Wishing it away

When I was a little girl, I used to love picking dandelions and making a wish. I would wish for whatever my little heart desired, blow as hard as I could, and watch my wish float toward the clouds. I was convinced that as long as I got all the little seeds off in one big "blow," my wish would come true.

I know better now.

Now I know that no amount of wishing or blowing will make the bad stuff in life go away. Nor will it make the good stuff come to pass. Life doesn't work that way. I still find the little girl in me wishing that it did. Especially these days.

The last few years have been hard. I have wished it all away more times than I can count. I could blow on a thousand dandelions, but it doesn't help.

Someone asked me the other day, "How does all of it make you feel...really?" She was referring to my health issues. I opened my mouth to answer, then found that I had none.

I mean, I could give the standard answer about how I literally feel. I am so tired most of the time I find it hard to function. My get-up-and-go has got up and went, as the old saying goes. I ache. Constantly. Every which way I turn, I get muscle cramps -- and when I try to stretch to work out a cramp, I get another. My hands are going numb, and there are sharp pains in my wrists throughout the day.

Let's add all of that to a laundry list of other symptoms that I get to deal with that I won't go into here. The list is too dang long and ain't nobody got time for that. And I'm tired of thinking about it. I have Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome. I have Hashimoto's disease...which led to me having my thyroid taken out, which led to me having hypoparathyroidism. Those are the labels I now wear.

So...how does it all make me feel?

I feel like I have lost myself along the way. I don't have the energy to go and do things like I once did. I do good most days to just get through the work day and get myself home. I don't go out much after -- just don't have the gumption to do it.

I miss me. The me I used to be. She's still in there, fighting to get back out there. And she will one of these days. I've made up my mind that whatever it takes, she'll have her comeback.

I feel guilty. There are so many people who have it so much worse than I do. And I feel bad even saying I feel bad when there are people out there fighting for their lives. I feel like I have no right to complain. So I try really hard not to.

But there are just some days...

So...that's how I feel. I'm not down in the mouth. But I'm not giddy and sparkly. I'm just somewhere in the middle. Clutching my dandelions.

Appearances can really be deceiving

I get reflective this time of year. It's the end of the year, and we're staring down the barrel of a new one. So I start thinking about what I've learned in this past year. And I realize that I have learned a lot in the past three years.

I learned I have a heart condition called Wolffe Parkinson White Syndrome. I have had surgery and had to adjust to medications -- lots of medications. I've had to adjust how I do some things. I've had to make changes in my life and in my career. All because of my ticker.

I learned that I also have Hashimoto's disease. I had no idea. I had all sorts of symptoms that for many years, doctors have blamed on this or that. But there were never any real answers. I got tired of "we just don't know," and so I quit asking questions.

But a trip to the doctor, an ultrasound and a biopsy later, and I was on my way to having my thyroid removed. And suddenly, the heavens opened up and all my questions began to get answers. Things began to make sense.

Of course, now there are different issues. More medicine. More symptoms. More questions.

But at least things make sense now.

I have also learned that things aren't always what they seem. I used to look with contempt at those people who parked their cars in the handicapped spots and got out and jogged inside the store. How dare they take those spots away from those who really need them!

But I've learned that disease doesn't always look like disease. People who are sick don't always look it. And you can feel like death warmed over, and still have a big 'ol smile on your face.

So I've learned to not jump to conclusions -- you never know what a person is going through. You never know what pain a person is feeling. You might not be able to see it on the face, but that doesn't make it any less real.

So I park in a spot far away from the store, as far as I feel like walking that day. And I smile at those who use the handicap spots, grateful that I don't have to. Then I say a little prayer for that person, and for whatever prompts the need to park there. My prayer gets a little longer for the person who looks fine when he or she gets out of the car.

'Cause I feel you. I really do.

Bench pressing a Buick

Haven't written in a while. I suppose I haven't had much of anything to say here.

I will say this: I am tired of being tired. This whole journey in the past three years has been slow torture. One thing after another. I get one problem solved, then something else crops up.

I found out in 2014 that I have Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome, and ended up having a cardiac ablation done. While that's not a cure, it did eliminate the heart racing that had been happening most of my life. That's a real blessing, right there.

Finding out that I have WPWS answered so many questions I had...and it made so many things in my life make sense. But that wasn't the period on my sentence.

After going in for a pre-surgery exam for foot surgery, my doctor found that my thyroid was "severely" enlarged. Long story short: biopsy, no cancer, surgery to remove it, and the discovery that I have Hashimoto's disease, an autoimmune condition. That diagnosis made even more things make sense...things that I've dealt with for at least 15 years, and had blamed on other stuff. But it all points back to the thyroid.

Now, since the thyroid removal, I have not only Hashimoto's to deal with, but a severe calcium deficiency as well. They apparently damaged my parathyroid glands when they removed my thyroid, and that controls your calcium.

People think calcium = bones, but your calcium also controls your muscles. With not enough calcium, you can have serious muscle issues. And since the heart is a muscle, and I have a weakened one since my ablation, the docs are concerned. So we're trying everything possible to get my calcium levels up. No luck so far, and it's been more than a year.

My calcium issues make me tired, and make my joints ache. I also get muscle cramps that keep me up at night. I have fatigue because of Hashimoto's as well, so I'm just one tired puppy. By about 7 or 8 p.m. each night, I'm pretty well wiped out.

The other day, I found myself wishing I could get my life back to the way it used to be. I used to leave work and go out with friends. I used to have the energy to run around after work and do stuff. Now I just...don't.

I don't write any of this in an effort to get any sympathy. There are people out there who have it far worse than me. I am well aware of this. I am thankful that I have things as good as I do.

But I am tired. I'm tired of being tired. And I won't be defeated. I will fight. I will continue on. And maybe, somewhere along the way, someone else will be encouraged by something they see in me or in my journey.

I don't fully understand why God allowed this stuff in my life. I've always said I'm a tough chick, so maybe I'm just tough enough to handle all of this.Or maybe, God is trying to show me that I'm not as tough as I think I am.

What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I think I could bench press a Buick now.

I keep thinking about the lyrics to this Colton Dixon song...

"Through All of It"

There are days I've taken more than I can give
And there are choices that I made
That I wouldn't make again
I've had my share of laughter
Of tears and troubled times
This is has been the story of my life

I have won and I have lost
I got it right sometimes
But sometimes I did not
Life's been a journey
I've seen joy, I've seen regret
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it

You were there when it all came down on me
And I was blinded by my fear
And I struggled to believe
But in those unclear moments
You were the one keeping me strong
This is how my story's always gone

I have won and I have lost
I got it right sometimes
But sometimes I did not
Life's been a journey
I've seen joy, I've seen regret
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it
Through all of it

And this is who You are
More constant than the stars up in the sky
All these years of our lives
I, I look back and I see You
Right now I still do
And I'm always going to

I have won and I have lost
I got it right sometimes
But sometimes I did not
Life's been a journey
I've seen joy
I've seen regret
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it
Oh and You have been my God
Through all of it

Christmas tiiiime...is heeeerrre...

There are some things that just mean Christmas to me. These things make me all warm and fuzzy, and may even evoke a tear or two.

Christmas trees. Obviously. When I see a gorgeously decorated tree, I get all goose pimply like a great big pimply goose. Seriously. I just love a pretty, over the top, disgustingly holiday-ish tree. Add some snow, and I will melt. Seriously. Puddle on the floor.

Christmas movies. I am a sucker for them. I will watch "Elf" over and over, along with "White Christmas." Those are my faves. I also have to see "Little Women," which isn't traditionally a Christmas movie, but I have to see it. Then there's "A Nightmare Before Christmas," which I have likely usually already seen at Halloween, but I watch it again because, why not? And I will watch every rendition of "A Christmas Carol" there is. Twice. I love curling up on the couch, in a room lit only by my Christmas tree, and getting lost in a good Christmas movie. Any good Christmas movie.

Christmas music. This time of year, you can't go anywhere without hearing it. But I have to admit, the second I can find a station on the radio that's playing it -- usually at one minute past midnight on Thanksgiving -- I start listening to it. Yes. I am one of those people. I do not apologize. Certain songs get me in the holiday mood. I can hear "Christmas Time is Here" from the Charlie Brown cartoon, and I immediately start with the warm fuzzies. Such happy memories of my childhood, watching that special each and every year.
"Silent Night" is another one. Just thinking about the meaning of that song...that night...so long ago. I remember riding on a float in the Christmas parade when I was a kid, singing with the children's choir from church. We sang that song, and that was the first time I remember really thinking about the words. I think that was the first time that I realized that it truly was a holy night.

Presents. Oh, not for the reason you might think. I'm not going to lie...I enjoy getting a present as much as anyone. But the true joy when it comes to presents is giving them. I should go back in time and tell my 9-year-old self that. I'd probably slap me.
I have to say, I enjoy the process. I enjoy the hunt. Searching for just the right gift for each person. I have anguish each year over it. I really want to please the people I'm buying for. I love seeing faces light up when they see the gift, and are pleased with it.
Giving someone something that they love is a great feeling.

Kids in Christmas plays: Little kids in sheets with tinsel for halos. Bathrobe-clad shepherds. A little boy looking nervously and his "wife" Mary. I love it. All of it. Sweet little faces, who maybe don't even yet understand the significance of the events they're portraying. It's even better when they sing something. Anything. Just heavenly.

Manger scenes. I love them. All of them. There's one at my mom's church that's been going up as long as I can remember. It's life-size. I, sadly, don't have any photos of it, but I plan to remedy that this year. Just because it's part of Christmas to me. When I rode down that street as a kid, and I saw that scene, carefully placed, on the lawn at Lincolnton Baptist, I knew it was officially Christmas.

Mama's house: For me, there's no place to have Christmas besides my Mama's house. I can't even think about having it anyplace else, although for several years, we did. We had Christmas at my brother's house for a few years, and it was great. But it wasn't Mama's. There's just something about going home for the holidays. No place I'd rather be.
Each year, I know Mama gets ready for us to be home for the holiday, and she stresses a little. Between getting the house ready and the meals in order and the spare pillows and  blankets in place...she's got her hands full. But we don't really care if the house is ready. We can get our own pillows and blankets out of the hall closet. And as for the meals, well, peanut butter and jelly is fine, as long as we all eat it together.
Sitting around together at Mama's house each year, I remember that I am a very lucky lady. I still have my parents, my brothers are happy and have wonderful children, and I have all of them. I am blessed.

I really am blessed. Now if we could just get some snow...

Uncle Ned and Mrs. Jones....

Today is my birthday. I’m (places hand tactfully over mouth as I speak) years old.
I was thinking the other day about what birthdays used to mean. When I was a kid, it was all about the presents. Forget the cake and ice cream. I didn’t even care about the little friends at my party. I just wanted to see what was underneath all the sparkly wrapping paper.
I was a selfish little booger, wasn’t I?
In my teen years, it became even more about the presents, which became more and more expensive.
I remember on my 16th, my mother arranged a party during a youth retreat I was on. In front of everyone, she gave me a ring – but not the diamond cluster ring I had asked for. She gave me an onion ring with a note attached. It read: “Due to financial embarrassment, this is the only ring we could get.”
I’m still living that one down.
Once I reached adulthood, I realized that birthdays are not about the presents. It’s about the presence – my presence in the lives of those I care about, and making sure that presence counts for something.
It’s also about the presence of those I allow into my life, and the influence they have. I’m picky about these people. I choose very carefully.
One such person passed away this week. My uncle, Ned Conner, died Thursday afternoon. He was 83, and was married to one of my mother’s sisters, Julia.
Uncle Ned was one of those special characters that just got to your core. He was a simple and small man, but he had a big personality. When he was up to something, his eyes twinkled.
I remember those eyes. I saw them up close a lot when I was very young. Uncle Ned wore dentures, and he loved to poke them out at me to make me laugh.
Heck, he was still doing it the last time I saw him.
Our families had, at one time, a campsite that we shared. We spent lots of time there each summer, fishing, hanging out and eating lots of the fish we caught, including catfish stew, courtesy of Uncle Ned. He was also our breakfast captain.
On one particular morning, my brother, Greg, and I awoke to hear Uncle Ned singing the oldie, “Me and Mrs. Jones.” We could tell from the sound of his voice that he didn’t have his teeth in.
We crawled to the window of the camper and looked out, and there was Uncle Ned in all his glory. He was wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts, and was barefoot. Without a tooth in his head, he was swaying and singing while stirring a cast iron frying pan full of scrambled eggs.
That image still makes me giggle. But not as much as my favorite photo of him.
There’s a picture  that my mom has of Uncle Ned in our kitchen, holding his hands up to his chest. The photo makes it clear that he has something under his shirt that gives the illusion that he has breasts. And he’s grinning from ear to ear.
I can just hear him laughing every time I look at that photo.
When my Granny died, Uncle Ned was the one that made me forget my sorrow for a while. Not by anything he said or did directly to me, but by watching him with the little kids in the family. I was 17 when she died.
After her funeral, I heard Uncle Ned talking to some of the younger kids at the cemetery, and I looked around for him. I found him, down in the dirt, in his suit, playing with the kids. He had every one of them giggling and, well, filthy.
It made me forget the pain of losing my Granny for a few precious moments. I loved him for that.
I didn’t get to tell him how much he meant to me. I didn’t get to tell him that I loved his laugh or that twinkle in his eye. I didn’t get to tell him how much I loved how much he loved my aunt, and his children.
I didn’t get to tell him how much I appreciated him being there for us when we were little, and didn’t have a father figure around.
So Uncle Ned, thank you everything. Thank you for helping me, my mom and my brother laugh at a time when there was precious little in our lives to laugh about.
I sure will miss that rascal.

Je suis Charlie – not Kirby Delauter

This was my column for Jan. 11, 2015. Won a little award. Thought I should post it to my blog so I could hang onto it. I submitted three columns, and there was one about my summer in Oregon that I was sure would be the winner, but this one got it instead. Go figure.

Georgia Press Association awards aside, I still feel strongly about this.

Behold...my column...

Journalists all over the globe chuckled collectively this week at Twitter's latest punching bag – Kirby Delauter.
It seems that Delauter, an elected official in Fredrick County, Md., threatened to sue a reporter at the Frederick News-Post who had used his name in a story without his permission. He posted his comments on social media, sparking a response from the reporter, who not only owned her action, but said she'd do it again. And again. And again. Why? Because it's her responsibility to the community her newspaper serves to do so. I stood up and applauded when I read that.
The editorial that followed, well, mentioned his name an awful lot. And it went, as you might imagine, viral. 
Delauter later apologized, admitting that it is indeed the right of the paper to use his name in any article, saying "it comes with the job."
I'm betting this epiphany came immediately after – possibly during – a conversation with his attorney.
And just like with anything else the people who live in Facebook Land or in the Twitterverse find funny, Delauter became fodder for an endless stream of memes. I have enjoyed every single one of them. I mean, come on. That stuff's funny right there, I don't care who you are. 
Google it. You'll see what I mean.
I echo the sentiment of the young lady whose story mentioned Delauter (just twice by the way). It is our responsibility to report on the actions of our elected officials. And it's their responsibility to be aware that this is the case. How can you be in any kind of office and think that your name is that off limits?
As an elected official, Delauter should have known that journalists can and will use his name in the media. Just because a person doesn't want to see his or her name in print does not negate the First Amendment. 
In the wake of this ridiculousness, a series of truly heinous acts took place. Two gunmen entered the offices of Paris newspaper Charlie Hebdo and killed 11 people. All because those people had exercised their rights as journalists. A policeman was murdered as the duo escaped. On Thursday, a policewoman was shot and killed, and a street sweeper was shot – the shootings were linked to the Charlie Hebdo incident. On Friday, there was a shootout between the gunmen and police, and one of the suspects took hostages in a grocery store. French special forces stormed each of the places where the terrorists were located and killed them, and freed several hostages. In the end, 12 people were dead and many more were critically injured.
Four cartoonists from Charlie Hebdo were killed because they drew cartoons that radicals didn't want to see in print. 
Sound familiar? Of course, these two incidents are worlds apart. But what's at the heart of the matter isn't so different. 
People everywhere have latched onto the viral sentiment "Je Suis Charlie" – French for "I am Charlie."
The bigger picture is this: if this causes journalists all over the globe to censor themselves because of fear, then the Charlie Hebdo terrorists – and all who think like them – will have won. Freedom will be lost. This cannot happen.
We cannot be afraid to stand up and report the news. We cannot be afraid to poke those in power a bit and hold them accountable. We must not be afraid to stand up for what is right. In the end, we must all be Charlie. 
And not Kirby Delauter.

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...