all good.
Learn from my mistakes. There’s an old saying that if a man doesn’t learn from his past, he is doomed to repeat it. Same goes for mistakes. What we don’t learn and grow from, we’ll repeat... And we’ll do it often.
Remember that slow progress is still progress. It’s easy in life, whenever you set a goal, to become discouraged and even give up when you don’t see things moving along at a good clip. Progress is progress is progress.
Be thankful. I forget this one sometimes. It’s easy to do. Be thankful first in the little things, and you’ll be even more thankful for the big things.
Create. We all have a need to be creative. We just all do it in different ways. For some, it’s writing. For others, there’s the paint brush and canvas. For some, music is an outlet. However you choose to do it, just do it. Let your soul be exposed and express what you find there.
Challenge yourself. Never stop growing and becoming. Push yourself in that process. You may be surprised what you learn and how you evolve.
Forgive...then work hard to forget. Forgiving is so much easier than forgetting. But it is my goal to be more forgetful in this coming year...at least when it comes to the things I forgive.
Value your time. I think sometimes we forget to place value on our own time. We give so freely of our schedules to so many things and people and causes, that we forget how valuable our time is – and how quickly it is gone.
Give a little more than you promise. In today’s world, when someone does something for another person, all too often, just enough is done to get by with. Do more than what’s expected. What you receive in return is even greater.
Pursue only the dreams that truly scare you. That may sound impossible or too frightening at first. But bear in mind that the view is always best from the top of the mountain. Dream big and go for it.
Be better today than you were yesterday.  ‘Nuff said.
Breathe. I know in my hectic daily schedule, I often find myself rushing through the day and suddenly, the day is spent, and I have taken no time to just simply stop and breathe... appreciate... or give thanks. Carve out a few minutes each day to stop and catch your breath.
Don’t just like yourself...love yourself. That’s easier said than done sometimes. But we must all learn to love ourselves in order to truly love others. Like who you are today – and who you are working on becoming tomorrow.
For someone who didn’t want to make a resolution, I came up with a heckuva list. And I’m sure I’ll fall on my face more than once. But progress, even when it’s slow, is still progress.
I read that somewhere once...

I'd like to add a little to it..since this is my personal space. And I can do whatever the heck I want here.

This year has been tough for me. I made a move to a new place, a new job, and am surrounded by new people. This can be a good thing. And it can be a bad thing. I am choosing to see the good.

I have been met with some particularly tough challenges, particularly when it comes to running into some really nasty people who seem to have made it their mission to run me out of town. But they obviously don't know me. Or how stubborn I can be when I make up my mind. And my mind is made up. This is where I am supposed to be...and I'm not going anywhere.

This has been a tough year for me as well as I have felt some separation in a couple of important relationships. Not sure why. Maybe it's all me. But I've felt it. And it's not been an easy pill to swallow. But people grow and change and that's life. I'm not giving up on those relationships...just recognizing the changes, and resolving to hang on for dear life. They're important relationships.

I turned 50 this year. I decided to let my hair go salt and paprika. I am working harder at getting healthier, although the past couple of months, I have relaxed that a bit. But I'm back on track now, with the start of the new year.

I suppose the biggest change I've undergone in the past 12 months is that of acceptance. I am working toward being more accepting of, well, the way things are. At this point in my life, I realize that I am who I am, and if there's no man out there that wants "all of this"...well, it's his loss.

I have also come to the realization that there is still much I wish to accomplish, and I've gotten started on a couple of those things. There's no time like the present.

I have become more "okay" with what I see in the mirror. I am not perfect. I have wrinkles and gray hairs and curves, and I'm okay with that. I don't care too much if you aren't.

I am working on my spiritual side as well. I am not what I was, but I'm not all I can be. Moving onward and upward this year...

I suppose if I could sum 2013 up with one word, it would be....change. Much has changed in the past year, and I've grown and changed with it. And I'm not done yet.

Baby New Year, you and I are going to get up close and personal this year...2014 is looking promising...

Kiss my grits, DUMPLING

I get all kinds of comments from people every day as editor of a newspaper. Some of them are nice and complimentary...but most are people complaining about something they don't like.

But I have to say, since I moved to Tifton, I have gotten more than my fair share of personal attacks from people I very likely have never met. Some of them have been downright rude. But this one, which I received today, was just mean. Just plain mean.

Before you read further, for background, I wrote a couple of columns about what men and women should and shouldn't wear, with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek, which I disclosed in each column. I used words like bra (wear one) and polyester. I called boobies "dumplings." Most of the feedback I heard was positive and most people said both columns gave them a good chuckle. Then there's this idiot...here's his letter, UNSIGNED, in its entirety...

It would be wise of you to tend to your own business and quit telling people what to wear. Get a life.

Your comments tell me you have very little home training and manners, and you are jealous of other women and must be post menopausal and in need of hormones. Your mama didn't raise you right, and as far as dumplings go, you must not have any and resent the fact real women do.

Are you teaching your daughter any manners? I hope so, but it doesn't sound like it.

And please quit the photos of you. I have looked enough. If I were you, I'd quit worrying about other people's underwear (which is none of your business!) and worry about my job.

Let's face it, you are ignorant, have no class, stupid and a disgrace to the paper. I won't be renewing as long as you work there. 

People can wear anything they want, lady, even if they are 60 or 80, male or female and it is none of your business. You are a vulgar, nasty, nosy slob. Oh yeah, get some makeup and grow some hair and lose some weight.

Ex-subscriber

I expect to get criticism from readers who become disgruntled because of one reason or another. I expect some folks to just plain not like me because they have an issue with the paper. I don't take it personally. Over the years, I have developed pretty thick skin, and I just let most of it go. But this one bothered me. 

It bothered me not because it was so mean, but because someone would take the time to spew such venom. A person I have never met, who knows very little if anything about me, took the time to write this. It bothers me that there are people like this in the world. It bothers me that there are people like this in my community.

Yep. I said MY community. Like it or not, I live in Tifton now. And a few folks who are only happy if they are unhappy are neither going to run me off or keep me down. I will continue to do my job to the best of my ability. That will likely include changes to the paper – and for those who don't like change, you can just get out of the way. Stop reading. Leave town. We don't need you to read our paper and we don't need you in this community.

I won't stoop to this person's level and publish any of this, because as editor, I don't allow our pages to be used for bullying or idiocy. This brand of ugly has no place in my paper. 

I hope I get to meet this person sometime. That is, if this person ever grows a set. I've got some sappy, sweeter than saccharine comments for you, buddy. 

Still here...

Well...it has been quite some time since I updated my blog...So here's what's been going on...

I lost my job in Tallahassee in August 2012, and didn't find a new one until January 2013. But the good news is that I am once again a newspaper editor, and I'm back in Georgia. Woo hoo!

The bad news is that I am way busy. Too busy to be writing this blog. So this is it for now. I will have some deep thoughts and post later on. Just wanted you to know I'm still alive and kicking...

Still waiting...

Well. I lost my job the last week of August. It is now December. I'm thinking Christmas may not be so bright this year...

I don't do waiting very well. I am a results kind of girl. I see a problem, I weigh the options, I make a decision, and then I want results. That has not been the case in my current situation. I am still jobless, despite lots of prayers, begging God for deliverance from this circumstance. And I'm not the only one praying. I have friends and family who are also praying for me.

Yet still, I wait.

I don't understand it. I don't pretend to. There have been days, if I'm being honest, that I have cried. A lot. And I mean ugly, snot-flinging, sobbing crying. It wasn't pretty. But I did feel better afterward. There have also been days I just didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want to have to say, "I'm okay," when asked, with feeling, "So...how are you?" I know those asking mean well, and that they truly care. I just get tired of talking about it. 

There have also been days when I've been so sure that God is in control, and that He is at work to answer my prayer. I have known, on those days, that God has never failed me in the past, and that He won't fail me this time. He has always cared about my needs and my tears, and this time is no different. Truth be told, even on my worst days, I have known and believed this. It just gets buried deeper on some days than on others. 

What buries this truth? My own doubts. My fear. A glance at my checkbook. Another rejection letter. No telephone calls. Job searches that result in zero possibilities. All these things push the truth down until it's hard to breathe, much less hang on to what I know is right.

It all boils down to this...God isn't moving fast enough for me. There. I said it. Did I mention I don't do waiting very well?

Yesterday, as we sang worship songs at church, I admit, I was having an off day. I was singing the words, but just not feeling them. I admit, I wasn't worshiping. I was just going through the motions. I caught myself doing it on about the third song, and I stopped and prayed. 

"God, I am here to worship you. But my heart is not in it. But I don't want my heart to be closed to what you have to say to me today. So right now, I open my heart, my mind, and my spirit to whatever you have to say to me today. Whatever it might be..."

That was my prayer. And God heard me. I immediately felt better, and was able to focus on worship. And then there was the sermon. It was all about worship...thanks to the focus placed on the Christmas song, "O Holy Night." But a section of scripture read during the sermon was what really got my attention...

Lamentations 3:20-26

New Living Translation (NLT)

²⁰ I will never forget this awful time,
    as I grieve over my loss.
²¹ Yet I still dare to hope
    when I remember this:

²² The faithful love of the Lord never ends!^[a]
    His mercies never cease.
²³ Great is his faithfulness;
    his mercies begin afresh each morning.
²⁴ I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
    therefore, I will hope in him!”

²⁵ The Lord is good to those who depend on him,
    to those who search for him.
²⁶ So it is good to wait quietly
    for salvation from the Lord.

It blessed my heart to hear those words. God's faithfulness never ends, and because of this, I can still dare to hope. He is good to those who depend on Him. 

I will not be able to forget this awful time, and I may not wait as quietly as I should, but God brings me new mercies every day. That's enough for me.

Single purpose...

Read a great post this morning...here's the link: How to Look Beyond Romance to Love as Jesus Does http://t.co/6Bi4zRXT

It got me to thinking about being single in today's church. It's like finding yourself suddenly on an alien planet, particularly if you are 40+. All too often, churches are focused on the needs of families, which isn't a bad thing. But they are not the only ones who call the church home. If you are single, like myself, there's often no real place to belong, or fit in.

And on top of that, singles over a certain age are seen as less-than or incomplete...like they have somehow failed in life. I once worked with a church staffer who actually told me that single adults were "out of the will of God" because they choose to be single. Needless to say, we had a fairly heated discussion, because I disagree with that statement wholeheartedly.

Many single adults, like me, have just not found the right person yet. There are those who choose to remain single, but it's been my experience that those are few and far between. The reality is, life happens. Careers get busy, family concerns take precedence, and dating just gets pushed to the back burner.

There are also those who have dealt with emotional pain in the past, and therefore currently have difficulty in developing relationships. Society often labels them freaks, rather than offering a helping hand - and the church often does nothing to help, either. Rather than lifting them up, all too often the church just ignores this issue, except for those who have experienced divorce. But divorces are not the only source of pain or obstacle for single adults. It's high time, in my humble opinion, the church recognizes this and does something about it.

I looked for well over a year for a church in my city that offered a single adult ministry that didn't cater to just 20-somethings. Still haven't found one. In the end, I decided to push away my needs and just focus on plugging into a church where I could best serve God and be fed spiritually. I have found that. But I still long for single adult fellowship. Still praying about that one...

And for the record, although I often joke that I am always accepting applications for "husband," I need to strongly state that is not why I attend church nor is it why I want single adult fellowship. I once visited a church where the pastor told me, after I asked if his church had a single adult ministry, "If you are looking for a husband, this is not the church for you." I was shocked. If this was my sole purpose for attending church, I would have stopped going long ago.

Single adults need single adults. It's that simple. While you can maintain friendships with married friends, the fact remains that single adults need each other. When you are a part of such a fellowship, you become a family, and offer support to each other unlike what can be found elsewhere. It's just a unique thing. I have been a part of a church before where this was offered in abundance, and I made lifelong friends that I cherish...some are now married, some are not. I truly miss the fellowship and the feeling of belonging.

While there are certainly examples of Christ-followers who chose to be single in order to better serve Him, I don't feel called to be single forever. But I am learning to be content in my circumstances...as a single adult...until God takes me to a different place in my life.

It would be nice to have some folks by my side who understand and experience the same...

Fighting like a girl...

Welp. Today was gonna be Wallow Wednesday for me. I have recently lost my job,and  applied for unemployment, counting on it to bridge the gap until I can find a new job. Then I found out how much I'll actually be getting every two weeks. Full-on panic has set in.

Don't get me wrong. I am thankful for the little bit I am getting. I know every little bit helps. But it doesn't take care of everything, and that, quite frankly, scares the crap out of me. So in the midst of this turmoil and craptastic (word of the day) state I find myself in, I had decided to have a wallow day. I've been teary-eyed and just miserable ever since I got up this morning. It's the first day I've allowed myself to do so. I have been reading Job, and relating, big-time. I've been putting on a brave face and holding up my chin, since people keep telling me to keep my chin up. But as of today, the charade (I'm pronouncing it sha-rod) is over. I am not a happy camper.

I think God knew I needed a dose of reality. I got on Facebook to, of course, share my misery. It was there I got my dose. A couple of my dear friends have been going through a rough time in recent months with their daughter, who has had breast cancer. She's been awesome. Her name is Angela, and she's so brave, and has such unwavering faith. Angela is a sweetheart and I love her like my own, as well as her sister. And their parents, well, there are few finer folks in this world. I served with her dad, who's a pastor, at the same church for several years.

Angela has gone through all the treatments, and things were looking great. Then she found another lump. And now the doctor says that the cancer is back and it could be stage four. Needless to say, the entire family is devastated. There was light at the end of the tunnel, and now it's flickering. But this is a family of faith...a family who has stood together and stared cancer down and said, "You won't win." They're still saying it...just, I think, with heavier hearts this time around.

When I saw that Angela's cancer was back, I just burst into tears. It seems so unfair that someone so young should have to deal with something like this once, let alone twice. She's such an awesome young woman, and  doesn't deserve this. Not that anyone does. I will be praying all the time for this precious family, especially Angela.

There. That's my dose of reality. I may not have a job or much money in the bank, but I don't have a life-threatening disease. I am not battling for my life. I have so much to be thankful for. And I am thankful. So very thankful.

I am thankful that I have so many wonderful friends, as well as family, who are praying for me. All those people that keep telling me to keep my chin up, well, they are saying we're in this with you....we've got your back. It feels good to know that I am not in this alone.

But I feel I should warn you. I am not like Angela. I am not as brave as she is, and there may be days when I wallow and cry. But on those days, I will endeavor to dry my tears, get on my knees and thank God for all He has given me...and pray for Angela. She's fighting cancer like a girl...and I've got her back.

My heart hurts today...

My best friend's mom died last night. I feel so numb right now, yet my heart just...hurts. How is that even possible?

I feel so bad for her. She lost her dad just a few years ago, and now her mom. I can't even imagine life without my parents being there, even if they were incapacitated in some way. At least they'd still be there. But to know that they're not there anymore...that if you go to their house, they aren't there...just empty rooms...and silence. I can't begin to imagine how that feels. I don't want to. I don't want to ever feel that.

But I suppose it's unavoidable, unless I were to die first. A part of me wishes that would be the case...so I wouldn't have to say goodbye to anyone. But that's incredibly selfish, so the bigger part of me doesn't want that.

I'm rambling...it's just that my thought bubble is so full of, just, stuff right now. So many feelings. So many tears. So much hurt. And Mama Mary wasn't even my mother. It just kind of felt that way sometimes. She was so awesome. Fearless. Her own person. Sure, she had issues. But who doesn't? I liked that Mary was just Mary. And she didn't apologize for who she was. The thing I liked best about her was her fierce love of her family. No matter what her kids did or didn't do, she loved them.

And oh, those grandbabies. She loved them so much. And I know they loved her. They'll always love her. I'm so glad they all got to know her and spend time with her. There were circumstances that placed them with her more often than perhaps she needed, but now...well...I'm glad. Every moment they had with their Marmee was precious.

I love that my friend looks so much like her mother. Every time she looks in the mirror, she'll be reminded of a mom who loved her ferociously. A mom who was her greatest admirer, and who saw her daughter as her life's greatest accomplishment.

I know that Mama Mary will be missed by her daughters, her grandchildren and all the rest of those who knew her best and loved her most. But there is one who has been waiting for her...the Big Man...my friend's dad. He loved Mary with all his heart. And I know it was hard for him to leave her when his time came. But I'm sure he's been getting things ready for her, and when she took her last breath, he could only smile, because in that moment, his bride was with him again.

My heart aches for my friend, and I cannot imagine the pain she is feeling today as she prepares to say goodbye to her mom. But I know that she is aware that it's really not goodbye. It's more of a "see you later."

So I'll just say, see you later, Mama Mary. Thank you for having a wonderful daughter...for raising her to be the strong and awesome woman she is....and for sharing her with me.

Whistle...Don't Whine

I don't do waiting. At least not very well. But it seems that's all I'm doing these days.

Come to think of it, it feels like I've been waiting my whole life. As a child, I waited to be pretty or have straight hair, like other girls. As a teenager, I waited for high school to be over so I could "live." As a college student, I waited for the next big thing. And I'm still waiting for my Prince Charming. 

And during all this waiting, I have struggled. I have fought. I have whined. I have complained. Loudly. And I have questioned God repeatedly. Why me? Why can't I have what other people have? Why is it that the ungodly get things handed to them that I am still desperately waiting for? If I am serving God with my whole heart, then where are the blessings He has promised?

I can just see God flinching each time I have shaken my fist at the sky and asked those questions…because it surely hurts His heart when I question Him and His ways. Instead of fighting, I am supposed to be resting. Instead of struggling, I should be focused. Instead of whining, I am supposed to be rejoicing and trusting. Yet I do none of these things.

The thing is, I forget that those periods of waiting are not for me to pace and question. They are for me to rest. And to do so expectantly. God is not at rest while I am in a period of waiting.

So while I wait, I am seeking to become better at it. I am seeking to do so:

 • Prayerfully:  Psalm 25:4-5  

 • With strength and courage:  Psalm 27:14, 31:24 

 • Rejoicing and trusting in His holy name:  Psalm 33:21 

 • Based on the fear of the Lord and His unfailing love: Psalm 33:18, 22 

 • With hope:  Psalm 33:20, 39:7 

 • Patiently:  Psalm 37:7, 40:1; Habakkuk 3:16, Romans 8:25, Hebrews 6:15 

 • Obediently:  Psalm 37:34, 119:166; Isaiah 26:8-9 

 • Desiring Him:  Isaiah 26:8-9  

 • Single-mindedly: Psalm 62:5  

 • Expectantly:  Psalm 123:2, Micah 7:7 

 • Believing His Word:  Psalm 130:5 

 • Assured He is all we need, He is our portion:  Lamentations 3:24 

 • Quietly:  Lamentations 3:26 

 • Always:  Hosea 12:6 

 • In anticipation of joy:  John 3:29 

 • Eagerly:  Romans 8:19, 23

These scriptures are where I'll be "waiting" in the coming weeks. Hopefully by then, I'll have learned how to be better at it. 

And how to stop whining while He works.

Sprinklers still mean joy...

When I was a kid, there was nothing better than running around in the sprinklers on a hot summer day. When you were running under that cool water, nothing else in the world mattered. There was no summer heat. There was only cool water, sun, and laughter.

I am looking out my office window today and wishing for a little of that innocent and fun time. Had I known then what I know now, I probably would have begged Mama to let me stay under those cool jets for just a while longer.

I think I need to find me some sprinklers this summer...

May means lily of the valley and bare feet...

When I was a little girl, I absolutely loved this time of year. In April, all along the edges of our yard and in the fields nearby, there would be daffodils, azaleas, dogwoods and red bud trees in bloom. 

But in May, we began to see my other favorite flower in our yard – the lily of the valley. I love white daisies, which I've always called my favorite flower, generally speaking. But lily of the valley, well, for some reason those delicate little flowers just sang out to me. I loved to pick them and carry them around, pretending I was a bride. They make such a pretty bouquet.

Traditionally, lily of the valley stands for purity of heart, sweetness, humility, happiness and love's good fortune. The flowers are supposed to protect your garden from evil spirits, and it's known as the official flower of the month of May.

Whatever. I just thought they were really pretty. Still do.

I haven't seen any of these growing anywhere in Florida, and I confess I miss them. So I'm placing some here. It's May. It is time for me to go barefoot and have my bouquet of lily of the valley.  

When you're a little girl, and you get all dressed up for Easter Sunday or some other occasion, you hear people say, "Aw. Isn't she pretty?!"

Most little girls heard that. I don't remember ever hearing that. I heard, "She's got the prettiest head of hair I've ever seen!" Or, "Your hair is so pretty." But no one ever told me I was pretty. That stung. And it stuck.

I have pretty much felt like the ugly step-sister my whole life. I'm the one they describe as having a good personality, but they fail to mention my looks. I've always felt this was with good reason.

But as I approach my 50s – yes, I am staring down the barrel of 50 next year – I have decided that I just don't care if someone doesn't like the way I look. I don't look like the chicks on the magazine covers. Never have, never will. And I'm okay with that.

I've actually been okay with this for a few years now. At some point, I decided that I like me, I'm okay with what I look like, and I just don't give a flying fig if you don't like the way I look, act, dress, talk, etc. As long as I make God happy, I'll be happy. I do not, repeat, do not have to make you happy.

Here's what I have learned about beauty over the years:

• In my childhood, I looked at other girls who had perfect, straight blonde hair and tans, and then back at my wild, curly red hair and pale skin, and I felt ugly. The fact that I was told this by other kids didn't help. I believed them. So I spent my childhood believing I had no beauty. It was everywhere but on me.

• In my teens, I began to really develop my personality, and my sense of humor. I thought that this was where my beauty lay. I could make people laugh.

• In my 20s, I learned to forget the rules. Just because I didn't have straight hair, it didn't mean I was ugly. I learned to like my freckles. I started to develop my own sense of taste about everything – clothes, shoes, decor, friendships, romance. I also learned that there is so much more to me than the way I look. I am a total package. And I began to understand that those who didn't get that, didn't deserve to be a part of my life.

• In my 30s, I began to more closely examine what I do have, looks-wise, and embrace it. I have freckles and fair skin. I like them. I have curly red hair. It's part of who I am, and I like it. I learned that how I feel has very little to do with how I look. I learned that I am attractive, not because of what I look like, but because of what I bring to the table.

• In my 40s, well I'm still there, at least for a little longer. I've enjoyed this decade. I'm too old to be a young fool, yet too young for Depends. I've learned that I'm not perfect, but I'm a pretty cool chick. I have learned to not stare into the magnified side of my makeup mirror for too long, but when I do look there, to embrace and appreciate what I find. Each wrinkle I discover is part of me – part of a roadmap of my life. When I closely examine my face, I see that I have had a lot of joy in my life. And I now love my crazy curly red hair.

• In my 50s, I plan to be fabulous. I know I won't look like I did 20 years ago, but I'm okay with that. I wouldn't want to. I want to look like me…now. I want to look like I have lived a life full of joy and awesomeness. I don't regret the fun, so I won't regret the wrinkles. I plan to keep my sense of humor, and I plan to laugh at how my face and my body shifts around as I age. Might as well laugh. It's better than crying. I think I will have fully embraced the fact that looks can hide beauty. I will be fully immersed in continuing to develop my compassion, strength and faith. And I'll do it with my hair and nails "did."

As for beyond those years, I'm not sure. I'd like to think that I'll continue on this same path. I may never be considered "pretty" by other people's standards, but I don't really care about their standards. By my own, and by God's, I am working each day of my life to be the best me I can. And that makes me feel wonderful.

And I do plan on still having crazy red hair when I'm 95.

This is one of my favorite poems...perhaps because it's so me? It's by Jenny Joseph...I wonder, when I read this, if she's been spying on me, because I am already "practicing"...have been for years. ;-)

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

and run my stick along the public railings

and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

and pick the flowers in other people's gardens

and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

or only bread and pickles for a week

and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

and pay our rent and not swear in the street

and set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

This is Plum Orchard Mansion, and the First African Baptist Church is the inset photo.

I love this image. It's a picture I took on Cumberland Island, just off the coast of Georgia. I love the magical feel of this place. The Spanish moss and the saw palmettos, plus those really old oaks that you just know have seen and heard it all...just love it. And it's near First African Baptist Church, where JFK Jr. got married...such a special little building. I love it there. Cumberland Island is awesome...wild horses...the beach...Plum Orchard, that awesome mansion...if you want to see how the rich folks lived way back when...take the tour of the mansion. But this is without a doubt my favorite place on Cumberland. The road is quiet and peaceful. If you listen closely, the oaks will tell you of hot, humid nights under the stars, hoop skirts and mint juleps. I love that there are still places like this in the South.

Before I begin, let me just own up to two things…first, I am a Christian. Second of all, I own a cat. Or rather, I am owned by cat. If you have a cat, you know what I mean.

I am well aware that there are some serious nut jobs out there that wear the label of Christian and wear it loudly. I stumbled across a blog written by just such a person this morning, called "The Dark Underside of America's Obsession with Cat Ownership." Let's just say my mouth is still hanging open.

The post begins by enlightening us with the benefits of owning a pet…A pet can teach responsibility, foster love, teach stewardship, and protect your home and family. But the article then raises the question: Is welcoming any beast into the sanctity and privacy of your home always a good idea?

The author of the post then writes about the health issues associated with cat ownership, pointing out the risk of the various infections and diseases that cats can carry. He doesn't point out that if a person is a responsible pet owner, he can take his cat to the vet where the animal can be vaccinated against each and every one of the "diseases" that he writes are liable to infect us all.

I'll grant you, cats in homes with people who have allergies are a problem. This is why people who are allergic to cats don't have cats.

The article goes on to say "like rodents, felines have strong odors and can track in dangerous outdoor elements." Let me just say, my cat is an indoor-only cat. She doesn't track in anything and she doesn't stink. I have had indoor/outdoor cats before that didn't stink either. If you make sure they are properly vaccinated and use flea/pest prevention on them as diagnosed by your vet, you won't have a thing to worry about. But have you ever smelled a wet dog? Ever tried to clean up a dog that's gotten into something, well, gross outside? I have no problem with dogs, but don't point the finger at cats on this one element of your argument, buddy.

The guy also writes about cats urinating outside of their litter box. Yes, this can be a problem, but it's a indicator that there's something wrong with your cat, and your cat should be taken to the vet for treatment. Cats don't go outside their boxes unless there's an issue.

He also points a finger to the "offensive stench that hangs in a cat owner's home and on their clothing when they venture out into public." Ask anyone whose ever been in my home and they'll tell you there's no odor…in my home, on my cat, or on me and my clothing. Again, it comes back to responsibility. Care for your pet properly and there is no problem. The author of this atrocious piece doesn't point this out. At all.

This nut job says there are "additional psychological dangers in a close feline relationship" for women. We are all destined to become crazy cat ladies. He writes that, "single people are more attracted to cat ownership, while dog owners are married with children." So now he's slammed cat owners who are female and those who are single. Again, nut job.

Now for the really scary part…the author writes how the Bible does not ever refer to cats in a positive light. He points to how lions were used to murder Christians in the Roman coliseums, and how King Herod was a cat owner. He also writes, "In fact, amazingly, not one of the apostles ever owned a cat. It goes without saying that Jesus never did." Just...I...really?!

This crazy dude also points out that people are to train animals and not let animals train them – an obvious reference to the fact that people who have cats say they are "owned by" their cats and not the other way around. He writes, "This is a very important point as we have seen with many contemporary women's relationships with their cats. Worship of cats, a pagan ritual if there ever was one, is truly a sin."

Furthermore, he writes that it is ethically wrong for us to live our lives in service of our lesser creatures – i.e., cats. The author cites studies that show that cats are "highly manipulative" and have trained the "childless" to "fetch their food, scratch behind their ears and do whatever else they require, turning you into overworked servants in your own home."

The final question that this guy asks is this: "With the evident health and moral problems, can we really continue to believe that there is no harm in cat ownership?"

I'll tell you where the real harm is…it's in people who claim to be speaking about what the Bible says, without ever picking it up and studying it. It's those same people who take scripture out of context and twist it to back up belief systems of their own design. This is a very evident problem, Mr. Cat Owner Hater.

And yes, I do believe there will be cats in heaven. Deal with it.