My adulterous kitten is on Facebook

I had just fallen asleep when my phone went off at 11:57 PM. I saw that it was my daughter calling, so I answered the way all Mother’s do at the stroke of midnight,

“What’s wrong?”

The answer, that came in the form of a question, threw me for a loop.

“Mom, where’s Luna?”

Luna Lovegood is our kitten. She came to live with our family in May as a birthday present to my son whose pet cat, Max, had been murdered by a passing car on Christmas Eve. The reason I say he was murdered is because Max was the head of the Cat Mafia on the street where we live and rarely does anyone in the Mafia just die. It was definitely a hit.

Now when the my daughter asked me about the kitten’s whereabouts, I had images of having to go back out into the street and claim the little body of my sweet baby kitty. I was immediately awake and alarmed.

When I fumbled out some sort of response, my daughter said that one of her friends had seen something on Facebook about a kitten that she was sure was our Luna.

**Now, before I lead into the part of the story where I say that I went to the front door and called for Luna, please do not judge me for letting my cats go outside at night. We will just end up debating the issue and in the end, I will still let them out. It’s how I’ve done cats for 43 years.

Opening the door, I called for her in her customary Luna cat call, “Luna Baby Kitty!”

Across the lawn she came with her little bell ringing to announce her arrival. She bounced up into my arms and I brought her inside. I poured her some Kitten Chow and I sent a text message off to my protective daughter to let her know that all was well in the cat world. End of story.

Wrong.

Ten minutes later my daughter sent a picture to my phone. On the screen there was a picture of Luna. On Facebook. With my neighbor?

He is sitting inside his house and holding my sweet little kitten and the caption says, “My neighbors cat who seems to like me and my sister more than her own family”

My heart began to pound in my chest. What did he say about my kitten? How could he possibly infer that my kitten likes him and his sister more than her own family? I became so angry, I had thoughts of going right over and knocking on his door and saying, “No. She loves me. She comes when I call her! She purrs when I hold her! She sleeps on my desk! And don't take my cat into your house! ”

Then, I remember. She is a cat. She is a dumb cat. She is simply an animal who is driven by instinct and will not have to answer before the Lord when she dies. He is a man. He is a young man who seems most of the times that I see him, pretty lonely.

It’s kind of strange to think that the simple act of him posting a picture of himself with my cat could have ramifications in either direction. I can withhold the cat. I could start to keep her inside and never let her go out to chase lizards. I could deny him access to her by giving her very little time outside and watching where she goes when she’s out.

Or, I can let her go. Let her spend time with his family and look for opportunities to talk to them more often. Reach out to their family and find ways to show them love. I can use this moment to remember that God will use just about anything to get my attention and to draw me near to the cross.

Can God use my cat to bring me closer to my neighbor? Yes, I believe He can.

Can I allow my neighbor to say something slightly questionable about me on Facebook? Yes. I believe I can.

Imitating Christ's Humility

Last night when you went to sleep everything was the same as usual. You brushed your teeth and even took the time to floss. You set your alarm and plugged in your cell phone to charge. Your pillow was cool against your face and the breeze coming in the window was a relief to your feet. You eased into a dream that was safe and brilliant.

But, what if when morning came you felt some one tickle your face? You brushed away the irritant and tried to call back the strange and lovely dreams you had the night before. Again, the tickle, again the hand to brush it away. When the soft movement came across your face the third time you opened your eyes. A small fly wisps away. Nothing is right in the scene before you.

You wake to find yourself lying on a mat on the dirt floor of a hut. When you sit up, you feel that your body is lighter and looking down you realize that you have small skinny arms of a child. You are dark and your skin is scaly and dry. You are dressed in a shirt, but that is all. You run your hands down your chest and your stomach is extended. For all that your mind can grasp, you are a small, frail black child sitting in a hut. But, you are still you. You are able to recognize almost exactly where you must be, because you are still you in all your thoughts and have retained all of your knowledge of the world.

Fear should have been the commanding thought, but because this is so impossible, you cannot fear, you can only question the validity of it all. You rise to your feet and look around. The hut you are in is small, smaller than your bathroom at home. Outside you hear voices and they speak another language. “Maa” you say to yourself. Somehow, you know that their language is called Maa. And then you realize that you are fully aware of all their customs, even though they are nothing like your own. You are aware of their lifestyle in comparison to your own.

You step to the edge of doorway and peek outside, the men are leaving to herd the cattle and you see the woman who you know is your Mother. She turns and you see a baby on her back. You know immediately that this is your brother. And without delay you realize that you love him as though you have always known him. He is too young for a name; he is only 2 moons old and will not have a name until he is stronger. You are struck by the oddity that you know this. You think of your own family at home that you have somehow left behind. You think of your Father and how you long to see him and have him explain all of this to you.

The woman who is your Mother enters the hut and you speak to her, and the words that come out of your mouth are in the language she knows. She laughs at your sly words and then tells you to move along. As you look around the area that is yours, you find cloth that you will drape and wrap to wear—as is your custom. And while you move though this moment the one thing that never fades is your ability to be completely Maasai and be completely American. You are fully Maasai and are aware of their customs and the challenges that will be coming your way and you are fully American and are aware of the luxuries that are not here for you now.

The ways that you have always known are still in your mind and the longing for those ways will not falter when the day is long and hot and when your stomach is aching. You cannot escape the reality that you know what it is like to live in a place of easy fulfillment where there is too much food and too much self-indulgence. But, you know that there was also good that was happening where you were. You miss your Bible. You miss the fellowship of other believers. Awareness comes over you that life with the Maasai would be different if you were unaware of what you had left. Some of the events that are coming for you will be painful beyond anything you have ever had to bear. In this culture, emorata, or teenage circumcision for both males and females is a part of your future and in the place where you have always lived there is nothing more humiliating. If each day you wake, you continue to wake in this hut with these people as this child, then that is your future.

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to death—
even death on a cross!

Obviously, this illustration of what one might experience to “wake up” in someone else’s skin is a far cry from what the Creator of the Universe went through in his humanness. God taking the form of man and leaving Heaven to live with us and as us was not a surprise to him in any way. But, what was it like to have all of the thoughts and the knowledge of God and be confined to a human body? What kind of humility did it take to come and live as we live, when He had spent eternity living as God? He had foreknowledge and he had answers and, yet, He lived among us and taught us slowly, so that we might discover the answers on our own. He chose to teach us in parables that we could understand, because the things of Heaven are too far reaching for our minds.

For 33 years He lived in human form while He had the power of the Universe at His beckoning. I cannot imagine taking the form of child and living a lifetime in an African village with the knowledge of what was coming and what I had left behind, and what Jesus did was so far beyond that. I wonder what the thoughts of Jesus must have been when he watched us struggle with things that have no eternal value. I wonder what God thinks when He watches me struggle each day. I am so grateful that His grace is so big and that it covers me.

Molly

In my past I made the choice to have an abortion. In one of my earliest articles on my blogspot titled "Little Butterfly" I shared a little about my story and how as a teenager I had an abortion. The actual date, at least the closest that I can pin-point was April of 1983. I am not going to go into the history of that, as it would be redundant to the other post. It did take many years to overcome the guilt and the grief that was attached to that decision. It was living through an abortion that convinced me that abortion was wrong. Trying to overcome my low self-esteem at times seemed impossible. I viewed myself as unworthy of the simplest blessings and I longed to return to the time and change the decision and the outcome.

I would hear stories of women who couldn't get pregnant after they had had an abortion and even those stories would make me feel guilty. I didn't struggle with an ounce of infertility. I used to make a joke and say that David would sneeze and I would get pregnant. To which David's sweet Grandfather replied one day, "Maybe that's why they keep having babies, maybe they don't know what's causing it!"

Our 3rd pregnancy was the first one that we planned and it came about easily. We breezed along with very little concern. We had baby clothes for a boy or a girl so we weren't overly concerned about bringing home another Sill.

Everything changed in April of 1993 when we got the results from a routine ultrasound that showed that there were significant problems with the baby's brain. Basically, the baby had a disease known as Dandy Walker Malformation and because of that disease she also had hydrocephalus. The doctor advised us to abort the baby. It was a horrible feeling to be lying on the table having the person who is supposed to want to cure your child telling you that she isn't worth the effort. There was no way that I would abort her. And David felt the same way.

The reason I am telling about this moment isn't to exalt myself for not having an abortion. Trust me, there was NOTHING noble about me keeping my baby girl. The reason that I need to tell you about that is because it is such a huge illustration of God's love and trust. Look at the dates of the two incidents. They match. April of 1983 followed 10 years later by April of 1993. God gave me another chance to choose life. He didn't have me travel back in time to make the choice to keep my first baby, but what He did do was allow me to be in a place to choose again. He knew that I would choose love over fear. He trusted me with her life because He had seen my heart and He believed that my repentance was real. She was so important in my understanding God's love for me. He believed in me. After all those years that I had chased after His approval, He smiled on me and showed me very clearly that I had no reason to doubt His love. I didn't have to prove that I was sorry, He knew.

Now, some cynics among you may be thinking, "Well, of course you didn't have an abortion, you're husband was a Youth Pastor!" Well, you are mistaken if you think that the mind is not more clever than that. Deception is a nasty bug that will always find a way into a desperate situation and there is no doubt in my mind that if I had WANTED to have an abortion, I would have found a way. I fully believe that there have been scared Christian women who have gone to a clinic to have an abortion and then later told family members that she had a miscarriage. We are daughters of Eve and we are inclined to sin and cover it up. I was fully aware on the ride home from the hospital that this was an option. Satan always finds a way to lead us off the path if we give way to our fears. And I had fears that were ugly.

I begged God to take my baby because I was so afraid of how she was going to destroy the lives of my daughter and my son. I was fearful that having this baby would mean that I would always have her in my home, that she would grow old with David and I, and we would never have any time together alone. I begged God to allow me to miscarry. For one day. And then I stopped and I named her.

The morning after finding out that I would be giving birth to a baby girl that the doctor's had said, "would never be normal" I stopped at WalMart to pick up a gift for a birthday party. I stood in the line with my two little children and the clerk asked if I wanted to pay $1 to a fundraiser for the Children's Hospital of Orange County. It was the kind of fundraiser where you pay $1 and you get to write your name on the paper shaped like a hot air balloon. Tears filled my eyes as I wrote "Molly Sill". Just like that, she suddenly had a name.

After the party, I went home and told David that I had named our daughter. Her name was Molly.

Truth Be Told

So, about a year ago I started writing this blog. I am super inconsistent, but since my audience is made up of family and friends I am able to get away with that. I write when I feel like sorting something out in my head. It saves me money on therapy and it helps my parents rest easy knowing that I am, for this month, still okay.

For those of you who follow me (and yes, I know, it's hard to understand how to use the Google Follow Button...you have to log in and create a profile and give them way too much information) you know that my writing tends to be sarcastic. I just write as I am. I just write about things that are happening in my life and most of things that are happening in my life are very ordinary and kinda silly at the same time.

The ironic thing is, that while most of you know who my family is, I rarely use their names when I am writing. I think that I do this to preserve some of their privacy. So, even though we all know who "The-Blonde-Who-Sometimes-Resembles-Venus-The-Goddess-of-Love" is...we don't say her name. We keep it to ourselves. We give her that place in cyber-space to be guarded and protected.

Recently, God placed it on my heart that I need to write about someone incredibly important in my life. I realized that I don't ever write about my daughter who died in 1995. I maneuver away from that subject like a balloon animal being chased by a porcupine. Well, I want to give you a warning that I am going to be writing about her. If I seem less funny, if I come across as a little melancholy, please be patient. God has led me to this place and I am convinced that it is good for me to share.

Pray for me. One of my writing friends warned me, "It's gonna hurt". That was a thought that I had considered only slightly, being more concerned with the idea that I won't know how to write without being condescending toward myself. But, after several days of the idea being confirmed and reconfirmed I am ready to the journey to a place I have fought to escape. I am ready to revisit a place that was devastatingly awful and unbelievably beautiful in the same moment. I am sure it will hurt, but when God knit together the events that brought her into my life and then took her out of my life, He also knew that one day I would need to write about Molly.

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.