The Virgin Campers

Our family is definitely made up of novice campers and I knew that our inexperience could come as a shock to the Expert Camper we decided to bring along on our trip to Shaver Lake.

For several days before our trip I was nervous about the friend we were bringing on our camping trip. She is an Expert Camper and I was fearful that she would have a seizure when she found herself with us, the Virgin Campers. I was so careful when buying and preparing food, because I didn’t want the Expert Camper to return to civilization and tell anyone the truth about my frailties as a Camper Cook. I spent $300 at the grocery store and I precooked 3 of the meals the day before we left—just to be safe. I bought way too many Marshmallows, 6 different kinds of cookies, three different types of nuts and disposable grills (as a back up plan).

We loaded into the borrowed RV at 6 AM and headed for our dusty, mountain campsite. The RV was loaded with food, sleeping bags, tents, stoves, propane, and rafts. Even though we knew the truth about our greenhorn level of camping skills, we would definitely be able to fool the people in the sites near us and we should be able to trick the Expert Camper into believing she had signed on with the real deal.

We made one stop at a gas station that was also connected to McDonald’s and in the style of my Tennessee heritage, I ran into the McDonald’s with no shoes to get some Sweet Tea. Things were falling into place perfectly. We definitely had the appearance of Experienced Campers and the Expert Camper would have no stories to tell the San Gabriel Valley.

Pulling into our Camp, the Dora Belle, we were in awe of the large redwoods. These large tree stand guard at the Campground Kiosk to ward off the inexperienced city folk who might try to enter the wooded area with their store bought fire-starters and microwave popcorn, (thankfully, I had hidden ours behind the pancake mix and the paper plates). None of us had any idea of the brute strength of the trees and how they would lash out at us in attempt to unveil our fraudulent camping skills. 

Less than 10 minutes after checking into the campsite, the tree made it’s move. Somehow the sneaky tree wedged its way between the back of the RV and the bumper. As the RV pulled away from the tree, the strong foliage-bearing brute held tight to the bumper and pulled with all its bionic tree power.  

Crunch!

When we gathered behind the RV to see the effects, our hearts sank and we knew that we were in over our heads. The jig was up and I feared that the truth of our amateur camping style would soon be the Facebook status update of the Expert Camper.

The Expert Camper kept her calm and didn’t give a hint to her mind, so there was nothing to do but proceed to camp and try to win her affections and loyalty with Smores. 

We began to set up camp, to level the RV, build the tents and arrange the chairs around the campfire ring with the standard amount of first day fighting. When the bickering rose to its highest level of awkward stress, I jumped in and sent the Expert Camper with the "Girl-Who-Keeps-Talking-About-Weddings" to go find the lake. (Now, mind you, the Lake was not missing. I don’t want you to think that there was an Amber Alert out on the Body of Water—I was actually using their search for the lake as a distraction from the stressful situation.)

Now at the same time that all this drama was unfolding, two of the Virgin Campers disguised themselves as Warriors. They had actually brought along swords to battle the trees and each other. Not surprisingly, the younger Warrior managed to break the older Warrior’s sword before they had even finished unzipping their tented dwelling.

Once again, as tempers began to rise, I had to make a move to divert the anger that would surely alert the neighboring campers to our intrusion onto their peaceful encampment. I sent the two Warriors to find the Expert Camper and the "Girl-Who-Keeps-Talking-About-Weddings". This could take them hours.

Later, after we had done all the damage we could do to the RV and the campsite, the RV Driver and myself headed down to the find the lake. Maybe it was missing, after all no one had returned to tell us they had found it. It was a short downhill hike to the water and when we stepped to the edge of the protective redwoods and saw the vast green water and the looming boulders, we were again filled with awe. Knowing we would have 4 more days in this beauty not only gave us a peace, but also gave us the strength to try to move our thoughts from the damaged RV and the reality that our inexperience as campers would most likely surface time and again.

We watched as the Warriors jumped from the huge boulder into the welcoming water and sent a prayer of thankfulness for the adventure that was ahead. In a few moments, the RV Driver and myself would leave the lake and walk into the town to find Wireless Internet service for one of the Warriors and the Expert Camper to register for college. We would later find that the uphill walk into town would lead the RV Driver to place of unwavering pain in his previously damaged knee. We would have to empty our brown and gray water on two occasions, we would open our marshmallows to find them melted, run short on lunch meat and sunscreen, and open the RV for sleeping to all but one of the campers. In the end, the Expert Camper will have seen all our frailties and our shortcomings, and we will rely on her grace for our reputations. In short, it will be just another family vacation.

Linking with A Southern Daydreamer for OUTDOOR WEDNESDAY.

My plain T-shirt

I remember owning a T-shirt in elementary school that was plain. It didn't say anything on it. It was just a peach colored T-shirt to be worn with shorts on a warm California afternoon. The shirt didn't have a picture of anything on it either. No animals or rainbows, just a light orange shirt with short sleeves. I kinda despised that T-shirt for it's lack of character. I was living in the 70's when there were hip shirts that said "I'm with Stupid" or "Hang Ten" or a picture of a couple walking on the beach at sunset and yet, my shirt was plain.

I still remember trying to improve the status of my T-shirt one morning before I headed out the door to face my 4th-grade classmates. By using light blue ribbon and sewing pins to make a design I would have a shirt that said something about who I was. Now, to make a design with a couple inches of ribbon and a few sewing pins takes a great deal of talent, and unfortunately, at age 10, I lacked that as well. The best design I could come up with was a "tic-tac-toe". I laid the 4 pieces of ribbon on the front of my T-shirt and then I pinned the edges with the little pins. I had no O's and no X's, I only had the graph.

I actually managed to walk to school and get to my desk without any damage to the "tic-tac-toe", but at some point in the morning--before I even made it out the door to recess the pins were jabbing into me. I kept trying to make the pins work and no matter how much I maneuvered them, they would either scratch my arms or jab into my torso. The whole thing was only complicated by the fact that we were also working on our multiplication tables and I still needed to use my fingers to do those. It was quite distracting and to this day I have to stop and think about the answer to 7 times 8. Finally, my dear teacher, Mr. Knight, asked me if I would like to keep my pins and my ribbon on his desk until the end of the day.

Once again, I was plain.

Now, here is the thing. I don't like to be plain. There isn't a woman I know who would consider it a compliment to be called "plain". I want to be clever. I want to be smart. I want to be funny, intelligent, stunning. I want to be amazing. But, being plain is not something I yearn for.

Now that I have lived through the 70's, the 80's AND the 90's, I recognize that fashions come and go. I have had a T-shirts with the images of all 3 of the original Charlie's Angels, I have cut up T-shirts in "Flashdance" style and I have had T-shirts that I bedazzled and splattered with puffy paint. Through the years I learned that "less is more" and that most likely, my peach colored T-shirt was more than adequate for a 10-year-old girl (and probably in better taste than a shirt that said "Go Climb a Rock"). But, the feeling of not being good enough is the driving factor behind the moment I lived in. The feeling of inadequacy is what carved the memory into my silly little brain.

Even at 10-years-old I wanted to be more than I was. What I was didn't feel like it was enough. I wanted to be more, to do more, to say more. I wanted to have a voice and use that voice. I wanted to make a statement, and as a child I wanted to make it so badly, I didn't care what it was. I wanted to say something, even if it was someone else's statement.

And I wonder, as I sit here, in my plain white T-shirt, am I still doing the same thing? Am I so eager to matter that I am willing to have someone else's voice? Do I want to exist beyond myself so badly that I will grab an earthly wisdom and make it my own? I want to say that I have outgrown the need for the approval of man. But, when I look at my own thoughts over the last several months I see a person who can still be led down a path that is wide. I see a person who can be influenced by who she makes the most important person in her life. I can fall victim to the wisdom that the world offers and I can begin to believe things that are contrary to the wisdom that comes from the Father of Heavenly lights.

It is so important to me that I stay in the place where I recognize the wisdom that is from this world and the truth that is from above. It matters to me that I can see the difference and that the choices I make everyday reflect that difference. I want to voice the things that I learn from the time I am spending in the presence of the Lord. I want the truth to flow through me. I want to say things that align with the truth of Scripture, even if those things are not popular enough to be put on a T-shirt.

A lion and a stripper walk into an attic...

So, last night my husband left me for a Vegas stripper. It was awful and even though it happened only in my nightmare, when I woke the pain was still there and it was nearly unbearable.

I don’t know why I dreamed that my husband was madly in love with another woman. I wouldn’t ever believe that he isn’t capable of being drawn away from me, but it is not something I obsess about—I rarely think about it at all. Unfortunately, our minds are the place that the enemy likes to send his lions. They lurk in our minds looking for ways to attack and draw us away from the peace that the Father wants us to experience.

I hate that battlefield. It’s not a fair place to fight at all. There is so much stuff in my mind to trip over. There are boxes and boxes of junk, there is old gym equipment—that was never used enough, there are photo albums (unfinished, of course), there is a mirror that changes whenever you look in it, there are report cards and tests, books—still unfinished, and two huge Victorian Victrola phonographs (one plays things that I’ve said and the other plays things that were said to me). Needless to say, while trying to fend off lions, it is easy to fumble over ones feet and land in the middle of unused dental floss or expired vitamins.

The good news is, I knew he was coming. I knew he was lurking. I could feel him trying to find an in and a way to bring me down. I made some declarations recently toward some areas that I wanted to grow. I spoke up and made a commitment to a way that I wanted to serve the Lord. The enemy heard me and made it his goal to discourage me. He knows that the things I am working for will honor my marriage and bring glory to the Lord. He doesn’t want me to grow closer to my husband. He doesn’t want me to help married women grow closer to theirs either. So, he sent a lion to mess with my mind and make me feel insecure around a sexy Vegas stripper.

I have to admit, that it worked for a minute. I was so irritated with my husband that I didn’t allow him the opportunity to bring me coffee in bed. I rolled away instead, and told him,

“I’m mad at you. You hurt me.”

It’s not the first dream, so he knows the drill. I’m sure he rolled his eyes when he responded, “No, I didn’t. Whatever happened, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t there.”

And as I lay there feeling a great deal of frustration towards him, I was acutely aware that the pain would be so much worse, had it not been a dream. And this pain made me more eager to do the things that God is telling me to do.

Awake and moving I am no longer irritated with my husband’s nightmare philandering or the sexy Vegas stripper. Instead, I am excited that the things I have set my mind on and the things I have made goals to accomplish would irritate the one who hates what is good. I am pleased to know that I am fighting so well, while awake, that the time he feels he can attack is when I am sleeping and my defenses are down! He doesn’t care if it isn’t a fair fight, because there is no justice in him. But, I know what the Holy Spirit is leading me to do and lions, dusty mind attics or even sexy strippers, will not deter me!

Even the best of friends cannot attend each other's funeral

Funerals are beautiful and happy or beautiful and sad. Yesterday, I got to go to the funeral for my Paternal Grandmother. She was born in 1920 and had raised 5 children. Those children led to 65 Grandchildren, Great-Grandchildren, and Great-Great Grandchildren. This alone made for a funeral that was beautiful and happy. And, as a believer, I know that she is now experiencing completeness and a fulfillment that she had ever known in this life.

As we were getting ready to go to the funeral I started to think about being born and the time when I added myself to her numbers. I was closer to the beginning of what would later be her legacy. I considered the moment of birth for the infant, the mother and the Grandmother. How different the experience is for each one—but my thoughts were more directly the infant and the Grandmother. I thought about my Grandmother’s possible reaction to my birth. I know that she wasn’t present—I was Grandchild number 9, 10 or maybe even 11 (some of us cousins are so close in age, I don’t remember who was here first). There had been babies born before me who had come out not breathing and some with special needs. I wasn’t an important birth—but even so, I am sure that I was newsworthy to her. Her only son now had a daughter. I was pink and sweet and I had fulfilled my only purpose up to this point. I was a girl. My brothers were boys born a year and a half apart and I followed as quickly as I could. In a time before Ultrasounds, my arrival was an unveiling of sorts. Had I been a boy, the entire dynamic of my family—as I now know it—would have been be altered. It was important that I didn’t fail in this first feat set before me.

It occurred to me that as Grandchildren and as Grandmothers we have certain unspoken appointments that we must keep. In a perfect world they happen in the correct order and with decades between them. I am 45 years old and my Grandmother was to be 90 this month. So, when I was born she was just about the same age that I am today. It was her role to acknowledge my birth and to celebrate the beginning of my life. At her funeral it was my role to acknowledge her death and celebrate her life in its entirety. She’s there when I am born and I am there when she dies. That’s the beauty of life.

And then there are the events that we don’t plan on attending. When a Grandmother attends a birth and then attends the funeral for that same person—the rules are broken and it is more difficult to find the beauty. I have heard it said, more times than I can count, “No parent should ever have to bury a child”. Having passed through that shadow of death and felt the sting, I agree with a hearty amen to that and I have decided that I want to have a new rule in my life. If I am there when you are born, then I don’t want to go to your funeral. But, to the fortune of things I cannot fully understand, I don’t make the rules.

Recently, I told my sister-in-law that I would be at her funeral—she could count on it. The only reason I wouldn’t be there would be because she had come to mine. There are several people in my life that I have that unspoken agreement with. Raging waters from a bursting dam won’t be able to keep me away from the funeral of some of the people in my life. Like a salmon returning to his place of birth—I will need to be there in the end to celebrate the time I had with certain people in my life. It won’t be for them, it will be for me.

For most of the next 3 or 4 decades, I hope to avoid funerals as a whole and attend many baby showers and births. That’s the plan, anyway. But, I have to say, that I don’t hate funerals as a whole. I love life too much to hate funerals. There is no other time that we are more aware of our humanity. Funerals are beautiful and happy or beautiful and sad. At least we know that they will always be beautiful, for every life, no matter how long it is lived is abounding with the potential for beauty!

He's willing to sit in the freezer

Today was a terrible day filled with dark emotions that wanted to overtake me. My heart was melting and my mind was overpowering me at times. I was losing perspective and I wanted to sit under my desk. Please do not ask me how sitting under my desk would make ANYTHING better. I don't know.

I went into the backyard to sit and talk to the Lord and listen to the birds. Usually, I don't take advise from birds, especially sparrows--as I find them to be rather flighty. (Sorry, couldn't resist). Today, however, I was truly wanting someone--winged or otherwise--to comfort me. I reached toward the Holy Spirit and I heard Him promise me that it would all pass. I heard him tell me that disappointments come in all shapes and sizes and happen in every month of the year--even in summer.

Later, when David came home we began to talk about what constitutes "failure". (I was feeling like a big fat one of those and the birds weren't telling me any different)

Spoiler Alert: David told me he doesn't think I am a failure. I know you didn't see THAT coming! He went on to describe things about me that he treasures and things that he feels the Lord values. This is the reason I am blessed. I chose wisely. It was 23 years ago, but I chose well.

As we talked, something came up that reminded him that I am going to see the 3 Twilight movies tomorrow night with Emily and some friends. He said that he would be willing to go sit in the freezer tonight and get to the temperature of Edward Cullen, so we could make love and I could think of Vampires. When I laughed out loud, he said, "I'm a giver". This man is loving me like Christ loves the church every single day. I am blessed.

Later, he asked me if I wanted to go to Disneyland on this summer night. I responded with "Hell no." He laughed out loud.

Again, I am blessed. And since I chose wisely, I must not be a failure.

Not too blue to be Pink

A funny thing happened on the way to the time clock... Getting fired feels a little like that; a lot of unfinished one liners keep coming to my head. I've never been fired before--if anything I have always been the employee that employers adore--so I am a little unskilled in the emotions that come with this new unemployment status.

I've been unhappy for quite a while and I have been wanting God to show me which way to go, but I have been afraid about making the final leap into my new journey. I have jokingly "volunteered" to be fired, because I felt like it would be easier to move ahead if someone else would make the decision for me. But, honestly, I know my work habits and so I really didn't anticipate being shown the door (so to speak).

Now, having spent the last 5 hours as one who was fired I have moved through a myriad of emotions. It's weird that even though I hated working in such a repressive environment with doctor's that I had no respect for, I feel sad at being rejected.

Someone didn't want me? How could this be? I am amazing...right? This is a little embarrassing...

It's like being "broken up with" by the boy that you were embarrassed to be dating in the first place. I guess at the root it comes back to pride. They didn't want me. That makes me a little blue.

Not being wanted is a sad place to sit. Not being chosen for the team. Not being asked to a dance. Not being invited to a slumber party. It's all the same and we never grow to a point that we don't want to be desired. So, I'm a little blue.

I came home from being fired feeling this color. Blue.

I went from my husband's arms to my bedroom and sat with my bible. After I had been home about an hour I looked at my clock and remembered that I had a phone call to make. I have a young friend who is interested in starting her own Mary Kay business. I had to call her and share my story and what caused me to start selling Mary Kay and how it has impacted my life.

Now, I've been enjoying learning about Mary Kay Ash and the sacrifices she made to build her company and I know that she is a great example of someone who took the bad that was dealt to her and made the most of the situation. I have also been learning about the power that God gives me when I focus on the good and I look for ways to have a joyful and a thankful heart. Overall, it's been a great chance to grow (and to get some really good product on my own skin!)

But, tonight, I felt the power of the Holy Spirit lift me and give me the will to call my young friend and share the opportunity. Never would I have thought of the things that were coming out of my mouth as I shared how God has been using this opportunity.

Slowly, as I shared the story of how my business has been growing I started to feel less and less blue. I felt pink. Yep. Mary Kay pink took over.

Optimism won over heartache and rejection. Tonight I fall into bed aware that I did need someone to make a decision for me. God. He helped me move to where I was afraid to go.

And tonight as I pulled out my bible to seek His guidance on my new path He gave me this verse:

"I sought the Lord, and He answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are RADIANT; their faces are never covered with shame." Psalm 34:4-5

I am radiant in blue and I am radiant in pink. I will be just fine--I've been delivered.

The spider is wearing...lipstick?

Most of you are aware of the spider who has taken up residence in my bathroom. She had a roommate who I killed some time ago; but her ability to survive struck something inside of me and I just could not bring myself to do her in.

She spent the summer poking her head out occasionally and we seemed to be doing a fairly good job sharing the bathroom. We were both pretty respectful of the other's need for privacy. I used it for showering and applying my make-up and she used it for--well, living. Then she disappeared. She was gone for quite awhile and I honestly thought that maybe she had met my husband on an afternoon when I wasn't there to protect her. I was a little saddened that she was dead and that I was living with a serial spider killer. Should I turn him in? That would be a hard call--he does bring me coffee every morning--would the authorities take that into consideration?

Last weekend she appeared and I realized that she had not been murdered. She was alive and well, and frankly--bigger than sin. She was gigantic. Seriously, for a moment, I stood frozen and just stared at her. Finally, realizing that she had no intention of crawling back under the cabinet on her own, I started opening the bottom drawer (with the handle of a brush) and slamming it closed. I was so hopeful that she would run under the cabinet and hover in the darkness.

Well, maybe she was in the middle of remodeling and didn't want to be at home during the mess, (I mean, who does?) But, she wasn't going under the cabinet.

I grabbed my faithful blow dryer. I set the temperature to cool and blew it gently on her. Again, she seemed unfazed by my efforts to rouse her. Finally, my husband heard my activity and came to see what I was destroying.

He took one look and asked, "Do you want me to kill her?"

"No! You can't kill her! I wrote a blog about her!" I answered protectively.

After rolling his eyes at me and blowing some air into the sky, my amazing husband went to get a paper towel and very gently moved her from my bathroom cabinet to her new "condo" in the backyard.

While I was relieved, I was also a little sad for her. Change can be so hard. But, I reminded myself that sometimes it's time to go someplace new and try something different. She could have had a great life living in my bathroom and she can still have a great life living in the hydrangea bush under my bedroom window.

My friends, Larry and Jessie, who are living in Hawaii, once explained to me that the roads we travel sometimes lead us to a T and sometimes they lead to a Y. Sometimes there is only one right choice, sometimes there are two right choices.

For me, I may be moving away from the field of healthcare and into the world of...beauty. Is one more right than the other? No. It's just a matter of being who God is calling me to be no matter what I am doing. It doesn't matter if I am giving shots to small children or helping women feel beautiful--it's all for God's glory.

I would like to find my little spider someday and see if she is interested in hosting a Mary Kay party, but then again, who would she invite? Would Mrs. Bumble Bee want to try the Mineral Powder Foundation? Would the baby lizards want a Collagen Boost? What shade of lipstick would my friend, Miss Spider, request?

Maybe it's better to let her discover the beauty in her new world while I let God reveal the beauty in mine.

Dear Barry

Dear Barry Manilow,

Last night, my best friend from 9th grade showed me letters that we had written to you 29 years ago. As young, innocent girls we had sat with pencil and paper and poured our hearts out onto wide-ruled lined paper and asked for you to be "our buddy". We were two sweet girls who met in 1979 while walking home from school. It wasn't too long after we met that we discovered we were both crazy about you. At that time, being a Barry Manilow fan wasn't as cool as it is now. Most of our peers were into Led Zepplin, The Doors, or The Boss and when we talked about Barry Manilow it wasn't very popular. Fortunately, we were adorable, so people forgave us for being Fanilows. We went to see you, Barry, on two occasions--at the Greek Theater and at the Hollywood Bowl--and we joined the BMIFC (Barry Manilow International Fan Club).

When we met last night it was to attend the Ultimate Manilow Benefit Concert at the Hollywood Bowl. It was an event to raise money for the Los Angeles Unified School District to help keep music in the schools. Honestly, we would have gone if it was to keep Botox in Beauty Queens--we were going to see Barry, and each other. My friend and I had the chance to meet after not having seen one another for over 20 years. We never had a falling out, what happened with us was very common--we drifted our separate ways. We slowly drifted apart from one another and toward other people and other lives. When we found one another on Facebook, it was such a blessing to me to see her beautiful face and to be able comment on the pictures of her adorable family. I really didn't think it would go further than that.

Then one day while "facebook-stalking" half the class of 1983, I saw an add for the concert to see YOU--Barry Manilow! I knew immediately that I wanted to go and I wanted to go with my friend who had shared that love for you so long ago. I posted a note on her Facebook wall and asked her if she would want to go.

Now, for most people this wouldn't be a big deal. For me, this was huge. Almost immediately after I posted it I was scared beyond belief. For some reason, over the years I have been developing and at the same time fighting against a feeling of social awkwardness. Being in certain social situations makes me a little uncomfortable--ironically, if I am holding a microphone I am completely at ease. I probably need psychotherapy, but, seriously, I already can't afford to get dental work, which I need worse, so I'll have to settle for being a little weird.

After she accepted and the details began to unfold and the date was crawling closer on the calendar, I would start to feel a little nauseous at the prospect of what it might be like. All of the "what if's " would begin to cloud my mind. The morning of the concert I couldn't even feel excitement because I was so nervous that it would be awkward. I was trying on different outfits when my son's sweet girlfriend said to me, "Is it ever as awkward as you think it is going to be?" I didn't answer her, I just pretended that I wasn't listening. I simply went along with my preparations and attended to the voices in my head.

Driving to the restaurant, listening to your songs, Barry, relaxed me and I gently kept reminding myself that like the predictability of your songs this would be a predicable story and like most predictable stories this one would have a happy ending where there was no feeling of isolation--but one of acceptance and joy.

Little did I ever think it would go beyond my expectations. She was always special and unique as a girl, but as a woman, she is even more amazing. I am just as much in awe of her today as I was when I first met her 30 years ago. The fact that I ever allowed this young woman to drift away is enough evidence to prove the case that I was an idiot as a teenager. She is unlike so many people in the world today. She is sensitive and artistic and confident beyond her years. I cannot believe that she was wise enough to save letters that we had written so long ago. The words that we wrote to you were so sincere and it is such a blessing to see how much you meant to us. We had so much faith in the world and in ourselves. We were so brave in our belief that if we wrote to you asked to be your friend, that naturally, you would consider us "a buddy".

We met for dinner and then drove together to the Bowl for the concert and while it was only a mile and a half and we had a GPS--we managed to get lost and had to turn around a couple times and then landed in the wrong parking lot. The attendant must have recognized us as your "buddies" though because he broke traffic laws and allowed us to drive the wrong way in the middle of traffic to get to the correct parking lot. The men at the gate let us park at the front door and as we jumped out of the car we could hear you were already singing. That voice! That very familiar voice was calling out to us! We ran up the hill and around the Bowl to get in. It was an amazing moment. We were running along the walkway, looking at you on the stage, singing along as you belted out "Even Now" and we were holding hands. The wind was blowing in my face and I had tears in my eyes. I felt 15 all over again. I felt time go backwards and your words were all fresh! Each lyric that I have sung a million times was new in that moment. Holding her hand and running along backwards in time to a place where neither of us had been to a mortuary to bury a parent or pick out a coffin for our child. We were running back to a time before divorce and disappointment. Before loss had taught us the true meaning of all those songs we had sung in our innocence. We had no idea of the heartache that life was going to show us and the individual pain that we would face. We ran back to a time when we didn't know the depth of the meaning to the words we knew so well. And it was beautiful. We sang every song and we hugged one another the entire concert. I felt myself holding onto to her as if it would change the course of the past. Maybe, if I held on tight enough I could stop the drifting apart that happened so long ago. Maybe I could alter the past with out destroying the beauty of the present. Isn't that possible?

But, sadly, eventually, Barry, you sang your last song. The lights came up and the orchestra filed off the stage. 1980 was gone. We said our goodbyes and confirmed plans for a lunch in a couple weeks. But, next time it will be without you, sweet Barry Manilow, and we will have to move through the emotions on our own.

It's been a long time since we first wrote to you and made that "friend request" and so much has changed in that time. We are older and as we have moved through time we've learned that friendship is something to be cherished, that no one can be taken for granted and that life is too short to allow anyone to drift away. As for me, I am questioning everything that I have accepted as status quo and I'm learning every day to say "Yes" without fear.

So, dear Barry, I have to ask. Will you be our friend? Will you be our buddy?

"This is My Body"

It hit me during communion. I had been on a Women's Retreat with other ladies from my church over the weekend and now I was home and enjoying the worship service on Sunday night. I have been worshiping at the same church for almost 4 years, but due to the distance between our home and the church as well as work obstacles I hadn't been able to get plugged in and serve. At least that was the story I had been telling myself.

God has been taking me down a path of discovery and of self awareness and, honestly, it hasn't been a fun journey. It's felt a little like being on a roller coaster with no seat belt. My heart has sunk to new lows as I acknowledged a sense of loneliness that had been chewing on me for some time. I have felt guilt, remorse and every other word that describes regret as I recognized my own part in the distance I have created from this body of believers. Then in an upward thrill on the roller coaster I have felt God forgive my selfishness and fill me with his presence to ease the loneliness. Fear then peace. Down and up and then up and down. And at times during the last several months when I've felt too weak to hold on, God would place His hands on my shoulders and remind me that I wasn't going to fly out of the car, He would see to it that I stayed in my seat.

The weekend retreat was the result of a divine intervention and because of that I went eagerly to see what God was going to do. I have been to enough retreats and camps to know that I would connect with someone and come home with a friend. But, of course, God's plans are always more grand than our own. I came home connected to many women. I was able to have small moments with several different women. I made one friend who was designed to be the friend to the wife of a pastor--and hopefully, I've been designed to be her friend as well. The part of me that has been holding back was slapped gently across the face in a way that only the Holy Spirit can do and I came home confident in the power of God to work in my life and make me a better servant. My weekend was overflowing--beyond my expectations.

At the Sunday evening service I looked around and the faces that I had seen before and suddenly they had names to go with them, I no longer felt fearful as the roller coaster moved along the track. God had already been showing me He could provide peace during the scary times, but I had forgotten that He also provides people.

I took my bread and placed it on my lips and whispered to myself, "This is your body..."

And my eyes welled up with heartfelt tears. THIS IS YOUR BODY. These people are your body and they are here for me. I am your body and I am here for someone! As a body of believers we are here for each other. WE are the hands to minister to the weak and hurting, we are the voice that tells the lost of His Kingdom and we are also the arms to hug one another. God has allowed me the chance to be in this body to experience the arms around me and for me to be the arms around someone as well.

I know that being involved in ministry and serving is not going to save me from feeling the downward fall of the roller coaster. I've served in other churches and I know that serving the Lord is a ride like no other. But, I won't be alone on the ride! God's body of believers will be riding with me. I also don't know all the ways that God will use me in this body, but I do know this: the best part about riding on a roller coaster is I don't have to steer. God has taken care of the destination and I just need to be in the car and ready to go.

Lucy's Barking

I have a very sweet dog who sounds like Lassie when she barks. She is the same breed, a rough collie, and she goes by the name of Lucy. The first time we heard her bark was not long after we brought her home in 2005. We had built a fire in the fireplace and we brought her inside from the chilly 55 degree winter night (Orange County can be brutal) to be inside on her large pillow and enjoy a Christmas movie with the family. She took one look at the fire blazing out of control in our family room and began to summon the fire department for help. You could almost imagine the words she was trying to express, “Fire! Get out! Go this way... through this glass door! I’ll hold it back—with my incredible bark!”

There are times when it can be amusing to watch her use her bark to protect us. If someone is vacuuming the carpet or blow drying their hair while she is in the house—she will use her warning bark to remind us of her powerful presence and her ability to save us in the event the appliances should come to life and attack. She will protect us, even if it is dangerous to her.

Every once in a while she will bark in the night. We have become accustomed to this and we do what we can to stop her when she’s struggling with insomnia. Usually, the Alpha Male (my husband) will just call her name sternly out the window and she will give up on the cat or the opossum that is taunting her and go back to sleep. Last night, my brave little collie was not barking her usual bark. Her bark wasn't the Lassie-bark warning that “Timmy had fallen into the well!” It was much more agitated—even angry. To be quite frank, she sounded completely pissed off. It was a scary bark that woke me from the beginning stages of REM. Of course, my husband would sleep through a meteor shower at the foot of our bed, so I had to wake him to make her stop. (Remember—he is the Alpha and she doesn't listen to me.) He did the usual call, in his very deep Alpha Male voice, to make her stop. But, Lucy didn’t even miss a beat. She didn’t seem to care that the Man she adores was commanding her to stop. She just continued in her very angry-dog-voice-bark to yell at something in the yard. Now, for those of you who do not have a dog, you have to understand, it is completely embarrassing when this happens because now you know that not only have the neighbors heard the robust barking, but they have also heard the yelling to make her stop and the fact that she didn’t stop. Then, of course, being a Mom, you begin to wonder if they are thinking, “Wow, they can’t control their dog?! I wonder what their children are like! I bet they can’t control them either!” The whole situation leads to images of episodes of white trash TV!

Finally, to avoid having the police called and the one remaining teenager taken into child protective custody, the Alpha Male grabs a flashlight and heads outside. I don’t go along because I have to stay inside with the cordless phone ready to dial 911. As he heads out the door I am just thankful for two things. 1) He’s wearing a shirt—it would be very embarrassing if this escalates out of control and he ends up on COPS with no shirt. 2) He didn’t take his bow and arrow. Usually when he hears a noise he sees it as an invitation to act out his Tolkien fantasies.

Outside, the very loud and very angry dog is running in circles around a large pine tree in the corner of the yard. After a few minutes of shinning the light in the corners of the darkness, he sees the cause of the commotion. Hiding behind his mask, sitting on the fence is Mr. Raccoon. Mr. Raccoon is completely at ease and stares back at the Alpha Male and without speaking an audible word Mr. Raccoon says, “What are you doing in my yard and why is your dumb dog so loud?” Well, the Alpha Male stares back and says, “Well, buddy, the dog IS loud, so why aren’t you leaving?” Then Mr. Raccoon looks up in the tree. So the Alpha Male raises his flashlight to see, directly above his head, two little eyes (also hiding behind a mask) staring down at him from the tree. Mrs. Raccoon is watching all of the activity from her bedroom and while she is very annoyed at the racket, she is glad that Mr. Raccoon is wearing a shirt. After a few minutes of starring the Alpha Male does what any man would do at this point, he turns and runs excitedly into the house and into the room of his firstborn son—“Hey, there’s a raccoon in the yard!”

The young man happened to be on his computer “skyping with his girlfriend”, which, by the way is not an immoral act that teenagers do—it is using your web cam to have live face to face conversations with someone who is far away. So, because the Young Man is like the Alpha Male, he finds the presence of Mr. & Mrs. Raccoon fascinating and brings his computer along so that he can introduce them to his girlfriend. Now, the dog is still barking and the Alpha Male and the Young Man are laughing very loud and the girlfriend is stuck in the computer which is sitting on the patio table. Meanwhile, the noise of it all alerts the Daughter who is in the house watching Desperate Housewives. So, the Daughter (who wished to be called in this blog The-Sexy-Blonde-One-Who-In-Some-Ways-Resembles-Venus-The-Goddess-of-Beauty) went outside to see what the commotion was. When Mr. Raccoon saw the two crazy men, the girlfriend stuck in the computer, the loud angry dog and The-Sexy-Blonde-One-Who-In-Some-Ways-Resembles-Venus-The-Goddess-of-Beauty all staring up at him he decided that our family was more dangerous than he had originally presumed and he made his way high up into the tree to be with Mrs. Raccoon.

The insane group, that I like to call my family, then spends the next 20 minutes shinning the light into the masked faces of Mr. and Mrs. Raccoon while the collie continues to alert the entire neighborhood to their presence. The girlfriend in the computer begins to get cold outside, so The-Sexy-Blonde-One-Who-In-Some-Ways-Resembles-Venus-The-Goddess-of-Beauty carries her back inside to watch TV through the Skyp and finally, the Alpha Male and the Young Man move the protective collie to the garage to sleep on her pillow.

This morning I am peering out the window at my big tree, and I don’t see the Raccoons up there and I am wondering if they have already left for work. The radio is on and I am listening to the news stories from the weekend. I ask my Alpha Male, if the Raccoons are dangerous. Will they eat my cats? Should I be nervous? Within 4 minutes of my asking the question, the newscaster on the radio tells the story of a 74-year-old woman who was attacked by 5 raccoons. Apparently, a “gang” of raccoons attacked this poor woman in her backyard and she is fortunate to be alive. Now, these raccoons were living in Polk County, so most likely they have a different mindset than the rest of the nation’s raccoons—most of the country thinks differently than those who live in Florida. However, it is a little unnerving to think that I am sharing my yard with these little masked rodents who may at any time decide I would make a tasty snack.

I don't want to focus on the Florida Raccoon Gang and their sharp claws so I think about the whole picture from the night before. And immediately I am reminded of why it is okay that I spend $22.00 for a bag of dog food. I remember why it is alright that, annually, I pay the groomer more than my hairdresser. I recall that throughout the whole very loud event, which I am sure the neighbors thoroughly enjoyed, the one constant was my loyal collie. She recognized the danger that Mr. & Mrs. Raccoon possessed and she was angry that they would approach the home that she is destined to protect. She never wavered from her fierce protector mode, even when she saw their cute little faces. How wonderful to have such purpose and such resolve. I can learn a lot from my dog about loyalty. How ashamed am I that I don't know better than to trust the bark of the one who loves me.

Tonight it is quiet and I can type and wonder about the whereabouts of the Raccoon family, but, I don't have to worry about them sneaking into my yard to climb into their tree house unannounced. Because, after all, I have a very sweet dog who sounds like Lassie when she barks.