Seasons

I wrote this four years ago. I wanted to share it here today. I haven’t written in a while because I’ve had some sort of writers block—something I’ve never really dealt with before. I ran across this today on Facebook and thought I’d share it today, in light of the current world’s situation.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 - To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.

This verse reminds me to be patient, something I struggle with daily. When we pray about something repeatedly over a period of time, there is a tendency to get stale in our prayers. At least for me. I have to consciously make an effort to defeat a negative mindset during those times when it feels like my prayers are bouncing off the ceiling. Today is one of those days when I am reminded to not give up my vision just because I'm not feeling it. Today would've been a great day to stay in bed and fret. Not gonna do that because it accomplishes nothing and makes an emotional mess out of me. I am reminded of Gods absolute sovereignty in all things pertaining to Elaine Jackson. Even if I don't feel a particular way or see what an outcome is gonna be, at the end of the day, is that really my concern? Or am I infringing on Gods business when I stew and worry over things that have no eternal consequence whatsoever. What matters instead is how I live my life...how do I live "between the dash" that goes on my tombstone. (Thanks, Brenda Parton Brown!) Have I lived my life trusting God? Have I been "seasonal?" Have I been patient? Have I been bold? Have I been submitted? Have I loved? (Hard one right there!) I fear I have fallen short far too many times because I've let own mindset work against me. I am determined, however, to live my life in such a way that other folks will see Jesus. If I have to duct tape my mouth shut and wrestle those pesky thoughts into submission, well, that's just the way it is. There is a season for everything in our lives. There is a time and a purpose. I don't know that time and purpose sometimes, but the good Lord DOES! Today is the day to live boldly, lovingly, submitted to the will of the One who loves me. His will, His purpose, His season...God bless!

The joy of a child at dIscovery…

Light In The Darkness

I am beginning to fear there is something seriously wrong with me. I have lost patience with the news media. I cast a skeptical eye at most everything I read. I am starting to believe this world is headed on a downhill slope from which there is no recovery. And I missed out on Girl Scout Cookies. Thin mints, people, thin mints…

The main problem is I have no desire to leave the rabbit hole. I find myself shaking hands with that hookah smoking caterpillar every single time I turn on the news. I am sympathizing with the Red Queen (“Off with his head!”). I am wanting to drink the Kool Aid, open the package and devour the “Eat Me” wafer inside. In truth, I believe the characters from Alice in Wonderland are chomping up my newsfeed and have facilitated a hostile takeover on my news outlets. The world has gone mad.

I don’t mean to indicate there’s no hope. As long as the world endures, there’s hope for salvation of people. Yet, even though people may still come to Christ, I fear society never will. We are lost in a gross darkness the Bible warns us about. So what are we Christians gonna do about it? When I examine the truth of God’s Word, I realize that what I just wrote could easily be misinterpreted. Jesus is the Light of the World. This is know and this I firmly trust in and believe. So…why all the darkness? Why the madness? Why the hatred? Why the ignorance of right and wrong? Why?

“Why” is a question we humans have asked throughout the centuries, and to not much avail. We want to know. We seek knowledge and we seek order. We seek these things because God is an orderly God and God is an intelligent God. We were created to seek these things. We were created to know good. We were not created to know evil. And there’s the rub, my friends. With the fall of humankind, we instantly went from innocents to corruption. We knew nothing of murder, death, disease, lying, stealing, cheating, and perversion. Yet, with two single gestures (two humans who just couldn’t keep their mouths off that figurative apple), we traded innocence for depravity. In all honestly, I believe Adam and Eve had no idea of what they had just sacrificed. But the serpent did. He knew the far-reaching consequences of their actions, and he reveled in it. And he’s been reveling ever since, attempting to get us to hand over our rightful inheritance to his supplanted one. He is the thief, the liar, the murderer and we humans learned our lessons well at his feet.

As I sit here writing this, I am reminded of one thing: Even though the world is dark, light and dark cannot occupy the same space at the same time. When we turn on the light, it is no longer dark. That seems relatively simple-minded, but the concept is an absolute one. We humans are capable of producing a light that casts little to no shadows. But unplug that light and the darkness returns. With the Light of God, there is no off switch. That Light is eternal and it is always on, burning brightly, shining for the world to see. There may be gross darkness covering the earth and the people of the earth, but it doesn’t have to overtake us. There is Light in the rabbit hole.

God bless!

Life Coaching: Change Happens

I recently got some unpleasant news.. It wasn’t totally unexpected, but it still felt like a gut punch nonetheless…

Life is about change. Whether we want it or not, it happens. Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. At any rate, we keep going through those changes until the day we die. And then we go home to be with Jesus, hallelujah. Most of us don’t like change, but it’s the very nature of change to be resisted. That’s why it’s called “change” instead of “same.”

Change and pain go hand-in-sweaty-hand. The only way we can effect true change is through some sort of pain, usually emotional. I am not an expert, but I do know I hate pain. I would rather not have it, thank you very much. I sometimes want to live my life in a bubble. At the Chocolate Factory. With Willie Wonka. That would be a life worth living—endless chocolate, an elevator that goes every which way, and days spent sucking on Everlasting Gobstoppers. Yep, that would be My 600 Pound Life for sure.

I am not at all sure how my life is gonna turn out, and that bothers me immensely. However, when I relinquish that control back to the Lord (whose Hands it never should have left in the first place), I don’t mind the not knowing quite so much. Don’t get me wrong…I still second guess everything half to death, but in doing so, I reluctantly give it to God and try to leave it there. I don’t always succeed, but I’m starting to get better at it. At least in the midst of all this painful changing, that is my One constant.

It’s early morning, and Trixie and I are still abed. I am gonna have to get up soon and face the day. How I would love to sleep in some more, but sleep is an elusive thing in the Jackson house. So I will be taking one painful step after the other today until I reach where I need to be spiritually. It may take until midnight, but by Gods grace and mercy, I will get there. And I may eat a few Wonka bars along the way…

Being A Woman In A “Man’s” World

I have dithered around for a month and haven’t posted this. I am conflicted about it because I fear it will be misinterpreted. I think it needs to be said because it’s truth, so I suppose I’ll have to let this rise or fall on its own merit. So here goes…

I have seen a lot of criticism about the Super Bowl Halftime show. I really can’t comment about the performance, because I didn’t watch it; however, as a female member of society and being a big mouth to boot, I feel this absolutely must be said. The two ladies who performed have been called all kinds of names and vilified on social media, yet I didn’t see one word about a society in which women are demeaned and marginalized. The problem isn’t the performance. That’s merely a symptom of a much more serious disease. The problem is with our corrupt societal programming of women. I, for one, am sick of being told I have to act, think, talk, walk and move a certain way in order to be sexy, smart, strong, independent, worthy, or feminine. It’s ridiculous, and I’m quite angry about it, actually.

Such restrictions have never been placed on men. There. I said it, everything we old ladies were thinking all along. Why do we allow ourselves to be treated that way? I am far too old to be sexualized, but I have a 17 year old granddaughter, and I want the world to be a better place for her. I want women to feel they can achieve their dreams without reaching some sort of glass ceiling. I want young ladies, fresh faced and dewy eyed right out of college, to know they do not have to conform to the pressure to perform. I want my granddaughter to know she can use her brain instead of her booty to succeed, and be honestly rewarded for her efforts. I am fearful this will never happen as long as we continue to blame women for reacting to the roles that were forced upon us from the time we could toddle and hold a sippy cup.

We women have more opportunities in this upcoming decade than we have ever seen before in my lifetime. Yet, people still continue to get upset when women react to hundreds of years of misogyny. In reality, we are merely reacting to roles thrust upon us by a male dominated society. Roles we are chaffing under. Roles we were never meant to play. We ladies act on a flimsy stage with cheap costumes and underpaid actors. If I’m gonna play a false role, I should at least be well compensated for it.

This definitely took an unintended direction, and one that may anger some. But ask yourself these questions…if this makes you angry or offended, are you reacting with real righteous anger, godly anger because what I’ve said is untrue? Or are you reacting because that’s what you think you’re supposed to feel? Are you reacting because you’ve been told all your life that women are inferior and weak? Are you reacting because you’ve been sexualized or abused by society? What is your motive? Think for yourself and don’t spout something just because you’ve heard it all your life.

Who wrote women were to be viewed as objects of lust, inferior creatures to be mocked, or pushed around? Where did we learn these behaviors? I refuse to be compared with Delilah or Eve, both seductresses who made mistakes of gargantuan proportions, but at the heart of their deception beat the heart of a male. The serpent who hissed into Eve’s ear was masculine and so were the men who convinced Delilah to deceive Sampson. And unfortunately, the church has often branded all us women with that same branding iron. I refuse to wear that brand any longer. We are not cattle.

We have made progress, thanks to the efforts of many who have worked on behalf of women’s rights. But even with all the progress we’ve made, we still point our self-righteous fingers in the wrong direction. Yes, of course we women are subject to sinful behavior. We are human. But, ladies, please, I beg you to no longer allow yourself to be objectified and put down just because of your gender. We women are no more inherently sinful than our male counterparts. The Bible teaches us that all have sinned. ALL! Not one gender more or less than the other. So if you’re a male and you’ve made it this far in reading, congratulations. You are one of the open minded ones who can help bring about real change in the world. Everyone take a moment to stop and evaluate your behavior. Guys, are you objectifying women or are you encouraging them to emerge from the prison of the chrysalis of inferiority? Ladies, are you behaving in ways that perpetuate societal programming, or are you saying, “No More!” Loudly. God sees us as valuable and precious, not as property to be bought and sold to the highest bidder. If we follow His example, we change the world, one life at a time. Let’s try.

The ladies who performed the halftime show did no more or no less than their male counterpart did last year. Where was the outrage then? Oh, I see…not the same thing, you say? It is EXACTLY the same thing. For century upon century women have been portrayed as conniving seductresses, bent on destroying, manipulating, and deceiving mankind with our wicked ways. Excuse me while I adjust my whip and boots, and grab a shot of whiskey. See how ridiculous that sounds? And unfortunately, the church has done its share of perpetuating that myth and demonizing women simply because of their own lack of faith and misinterpretation of the Bible. If God hated women as much as some male church leaders seem to think He does, why on earth would any woman want to serve Him? They paint God in the image of themselves, instead of transforming themselves into His glorious one.

I realize this is a bit of a rant, and I apologize for that. On second thought, no, I do not. It’s time for us church ladies to get “woke.” I’m not sure what “woke” is, but if it’s like “wake up” then I’m happy to say I’m “woke.” Please read this in the spirit of love in which it was intended. It’s not my intention to do male bashing. I am a fan of men. I am not, however, a fan of perpetuating the deception that women are somehow inferior and objects to be manipulated and subdued. Never will I submit to that. And you shouldn’t either, ladies. So the next time we want to pick up a rock to throw at a fellow female, let’s ask ourselves “why.”

God bless! Maranatha!

The DMV and Me

I have discovered hell and it is here on earth. No need to wait for the afterlife, just visit the Department of Motor Vehicles.

This week, I had to take care of some business, and I had to get a copy of my birth certificate. I would rather have a root canal than hunt for a form I haven’t seen in the last 30 years. I looked in every file folder I have. I found transactions long forgotten. I found the deed to my mom and dad’s old house. I found birth certificates for my mom, my dad, my sister, my daughter, my grandmother, my grandad and Trixie…I could not find mine anywhere and this started the whole thing off on a bad note. The failure to find said birth certificate necessitated a trip to the health department, a place that gives me the creeps because I used to work at one years ago. I have flashbacks of old IBM Selectric typewriters chasing me down the hallway. At any rate, obtaining a copy was relatively easy and I was on my way fairly quickly. That was the last quick thing that happened to me that day.

For starters, I was told (at the health department, I might add) to go the UPS Store to obtain my next form. I drove 15 miles out of my way to the UPS Store, only to find they no longer handled that issue. I had to drive all the way across town (another 15-20 miles out of my way) to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles. Just for your information, I am the woman who always pays an extra dollar and renews online. My driver’s license picture is at least 30 years old and I look like a homeless renegade in it. But apparently, since there was no way around it, i made my way reluctantly to the DMV.

Okay, for starters, it took me 15 minutes to find a place to park. I mean, how much more would it have cost to cut a few more parking spaces? Tax dollars at work right there now. Needless to say, it was packed. I got real familiar with the Angry Birds and Pet Rescue games on my iPhone. It’s a good thing I brought my own entertainment because I waited an HOUR AND A HALF for a five minute transaction. And my number was E110, which indicated the “Express Lane.” God only knows how long some of those poor people in the non-express lane had to wait. I saw one old dude propped up in the corner with a spider hanging off the end of his jacket…If Satan himself had been there, i would not have been surprised.

I already knew patience was NOT one of my virtues, but this little excursion made realize just how lacking i am in that area. I no longer like to wait in line. I shift from one foot to the next. I squirm in my seat. I roll my eyes. I dither. I comment to people seated next to me. I mutter under my breath. I cuss silently in my mind. I am NOT a good little Christian woman when I’m placed in a position that requires me to wait. No, I seem to turn into a cross between a meerkat and Zena Warrior Princess. I say “meerkat” because of the way they crane their long necks and look around inquisitively. I must have done that 30 dozen times in the hour and a half I sat there, hoping for my number to be called. God help me, I was so relieved to get out of there, that I forgot to stop and get gas on my way home! It’s a thousand wonders I didn’t get stranded by the side of the road.

Times like these make me grateful for the grace and mercy of God. Mercy because I didn’t throat punch anyone, and grace because I wanted to…I hope everyone has a blessed and safe weekend. God bless you, my friends!

ThIs looks mich better than my dmv…

Life Coaching: Leaving The Past Behind

I seem to be turning my life into a blog. Or maybe my blog is turning into my life. I don’t know which. I read Psalm 25 today and verses 20 and 21 just seemed to leap right off the page at me…”Keep my soul, and deliver me; Let me not be ashamed, for I put my trust in You. Let integrity and uprightness preserve me, For I wait for You.“

There are things that happened to me in my past that I would just as soon remain buried. But things that are buried have a way of floating to the surface, and at that point, we have to deal with them.

Everyone has a past. Everyone. Some are more embarrassing than others, but the reason they call it “past” is because that’s exactly what it is—PAST. The past may have helped shape who you are today, but it doesn’t have to define you. It doesn’t have to hold you back. And it doesn’t have to defeat you.

I have things I’d rather not have shouted from the rooftop, as we all do. But if confronted about said things, how do we handle that? Do we further compound the problem by lying about it? We, as Christians, should reject that idea. Rather, the example of the Apostle Paul comes to mind. He murdered and persecuted Christians. He called himself the chiefest of sinners. Yet, what would we do without his contribution to the Word of God? We wouldn’t have such wonderful verses as “Love is patient, love is kind. It keeps no record of wrongdoing.” Or “without faith. It is impossible to please God.” Good, solid doctrinal verses on which to build our faith. I am certain Paul would’ve loved to forget he was once a murderer. Yet, with Gods redemption, and the shed blood of Jesus, he rose from the ashes like the proverbial Phoenix and became one of the greatest men to ever spread the gospel. And he didn’t lie or conceal who he was in that process.

Today, I’m gonna do something I seldom do., and I am gonna encourage your to do the same. I am being introspective about my past life and I am getting those things out of the inside of me that need to come out. I am not advocating full confessionals on Facebook, but I AM advocating full confessionals before God. Tell him those things that are bugging you about your past. Don’t hold anything back. Deal with it, leave it there, turn your back on it and don’t look back. Let Jesus wash you in His cleansing blood and be free of the negative self talk, the devil’s traps, and people who just can’t seem to get on board with the present YOU! The old YOU may be done things that weren’t pretty, but the new YOU makes good choices, better choices and godly choices. Refused to be defined by who YOU were and let your relationship with Christ Jesus define YOU now. Today. Present tense. You are a child of the living God. Ladies you’re the daughter of the King. Gentlemen, you’re the son of the King. If your crown gets knocked sideways, straighten it and GO! Go in victory. Go in peace. Go in love. Go in grace. But GO! Forward. March!

Life Coaching: #killingit or #itskillingme

If I see one more hashtag “killing it,” I’m gonna puke. When did we as a society get to the point that we feel we have to be on top of our game every waking moment of every single day? And even when we sleep, we should be dreaming new, vibrant dreams and setting some new unattainable goals. There is a sociological pattern emerging that drives us to achieve, succeed, and believe. So my question is what are we working at achieving? In what way are we succeeding? And just what are we believing?

Don’t get me wrong…I’m all for all three of those things. In fact, I’m a huge advocate of setting smart goals—goals that are reasonable and attainable. What I’m NOT a believer in is driving ourselves so hard we fail to stop and just breathe. Or being consumed with guilt because we fall short of someone’s ideal of where we need to be. Don’t be pushed in the wrong direction just because an Instagram guru tells you they’re #killingit and it makes you feel bad about yourself. Maybe it’s because I’m a life coach, but my newsfeed is constantly stalled with ads for the next latest, greatest program that can help me to start #killingit. Maybe I don’t want to kill it. Maybe I just want to wound it a little, like getting shot with a BB gun versus a howitzer. I haven’t even figured out what the “it” is I’m supposed to be killing!

I realize this blog is a little snarky, but I have been thinking about this quite a bit today, a day I just didn’t feel like #killingit. At my age, I feel more like “let it be” rather than “Janies got a gun.” I’m tired and I want a pizza.

I had a point when I started this…what was it…oh yeah…here it is…don’t let people make you feel bad about yourself if you need a little break. Life is hard. It’s cruel. And it’s brutal. Yet, it’s also lovely, glorious, exuberant. It’s the very duality of life that makes it wondrous. How marvelous life is! Yet…how tragic. On those days when you’re just not #killingit, but it feels like it’s killing you, remember the words of Jesus: “That which does not kill you makes you stronger.” Just kidding. Jesus didn’t say that. But what He DID say was, “I am with you always. I will never leave you.” And those are words you can count on, whether you’re #killingit or #itskillingyou.

Not everything is about winning and losing. Some things are about joy, peace, mercy. Some things are about spending time caring for yourself and others. Some things are about spending time with God and getting to know His excellent nature. Those things are important and are more important than leaping out of the bed every morning, adrenaline surging like a turbine, only to crash a few hours later from exhaustion. Stop doing that to yourself. Be kind to yourself. Love God and others. Eat the ice cream, people. If you’re diabetic, eat the cheese. But enjoy life. Enjoy God. Enjoy your fellow man. Live exuberantly in your spirit and extravagantly in your heart. You won’t regret it.

Life Coaching: Looking At Life Through a Sunroof

I seem to have gotten off track with my blog over the Christmas holidays, and I’m having trouble getting back on! Then, I had trouble with the website posting last week, and I got frustrated. Things of that nature happen frequently at the Jackson house, mainly because I’m like Dory on “Finding Nemo.” I have the attention span of a gnat. Look! Squirrel!

At any rate, last week, I did something I hate…I went to the car dealership. The sunroof on my car is leaking. That’s bad enough in itself, but I would rather have a root canal than sit in that uncomfortable waiting room. I squirm. I dither. I play “Pet Rescue” on my phone. I scroll. I stew and fret. This day, however was just a bit different. I struck up a conversation with a sweet young college student sitting beside me. She was a finance major, getting ready to graduate and the manager had just told her she needed to spend $1200 to fix her car. He just threw that number out there like it was nothing. I told her I didn’t think he’d given that amount of money the proper respect it deserved. We had a little bit of a laugh, and she left with her car while I sat and waited while they explored my leaky roof.

I am a shameless eavesdropper on other people’s conversations. I have tried to break this habit, but it seems like i just can’t. Because after putting my two cents worth in on the college student’s conversation with the repair manager, I immediately jumped into an extended convo with the two women on my left. I am an equal opportunity chatter. I will chat with anyone within a one mile radius of my mouth. It was the word “widow” that caught my attention, you see. Both women were widows. That’s right, not one but TWO widows were sitting to the left of me and they were lamenting doing things on their own, like bringing their car into the shop. Of course, being a widow myself, I had to interject my spicy little self into their conversation with the following, “Excuse me, but did you say you were both widows? I’m a widow, too! That’s THREE widows in a row! What are the odds of that!?” The exchanges that followed were heartfelt, grieving, and kindred. I had been a widow the longest. One had just lost her husband a few months prior and the other one, two years ago. We were all at different locations, but all on the same journey—a journey toward wholeness and a journey toward God and His goodness.

I left that day, thinking the dealership had fixed my leaky sunroof. They did not. But I now know I wasn’t there for the sunroof. I was there for those three women. All of them. The college student who was calling her parents and asking them what to do about her car repair. The two widows who were grieving the loss of their soulmates. Even the repair shop manager and I had a conversation about life while I was waiting on them to bring my car around. He started that one, not me, believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong—God doesn’t want me to drive around with a leaky roof. But God is extremely interested in how I respond to others. He’s more interested in His people making those kingdom connections. He is more interested in our hearts. He is more interested in me reaching out to others in a time of need. He is more interested in His children.

Tomorrow, I am going to try something else with the sunroof. It may or may not work. But even though I got frustrated with dealership after it rained again this weekend, I can’t help but be glad I went, even if my sunroof is still in the same state it was in on Friday. I got a chance to meet some lovely ladies, and even share a little of my story with them, and they shared a lot more of their stories with me. God is on His throne.

Life Coaching: Backward Thinking and Self Talk

“No one, having put his hand to the plow and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” Luke 9:62

I have a friend whose father drives an tractor on a large farm. Someone once asked him how he kept his rows so straight. “Easy,” he said. “I don’t look behind me.” True story. I only wish our lives were like that.

How many times have we failed? Hoe many times have we beaten ourselves up over those failures? If we were to count the number of times we have actually failed versus the number to times our brain reminds us of said failures, the scale would tip over. We can have wonderful successes, yet our brain focuses on that failed marriage, failed finance, failed business, failed relationship, failed advice, failed choice—failed, failed, failed! See what I did there? Our brains are like a perpetual motion machine—never ceasing to carp relentlessly at our spirits until we give up trying.

Jesua spoke the words quoted in Luke 9. He wasn’t playing around, either. Throughout Scripture, we are encouraged (even commanded) to trust God and stop Monday morning quarterbacking ourselves to death when we get defeated. We are gonna get defeated sometimes. We are gonna make mistakes, and yes, we are gonna fail. We are human. It happens. Now…what are we gonna do about it? Are we gonna continually pick ourselves apart, like a crow pecking at a French fry? Or are we gonna set our spirits toward the One True Spirit and let Gid pull us out of that cycle of toxic self talk? Which will it be?

If I talked to a friend like I talk to myself, they would slap the everloving bejeebers out of me! And I would deserve it. We don’t talk to our friends and family like we talk to ourselves because we love them. Maybe therein lies the rib…maybe we don’t love ourselves enough. Oh, we’re good enough at self preservation, but when it comes right down to it, we treat ourselves terribly because we are looking back! We are putting our hands to the plow and breaking our necks to see the rear view. Maybe that’s why there is a sign on the rear view mirror that reads “objects may be closer than they appear.” Those objects (or failures) are never further away than our next thought, unfortunately, unless we focus on renewing our minds. Even then, those pesky little thought criminals assault us in unexpected and toxic ways. We have to stop that, but how?

The most important thing we can do is to stop the thought when it first tears it’s ugly head. Yes, we need memorial markers in our lives so we don’t repeat past mistakes, but taking 30 lashes from these evil mind invaders doesn’t qualify. But it’s not enough to stop the thought. That doesn’t work by itself. We have to replace the lie with truth. So what is truth? Here are a few examples…

1. Maybe you had a failure of epic proportions in your past. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll have another one in your future. People DO actually learn from their mistakes, and with Gods help, overcome them.

2. Failure in one area does not equal failure in all. Just because you made a financial mistake doesn’t mean your marriage will fail too. Couples have survived worse and so can you.

3. Failure is something that happened to you. It is not who you are. Unless your parents actually named you “Failure” if that’s the case, go to court and change your name. You are not a failure because of a bad decision.

4. Everyone has had a failure in their life at one time or another. You are not alone.

Unless we’re looking back at the past in order to propel us forward, then we have no business looking at it. We aren’t going that way.

God bless. Maranatha!

Life Coaching: Joy and Sorrow

I wrote this three years ago, but I think it’s very pertinent for the upcoming year.

Hebrews 12:2 "Looking unto  Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."

I have been thinking about joy. And I have been really questioning the Lord  about some things that are going on right now in my life. Classic struggle of should I stay or should I go on a number of things right now. Some physically, but mostly emotionally and spiritually.  Discouragement set in. Despair tried to follow. The temptation to run away and not worry about the consequences is a real possibility, because the opportunity for pain is great. I do not like pain. I don't even care much about the end result if I have to suffer pain to get there. It doesn't seem to be worth it. This is not Kingdom  thinking but since I'm being absolutely honest, I might just as well tell the truth and be done with it. I want to bury my head in the sand and sit down for a change. The lyrics from that Beatles song "It's Getting Better" are running through my head..."Me used to be angry young man. Me hiding me head in the sand. You gave me the word. I finally heard and I'm doing the best that I can." Well, I DID finally hear, after a couple of hours of mulling  things over and searching the Scriptures, and this is what I've concluded:

Comfort zones are a trap from the enemy, I firmly believe, and since I've never really been much of a believer in complacency, then I must, by my nature, do that which isn't the easy thing. Oh, how I wish I'd been born slow and steady instead of fast and driven...how much easier my life would be!

Now, this seems to be random, but hang with me for a minute...as I was reading the aforementioned verse, I started to think some more about that "joy that was set before Him" business...it does not seem to me that Jesus' situation was in any way joyful. In fact, it seems to be the opposite. It's a good thing I am not Jesus, that's all I have to say, because I would have hit the county line at a dead run. Jesus knew what He was getting into and endured the cross anyway. He looked instead at the joy set before Him. I keep thinking about this and wondering what this "joy" could possibly be. Was it the glory of being back in the presence of the Father? Yes. It surely was. Could it be the exhilaration of a job well done? Almost certainly. But could it also be that I am the joy that was set before Him?  Did He look down through the millennia, see my face and say, "It's worth it for her! That one gives me joy!" Absolutely. I can't even begin to imagine the unconditional love and restraint it took for the Lord of heaven and earth to humble Himself, come to this earth in the form of a baby, live as a human, die as a criminal (in the eyes of His accusers), and rise as a victor. That, my friends, is a Hero I can follow. And the fact that He did it for me, (And the fact that He keeps giving me "Do-Overs"!!), is enough to bring me to my knees in shame at my behavior. It is the goodness of God that leads me to repentance. I can't even type this without tearing up...

The intertwining of Joy and Sorrow are aspects of "Joy" that I've never really given a lot of thought. Joy had become my buzzword for 2015, but the sorrow part never entered my head. Too busy being fast and driven, I guess. But now that I have somehow stumbled across this, it certainly explains a lot. So maybe I will weep today. And that brings to mind the OTHER thing that leads to repentance...godly sorrow. I believe these two things that lead us to repentance speaks of the duality of the Lord God Almighty. So weeping is not necessarily  a bad thing. It's cleansing. It's draining. And it leads me to the one who can dry the tears.

The Bible tells us weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning. Each day is a second chance...a second chance to live our lives humbly, joyfully, willingly dedicated in service to the Lord. And even if I sometimes feel sorrow. I must remember that Joy is here NOW, in fact, because HE IS HERE! I will not live my life in complacency. I cannot. I am called to march to a different drummer. Not all hear the same beat that I hear, but that's okay, too. March to the beat He gives you. This is my beat:  I will not give up. I will never give in. I will stand. I am loved and that is enough.

Life Coaching: Fuzzy Socks and a Lump of Coal

I wrote this three years ago, the day after Christmas. I find it very appropriate today. I am sharing it in hopes that it will help you today!

My pastor said yesterday that Jesus unwrapped the gift of his life daily between the day of His birth and the date of his resurrection...okay, so it's 24 hours later, and if that's not what he said, then that's what I remember and what I'm pondering this morning...I have actually slept since then so it could have been a message with the word "gift" in it, and this is what I took away from it the day after Christmas...At any rate, I started thinking, which may or may not be a good thing. LOL My life is a gift that I give back to the Lord daily. How do I wrap it? And am I grateful for it? Far too many times, I have not appreciated what God gives me, and I often complain about it. Being awake at all hours of the morning has a way of rendering me honest at some gut level. I fear that I don't properly respect the God-given gift that Life is. And not only that, maybe when I present the gift back to God, I do it grudgingly. If I make a conscious effort to concentrate on the precious gift of Christ and the fact that I am alive, I do much better. It's those days when I get stressed out, distracted, angry, and/or all of the above, when I am really kinda mean about it. I complain, I mumble under my breath (and sometimes NOT under my breath), and I whine to the Lord about the life He has given me, and I have the unmitigated audacity to be ungrateful. I am not writing to elicit sympathy or for people to tell me what a good person I am. I actually dislike that, most times. No, I'm writing this because perhaps not everyone's Christmas was a day of total bliss. Perhaps it was a day that some were missing a loved one. Perhaps it is a day where some were dealing with depression. And perhaps it was a day that some were dealing with an aging parent and the outcome of that day was not a pleasant one. After all this rambling around this morning (see what sleepless nights will get ya?), I have come to this conclusion: My life is what I make it. The present I unwrap can be a lovely pair of fuzzy, comfortable Christmas socks...or it can be a lump of coal, longing to be a diamond, but never quite making it. I prefer the socks. I would much rather present Jesus with a pair of fuzzy socks than a lump of coal. What I give back to God is really up to me. Actually, it's not that difficult to give a gift. All it requires is some thought and effort. And the right kind of heart. If you've read this to the end, thank you for hanging with me. I have a feeling it's a fuzzy socks kind of day...and I'm grateful for it. God bless!

A Very Mom Christmas

This year is an odd Christmas for me. I have done several things I’ve never done before and now I’m thinking outside the box trying to find others. I just might eat pizza for breakfast, but on the other hand, I’ve done that before so that would pretty much disqualify that idea.

My first thought when I woke up this morning was, “Happy Birthday, Jesus!” I don’t write this to sound super spiritual because I am definitely NOT that at all. Because my second thought was, “I wonder when the garbage truck runs this week?” So, people, this is the way my mind works. It is a flibbertigibbit thought process that makes sense to no one but me.

Something occurred to me this morning…I don’t have to get up early and go eat Christmas breakfast with my mom. I no longer visit on holidays or any other day, for that matter. That thought filled me with both sadness and joy. Sadness because I can’t see Mom, but joy knowing she is having one heck of a Christmas celebration with Dad. If they do indeed celebrate Christmas in heaven, I imagine the words “Light Of The World” shining so brightly, it blinds the cherubim. Or seraphim. Take your pick. If they don’t celebrate Christmas in heaven, then perhaps it’s more like Hanukkah, eight nights of non-stop rejoicing over menorah and Messiah. Either way, the joy is EPIC. But, then again, will we need these memorials when Messiah is standing right in front of us? I don’t know, but I do know this: I am not going to be guilty of ceasing to celebrate the birth, the death, and the resurrection of Jesus Christ. I’m not in heaven yet, so I only need concern myself with how am I responding to His grace while I’m in this earthly body. Heaven will take care of itself.

So I got a little sidetracked there for a second. I didn’t anticipate this Christmas looking like this. I knew perhaps Mom wouldn’t be here, and I thought I’d prepared myself, but how can one truly prepare for that? The routine was something I never thought I’d miss, but now that it’s gone, I find myself at loose ends. I find myself missing the assisted living facility, a place that took excellent care of my mother. I miss Moms smile when I came to see her. I miss holding her hand. I miss trying to make her laugh. I miss Mom.

Ok, to be fair, there are a few things I don’t miss…I don’t miss the heavy feeling on the days my mother did not know who I was. I don’t miss seeing her twisted little body, atrophied from lack of muscle tone. I don’t miss her inability to communicate, nor do I miss her inability to form a coherent sentence. I don’t miss these things. I miss the woman who used to go shopping with me. I miss the mother who I used to call whenever I was sick. I miss her asking me if I needed anything. I miss her saying, “Well, honey,” when I told her something troubling. I miss my real mother—the godly little woman, who wasn’t perfect, but, by George, she loved my sister and I wholeheartedly.

On this blessed Christmas Day, please call your momma. Tell her you love her. If things are strained between the two of you, attempt to make it right, if you can. If you can’t, acknowledge her in your heart as best you can as the person who gave you life. And move on. If things are wonderful between the two of you, tell her you love her. Hug her neck and be thankful if she’s still here on this earth. I don’t wish my Mom was still here, sick and confined to a hospital bed, but I DO wish she was healthy and whole, of sound mind and body, sitting on the couch with me now. Trixie would be jumping all over her, and Mom would be giving me some good advice on how to handle life. The reality, though, is that she’s NOT sitting here, but I am comforted knowing she’s sitting at the feet of Jesus. And she IS whole in body, mind and spirit. And for that, I’m eternally grateful. I will see both her and Dad again. It is enough.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Be joyful and blessed today. Jesus is born and Jesus is risen!

Deconstructing Christmas

My family and I celebrate Christmas the weekend before Christmas Day. What that means when you live alone is Christmas (for me at least) is over before it even begins. .

My time with my family is the most precious thing in the world. Christmas is not only about the birth of Christ, but it’s about spending time with those you love, sharing Gods love with others, and celebrating life. That’s the plus side. The downside is the days between the weekend and Christmas Day are really, really long. I no longer have same holiday spirit others have leading up to Christmas Day. I usually see my family on Christmas Day evening, but it’s not the same as having the grands come to my house, eating a home cooked meal, opening gifts and stockings, and playing games until we’re all worn out. That is a priceless gift each year, and I treasure it. The dilemma comes now in the days in between.

In order to fill those days, I plan a few activities, eating a meal with friends, attending church, making ornaments, etc. These are fun activities and I enjoy spending time with others and who doesn’t need one more handmade ornament? Still, I do one thing that most would consider weird…I start taking down my Christmas decorations.

I decorate extravagantly for Christmas. I have 5 small trees scattered throughout the house, 3 tiny trees, garlands, nativity sets, wreaths, table runners, and everything else you can think of and a few you probably can’t. It takes an entire day and sometimes two or three to fully decorate my condo, and my condo isn’t that large. I also decorate early, like right after Halloween. Yes, I was one of THOSE people who start planning Christmas in July and don’t shut up about it until January 1. No more. Now, immediately after my day with the kids, I start taking down a tree or two. Or three. I work on this a little every day until I only have my nativity scene and one small tree left up on Christmas Day.

Most people won’t understand this, but if you’ve suffered a loss, maybe you will. You see, I feel things pretty keenly this time of year, and especially since I just lost my mom, the holiday cheer is starting to get to me this year just a little bit. I wanted to remove most of the decorations so I could just focus on the nativity. In my zeal to make things “merry and bright”, I can’t forget the Reason for the Season. I would probably remove everything except the nativity if it wasn’t for the grandkids thinking I was a Grinch.

I feel like I’ve deconstructed Christmas down to its basest form. I’ve removed the trappings of festivus and kept the lowly birth of the manger. I’m trying to keep my eye on the ball here, even in the midst of my grief over my mother. I’m wondering about Joseph. How did he feel about becoming a father of a child that wasn’t his? And Mary…was she terrified of childbirth? Did she ever doubt the words of the angel? The shepherds…They were simple men, earthy men who must’ve surely made it a practice to occupy and entertain themselves in the night watches of sheep guarding. What did they talk about on those late nights? Surely not every night involved saving the sheep from a ravenous wolf. These were all real flesh and blood people. They must’ve had doubts, fears, troubles. They also must’ve had joy, happiness, peace. They were human with human needs and wants. Jesus was the only God/Man in the mix. The precious baby was born in the basest of circumstances only to become the highest King of eternity and of our hearts.

This is deconstructing Christmas. This is focusing on the Christ child and the events of His birth. And we can’t focus on the child without focusing on the Savior, born to die, born to live. I know my explanation of this sounds like I’m doing something really spiritual and ecclesiastical. Don’t think that. This started for purely selfish reasons—it made me feel better about being alone. It gave me an activity to do instead of brooding about the future. It kept my hands busy instead of piling up on the couch with self-pty. Don’t get me wrong—I think whatever gets us though the holidays is perfectly fine to do. However, this year, I stopped trying to make myself feel better by adding another wreath or making another tiny tree. Focusing on the circumstances surrounding the birth of Jesus is a good alternative to the blues.

As of this writing, I have one more tree and one tiny tree left up in my home. They will mostly likely be gone by Christmas Eve, leaving only the nativity. And of course, Henry the Bear, who is currently sitting on top of my bookcase with reindeer antlers on his head and a ukulele in his paw. Since all the presents are gone, he had to find a new resting place, and the floor seemed inappropriate for such a distinguished gentleman. The two of us will muddle our way through Christmas, one day at a time, and our joy will be full.

God bless you, my dear readers, and may your Christmas be merry and bright with the light of Jesus!

Regarding Henry

In 2010, my Dad passed away after a short battle with cancer. He was 86 years old, but he was a young 86. He still worked on a public job four days per week. He learned how to operate a computer at the age of 80, and he was sharp as a knife. He honed his brain well over the years by reading the Bible, writing in a journal every.single.day, and keeping constantly abreast of current events. He was a good and honorable man. His name was Henry.

Even though the family had a small amount of time to prepare for his passing, my Mom was devastated. She was twelve years younger than Dad, and at 18, moved straight from her parents house to a home of her own with Dad. She’d never known any other life than to have someone take care of her. Over the next few years after Dad died, it became apparent to my sister and I that something was awry with Mom. She became increasingly forgetful, her personality changed and she would get fixated on things that had no meaning. She was a victim of Alzheimer’s. And I use the word “victim” because that’s exactly what it felt like to my family. Mom was victimized by the insidious. rampant disease that Alzheimer’s became in her life. But there was a bright spot….someone gave her a soft, snuggly, golden teddy bear. She named it Henry.

Every morning, Mom would make up her bed and prop Henry up in the middle of her pillows. There he stayed until nighttime, when Mom would get in bed, tenderly snuggle Henry and tell him about her day. Mom was a “nester.” She hunkered down under the covers and positioned herself just so, and she did the same to Henry. Henry was with her when she said The Lord’s Prayer every night, just like she and Dad used to do, He was with her when a storm blew over a tree and crashed into her garage. He was with her when her disease progressed and she had to transition into an assisted living facility. And Henry was with her in her room when she she had her glorious appointment day to see Jesus. Henry saw it all.

A few days ago, I went to pick up Moms things from the assisted living facility, and there was Henry, poised on top of her dresser, wonky little eyes fixed on me. He seemed to be asking me a question…”Now what, Elaine?” There could only be one answer to that question. Henry came home with me.

It’s Christmas time, and Henry is sitting on top of my packages by my Christmas tree. He looks like he belongs there. He doesn’t look as young as he once did., but then again, neither do I. His fur is worn from Mom’s hands running over it. There’s a rip in his arm socket that needs mending. And his once perky bow now droops rather sadly. But that doesn’t matter. He was loved, and he has a new home here with me. I may not put Henry on my bed or talk to him just yet, but who knows what tomorrow will bring? I can, however, love Henry because (stuffed mindless bear that he is), he was a witness and a testament to my Mom’s life.

God sometimes sends us things we don’t even know we need. I firmly believe that was the case with Henry. In fact, BOTH Henrys. I was privileged to have Henry Number One as my Waggoner namesake, and now I’m privileged to have Henry Number Two as my keepsake. I can spend my spare time regarding Henry, and thinking of all the events to which Henry was privy. Some I know, and some I’ll never know. Henry does, but he’ll never tell, secret keeper that he is….

Henry on top of mY christmas packages

Life Coaching: Express Yourself

Today I am taking a little poll. How many of you have lost someone you love? How has that loss impacted your life? Are you more or less likely to move outside your comfort zone because of that loss?

We often hear this phrase “don’t be afraid to tell people you love them.” In fact, I have spoken the phrase and I’ve written that phrase more than once. I believe that phrase. Yet, we are often terrified of doing that very thing because the consequences of speaking up can cause pain. I don’t like pain and neither does anyone else I know.

Thw reality is when we tell someone we love them, we cannot know the outcome of that declaration until it leaves our lips and lands on the ears of the person we’re speaking with. We can’t know their response ahead of time. I wonder, though, if we DID somehow know the outcome would be good, would saying “I love you” to someone for the first time hold the same thrill? I rather doubt it.

I am speaking today to those who may be needing to open up about their feelings. Not just love, but hurt, anger, confusion, sorrow, and ambivalence. These are strong emotions as well. And they each carry equal weight when spoken out loud. Words matter. Feelings matter. Connection matters.

Telling someone you love them or are angry at them involves risk—risk we aren’t always willing to take because we’re human and we like to be liked. And with the speaking of confusion and hurt comes the possibility of rejection. And nobody wants that. We humans were created for community; and while some of us do that better than others, we all need each other.

Today I am challenging you to take one of the questions in the opening paragraph and think of a specific person to which it pertains. Write down the question and formulate the answer. Do you need to tell someone you’re angry? Do you need to express your hurt or confusion? Conversely, do you need to express your love or serenity to them? If so, pray about it and act. Feelings that fester inside can wreak havoc upon the human soul and the eternal spirit. Ask God to give you the words to say this Christmas season.

God bless!

A Tribute To My Mom

I am writing from a place of grief today. Yesterday my Mom passed away. I feel numb and frozen. And I don’t quite know what to do about that.

My mother was a small, petite little thing with a sweet spirit, but plenty of sass. She was born here in East Tennessee and never lived more than 10 miles from where she was born. To some, it would seem she led a small life. To those who knew her, the only small thing about Mom was her stature. She had a huge heart, loving and accepting. My sister once called Dad and Mom “Law” and “Grace.” Dad would read us the riot act and Mom was there to dispense the mercy.

I am not much like my mother other than appearance. Sweet, dainty, elegant southern belle that she was. I’ve always been certain Mom didn’t quite know what to do with her tomboy, football toting daughter who often came home from school with torn clothes and skinned knees from playing hide and seek or kick the can. God bless her, she did the best she could, but I’m sure I was a shock to her system.

My Mom had an extremely strong work ethic—working in a doctors office until she was 70 years old and the doctor finally retired. She loved people. And she loved them well. It’s no wonder she chose the medical profession as her life’s calling. She was not only a hard worker, she and Dad ministered together for years, singing in local churches for weddings, funerals, and everything else in between. She had a beautiful alto voice and and when she and Dad sang, magic happened. It was a lovely home in which to grow up.

As we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, these small things, important things, and seemingly insignificant things take on new, vital meanings to those left behind. The smell of Tresor perfume, the drawers full of costume jewelry, the snowman she kept year round on top of the pano, the way she would cut her eyes at us when we misbehaved, the way she always signed our greeting cards (I love you VERY much, with TWO underlines under the word “very”)—these things are priceless. In her struggle with Alzheimer’s disease, she may have forgotten me, but I didn’t forget her. My Mother’s mind may have gone long ago, but her little body was still here, and I loved that body. Those precious hands that worked tirelessly on my behalf. Those little feet that traveled many a long road for me and with me. Those shopping excursions where we literally shopped till we dropped. And many other things too numerous to even write down. She was a great lady, a great friend, a compassionate woman. She was Mom.

Mom, at new hope retreat several years agO.

Surviving Widowhood: A Widows Tribute To Other Widows

I have written about this day before, but today it feels especially poignant for some reason. Today is the anniversary of the death of John Lennon. And thirty nine years ago, Mark David Chapman gave me a gift I never asked for nor wanted…a commonality with Yoko Ono in the form of widowhood.

I am always a little bit down whenever this day rolls around, but I can’t even “imagine” how this day affects Yoko. Time has surely healed the overwhelming despair that threatened to stop her breath when she was newly widowed, but recovery from the death of husband isn’t all she’s had to move past. Every year, on this date she is assaulted with photographs, articles, vigils, and well wishers from around the world commemorating the death of her iconic husband. I can only “imagine” how difficult that must be. I find myself wondering about her today, as I’ve been prone to do every year since my husband passed away. She always appeared stereotypically inscrutable, face revealing little. Her appearance of meekness definitely did NOT mean weakness. She was indomitable. And probably still is, these many years later. I “imagine” she has changed since her carefree days of “Give Peace A Chance” and “Don’t Worry, Kyoto.” She has definitely kept John Lennon’s memory alive, and I am very grateful for that.

This is not an ode to Yoko Ono. It’s merely an observation that death can make for some pretty strange bedfellows. Widowhood is the great leveler. It’s a badge I share with Yoko Ono, Courtney Love, Coretta King, and Jackie Kennedy. Granted, their socio-economic status is ‘way beyond my reach, but grief respects no one. I “imagine” it took it’s toll on these ladies in blood, sweat and many, many tears.

At the end of the day, we widows are not alone. We share a sisterhood with many others and they have become our tribe, in a way. We have companionship and we have common ground. And ultimately, we have God to lead us out of the dark hollows of our souls into the sunlit mountains of our peace. We raise our weapons and sound a “barbaric yawp” across the decades of our common core. We raise our heads in triumph because we are still here, we’re still standing and we won’t go quietly into the night. We breathe in and out, each breath a victorious proclamation that we survived. We see the perspective of life for what it really is—short, brutish and precious. We live like there’s no tomorrow, because we know we may not be here and we embrace that fact with courage. We love. We live. We learn. And we learned well.

May the Lord bless and keep each of you reading this today and may He shine His lovely face upon you and give you peace.

The Broadman Hymnal And Memory Lane

“My spirit pants for Thee, O Living Word.” (Taken from the song “Break Thou The Bread of Life”)

I am sitting here on my couch at 5:00 this morning, just me and Trixie, listening to old hymns on Pandora. Well, I’m listening and Trixie is sleeping, which is something I wish I was doing. I was mostly just sitting here thinking about trying to cop a little snooze before the day started. Then, this song started playing. I haven’t heard “Break Thou The Bread of Life” since my days as a teenager at Temple Baptist Church.

One of my memories of that time in my life is listening to the choir at Temple Baptist Church. I can clearly remember Mom and Dad singing their hearts out. Daddy sang bass and Momma didn’t sing tenor, but alto. They frequently sang in church, at funerals and weddings (why did I just put those two together), and any other occasion that required two melodious voices to make perfect harmony. It is a pleasant memory.

Apparently, I could ramble around all day about that without getting to the point, which is this: How much does our spirit actually pant for God? I just asked myself this question, and if I ask myself that question, it’s pretty much a guarantee, it’s gonna show up here in this blog. I can’t question myself all alone. Gotta share the quest, people.

The word “panting” means to “breathe with short breaths, typically from excitement or exertion.” How much am I exerting myself in an effort to build my relationship with Jesus? How excited am I to meet Him in the early morning or late in the evening? My answer is not excited enough, my friends. Not exerting myself enough, either, for that matter. My theory is we’re mostly exerting ourselves when it’s convenient, and we’re excited when we feel goosebumps. I am not criticizing. I believe with all my heart that most of us WANT a good solid relationship with God. But, how many times in the last month can we say we actually “panted” like a deer for the stream? For myself, the answer would have to be this: Not Nearly Enough.

Pandora has just segued into “His Eye Is On The Sparrow.”. And as I’ve procrastinated over writing this, it’s now playing “It Is a Well With My Soul.” Both of these songs were my Dad’s personal favorites, so by proxy, they’re two of MY personal favorites. It seems to me the writers of these old hymns knew God in a way that makes me envious. They weren’t wishy-washy about their faith. They suffered personal tragedy, yet they could pen the words “it is well with my soul.” I think I’ve had personal tragedy and so have some of you. Yet, sometimes I feel like His eye is on anything but this little sparrow here in East Tennessee. My soul is often feels chaotic, and my spirit doesn’t pant enough. In fact, my spirit often says “I’m tired and I just want sleep.” But, maybe the writers of these hymns felt that way too. After all, they are mostly remembered only for the hymn itself, and not their daily activity. We don’t know about the other 364 days of their lives. I’m sure they wept, screamed, lost sleep, and felt like giving up many, many times. But they didn’t, and neither will we. We will spiritually “pant”, and we will proclaim “it is well,” because “His eye is on the sparrow.” And that’s more than enough.

Life Coaching: Hallmark Movies

I have absolutely immersed myself in what I call “Christmas Culture.” I have managed to acquire 5 small Christmas trees, crafted 3 tabletop Christmas trees, added garland to my chandelier, set up a nativity scene, and wrap my Christmas presents. I have somehow managed to be halfway organized this year, something I rarely manage to accomplish. My house looks like it’s been invaded by elves, and I even bought Trixie a Christmas sweater. True confession: She initially resisted, but even she succombed to the sheer overwhelming desire of her master to make our house look like the North Pole.

I am also consumed by Hallmark Christmas movies. How I got addicted to those things is a mystery to me because i normally HATE movies where I can map out the plot myself. However, there is something comforting about watching these sweet little movies where I always know everything is going to turn out okay. Heroes and heroines are going to end up falling in love, getting mad at one another, getting back together and kissing at the end. And to improve upon the formula, there’s sometimes a dog. Or kids. Or a princess. Or Santa. How can anyone not love that? I have tuned my TV to the Hallmark Channel and I’ve been keeping it on whenever I’m home. I don’t have to worry about actually watching a complete movie. I can do my laundry, run my vacuum cleaner, go out to dinner, and walk the dog, and when I sit down again in front of my TV, I haven’t missed a thing. It doesn’t even matter if it’s the same movie since all the plots are the same. It’s gotten so bad that my streaming device will ask me, “Are you still watching?” I’m like, “Duh. Doesn’t everyone watch 10 hours straight of Hallmark Christmas movies?”

I don’t know what tomorrow may bring. It may be a good day or it may be a bad day. My roof may leak or my shoe may get a hole in it. But one thing I can count on…Hallmark Christmas movies will always be the same. And I’m okay with that.

Happy Hallmark watching!

Happy Thanksgiving!

I am writing my blog early this week because I’m gonna be busy the rest of the week. That’s definitely NOT to say I won’t write something else if it strikes my fancy. If I see a news story about…oh, say, a woman hitting herself over the head with a garden gnome, you can be certain it will find its way here…

What makes us thankful? What are things we are thankful for? How does thankfulness play into our daily lives? How thankful are we? I like to ask myself these questions during the holiday season because, to be honest, it’s one time of year where everyone is focused on gratitude. I’m trying to find a way to carry it in my heart all year long.

As a culture and as a society as a whole, we are busy. We are constantly in the go, whether physically or virtually. My mind is never still during the day. I am inundated with a constant flow of information right at my fingertips in the form of my iPhone and laptop. It makes it hard to shut down when, with just one little swipe of my finger, I can discover why the earth may be flat or watch a chicken dance on the end of a toothpick. Important things like that. I’m not sure how I managed to survive, lo these many years, without this information. I am actually from a generation that left the house totally incommunicado, never once worrying what would happen because my phone was left at home, plugged into the wall. And no voice mail. And…SHOCK(!)…people actually called back if the phone wasn’t answered right away! Imagine the privacy…

My point in all this was to simply point out we have little to no way to stop the onslaught of information. But we CAN take a few moments each day to turn it off and be thankful for our blessed lives. If we are breathing in and out, our lives are blessed. We have hard times, all of us. We all have moments that literally take away our breath, and we think we’ll never breathe again. But we recover, and we eventually inhale the sweet air of gratitude. It’s a gift from God.

As we go into Thanksgiving day, most of us will stuff ourselves with turkey and pie. We will watch football. We may even nap. We could even raise a glass of wine in a toast. Or if you’re southern, a plastic Dixie cup filled with sweet tea, with your name written on it with a Sharpie. You may argue with relatives over politics, religion, prayer in school, or Aunt Minnie’s pecan pie recipe (and let me just say right here and now, it’s pronounced “”pee-can” with heavy emphasis on the “can”. Hats off to you, Paula Deen). At the end of the day, if guns weren’t drawn, knives stayed sheathed, and Uncle Willie didn’t fall out drunk off the front porch, was a thankful, grateful day. I’m speculating because I don’t have an Uncle Willie or an Aunt Minnie. But i do have some questionable relatives, so anything is possible…

I am grateful and so very thankful for each one of you who read my blogs. You have made my childhood dream of becoming a writer come true. It is my privilege and an honor to serve you in this way, and I am sincerely blessed to be a small part of your lives. Happy Thanksgiving!