I can work through headaches. I can deal with sore feet. I have the usual aches and pains of a middle aged woman, but there are two things that completely undo me: a sore throat and when I get Something In My Eye.

When I get something in my eye I go just a little CrAzY.

Whatever it is. Soap. Mascara. Eyelash. I really CAN NOT function. My thought process becomes totally devoted to the fact THAT SOMETHING IS IN MY EYE. I start trying to find it- first pulling my lid down and sticking my finger in it (like putting more things in there is actually going to help). I try not to rub it, which is what everyone tells you not to do, but is the very thing you want to do so badly. It's all I can think about. I am obsessed with the feeling that there is something most certainly where it should not be. Do not talk to me. Don't ask me any questions. I can't think. I won't be listening. I have something IN MY EYE!!!

What we are told to do when we have something in our eye is to close the eye and let our own tears take care of getting it out. I first learned this important nugget of first-aid in third grade when I got playground sand in my eye and the school nurse used a wet, grainy, brown paper towel to get it out and thus scratched my cornea. I had to wear an eye patch for weeks. (By the way, there is a statute of limitations as to how long you can tell a little blonde girl to pretend she is a pirate and not have her permanently damaged). Which is probably why I freak out when I get a THING in my eye. I don't want to be a pirate again.

When I am done losing my mind over The Thing, or when I am just plain exhausted, I often ask someone (usually and always my husband) if he sees anything in my eye. His answer is usually and always "no" and is also followed by "just close your eyes and let the tears take care of it." Such a wise man.

The closing of the eyes. The tears. The waiting. It takes time, patience, and trust. I give the body that God designed exactly what it needs: time to do its thing. I am a patient person (except when a Mack truck has parked itself over my iris). I can do this. All I have to do is pray- because that's how I have learned to trust. When I pray, I give every concern, every fear, every frustration to the only One Who can make all of them vanish in the wind. As surely as He flooded the earth He can rinse out my annoying little speck. I try my best in these times to focus only on Him. Because I am miserable.

I know I am not alone in this (maybe the entire freak out part); no one likes to have something in her eye. And I do believe women suffer more from this than men, unless the man works in a place with lots of cinders and sand and such. And, by the way, hats off to you, contact lens wearers, for you must be able to endure anything if you can function with something rolling around in your eye/head/lids. Wow.

So that's one reason why Matthew 7:3 really hits me. I can't imagine looking for anything in anyone else's eye when I have something in mine! Remember, I am in a state of non-functioning right about now. I am consumed with my own issues. I am in no position to deal with anyone else's mess when I am so messed up myself!

 “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"

Yes, I understand this is about much more than a lesson in human behavior when struggling with a foreign object. This parable is, in fact, an old one. So old that the Pharisees would have recognized it. So old that it would have caught their attention and it would have caused them to take notice of the One speaking it. Yet so new and fresh in its application that today the verse hits me right between my plank-filled eyes. I have no right to be critical. I have no right to be judgmental. Certainly a right to be prayerful and cautious and concerned- that can lead to productive conversations--and hopefully changed hearts and circumstances. But there is no place for prejudice in the Kingdom of God. And, dear readers, unless we are engaged in dialogue with the ones we are being so judgmental of, and unless we are building relationships that can bridge these gaps, we are doing Christ an injustice and we are judging others simply based on what we see. With our eyes. That are full of "junk."

I also love the exaggeration used in this passage. I just do! For all of His patience, all of His longsuffering, Jesus seems to be totally exasperated here, and once again uses His wit to make such a profound point, all without being hurtful or rude. He didn't - and doesn't- need to belittle or hurt anyone to make a point. He never did. He never will. Certainly Jesus' words stir us and convict us, or at least they should. But His words never, ever mock or boast or exploit. For that is not the Heart of a Savior. Not the heart of my Savior.

For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him.   John 3:17



So as I go through these days of specks and spots and planks, I take the advice given. I close my eyes, let the tears come- and along with them, the prayers- and I wait for the foreign object, the thing that does not belong, the misery to go away.

My Superhero

If I were a superhero, my weapon of choice would be the bullwhip.

I know what you're thinking. You are probably thinking that a superhero wouldn't need a weapon, right? Because, since superheroes have super powers already, why the need for arms? You may be also be wondering whether a bullwhip is the wisest choice, what with all the ray guns and lasers and bomby things that a world-class Defender would have at his, or in this case, HER, disposal. We'll get to my reasons in a bit. Right now I have to deal with the rest of you who think it odd that I would even be thinking this way. Get over it. I'm me and I'm who God created and He allows my imagination to go places that make me think and smile and appreciate Him in even the smallest things.

 

So for now, we are going to think about superheroes. And bullwhips.

The first characteristic that comes to mind when I think of a superhero is fearlessness. My hero would never flinch at the thought of pain or peril or failure. There is not a bug big enough or a snake slithery enough to shake my hero. Brave. Courageous. Fearless. No room for fear when so much is at stake. Fear creates doubt and second-guessing. Yes, caution is always prudent, but cowardice has no place in the life of a superhero. We are not meant to live in a spirit of fear, according to 2 Timothy 1:7. I had a personal lesson in that this time last year.

My superhero would also have to be strong. Not just physically, but mentally and spiritually and emotionally. Not necessarily the strongest human alive, but with the right power within her, strong enough for the task. Just strong enough so as not to boast or be over-confident. That way my hero remains humble. She knows where and from Whom her power comes  and seeks to only use it for good. Always and only for good.

A superhero uses good judgment and exhibits wisdom. She is slow to speak and is a good listener. She is patient, waiting until just the right moment to act. But when the time comes, she is a force to be reckoned with. Because she has been promised over and over again in Scripture, because she believes, she has the power of God in her pursuit of righteousness.

And she has this...bullwhip.

 

After all, the One Who cleared the temple fashioned a whip out of cords. Scripture doesn't say a whole lot about His temperament or rage; it doesn't need to. The God of Love and Compassion was seeing God's house used and abused and mocked. He had no choice but to act. To turn away would have meant that He condoned such behavior. It would have meant that the church and sacrifice and offering didn't matter.

But why did Jesus create a whip? I mean, He had His army of angels at His disposal.

 

 Just think of what He could have done.

 

 

Why did He take the time to fashion a weapon? Many scholars refer to the pieces of cord on the ground (used when leading the animals to the temple for sacrifice)  as our own sins that degrade the temple and keep us from fellowship with God if it were not for Jesus, while others look at them as a harbinger of the scourge that Christ Himself was to endure on our behalf. No scholar myself, I tend to be a little more simple and I see the example as one showing us that we all have to fashion our own whip and use it to clear our own temples from time to time, as God leads us to. My own superhero, backed into a corner, must do The Right Thing. We have to have our bullwhips ready. 



And last Saturday, had she been in the Yankee Candle Store, she would have wielded her whip all over the man who was being mean to a little child. For you see, my superhero loves to defend the hurt. The rage that builds within her when she sees that kind of behavior is the only thing that really scares her. She cannot simply "do nothing," for that would be the same as condoning, allowing, and seeming like it didn't matter. She defends the oppressed. The weak and wounded. She would have also used it on the drug dealers down the road and on the vandals who tore up the church lawn and on behalf of people in nursing homes and orphanages who are mistreated. And on the false prophets and the deceivers who are only out for personal gain and who thrive on intimidation and bullying. The politicians and leaders who hold no regard for what is sacred. All the evil.

There is a Superhero in all of us. All of us who know the true and living God. For Christ alone is my ultimate Superhero. And, laying His bullwhip down, He picked up my cross and carried it for me. No fear. Only love. And the power of God.

  

Grace. It's something we talk about. We all admire it when we see it in others. We are all supposed to strive to exhibit it. But we often, so very often, fall very, very short.

I have been burdened by this ever since I answered a poll recently that an author posted asking what topic her readers would like to see her explore. I answered it: Grace. I want to know as much as I can about the elusive gift that, as a follower of the Author of Grace, is mine to claim. I want to own it. I want to embrace it. And I want to show it in every circumstance in every moment of every day. I want people to wonder what it is about me that makes me have this grace, so that they can KNOW it's JESUS!

John 1:16-17 Indeed, we have all received grace after grace from His fullness, for the law was given through Moses, but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

But it is hard.

It's hard when we are surrounded by a world that has fallen so deeply away from anything resembling "grace." This world we are in is filled with people who want only to glorify themselves and to gain attention and a following, no matter how shallow or fleeting. And no matter the cost.

Recently I observed someone receive a gift from a person whom she had just treated very badly. The grace in that moment brought tears to my eyes, for the giver never acknowledged the wrong done to her, but neither did the recipient of the gift- the one who had been so cruel. What's wrong with us, sisters? What is happening to us? Are we really so concerned with how much we weigh and what we wear and who our friends are that we are cold and bitter to those who don't meet our "Requirement of the Month?" How dare we treat others with disrespect? How dare we treat others less than we would want to be treated? How dare we?

After I finished fuming, the Holy Spirit began to work on me. I thought about my own gift of salvation and how I have been so guilty of taking that gift as though I deserved it. I thought about how Christ must feel watching me take Him for granted. I ached at the thought. How dare I?

Even now, as I write, I fear that my words will not be received in the way they are intended. I want so badly to touch lives in a way that points people toward the One Who can guide them to grace and peace and love and joy and all of the rewards of heaven. I do not want to distance myself from people I care about, but I must answer to my Lord and I must, in some manner, share the thoughts that He leads me to develop. Even if it is a little cowardly, sitting in front of a computer in my family room.

I try so hard to remember to use "social media" in proper and appropriate ways. I try to take the advice that another admired author suggested and to write and then walk away. Let it rest. Let the Spirit work on my heart and then go back and re-read the words I have written.

 Do they glorify Him?

Do they hurt anyone?

Are they His?

This advice has caused me to practically wear out my Delete and Backspace buttons. I have at least five drafts in my blog queue waiting to be edited or deleted, written in haste and not quite ready for reading.

It's useful, too, this waiting and examining, in our simple posts and tweets, and picture postings. Today I saw a viral video of a child simply being... a Child. But because of the circumstance, people were laughing at her. Laughing. Who offered this to national media? No one. Someone simply posted it on YouTube and it no longer became their property. It belonged to everyone now, so this little girl is going to be embarrassed and laughed at by millions of people when all she was doing was...being free.

We take to social media when we are hurt, angry, frustrated. It's one thing when we do it and an adult is the victim; it's a whole different thing when it's a child. Where is the grace in that? What if Jesus (and this may get me in some trouble here) were to go on Facebook and complain to everyone about how we treat Him? What if He were to post pictures of the things we have done that have hurt Him? After all, He gave His life for us and we have not behaved the way He has instructed us to.
 

Are you following my point???

 



The very ones WE would give OUR lives for are not safe when they have "mouthed off" or have let a chore slide or have had a meltdown within range of a smartphone. Here's some free advice: blowing off steam about your teenager may get you a lot of "likes,' but it won't get you any closer to your kid. If you wouldn't post it about your boss or your mom or yourself, don't post it about your child. That's just not fair.

So yeah, this may lose me some friends or maybe get some negative feedback. That's ok. I can take it. I'm a grown up. And hopefully I'll handle it with grace.

Be mine.

 

Be mine. It's the simplest valentine there is. Asking someone to belong to you, to be yours. And for you to belong to him or her.

We all want to belong. From the moment we are very small, we want and need and crave acceptance and approval, which all lead to a sense of belonging.  As we grow, we create little secrets with our friends, whispered words shared quietly, creating a lasting bond of friendship through trust.

In young adulthood, we continue to join clubs and organizations and to strive to be invited to be a part of something. We want to belong. We want to know that we are important to someone. We try desperately to create and maintain relationships so that we...are someone's.

Belonging works both ways. As we belong to someone, they - we hope - belong to us. We care, we nurture, we love. By claiming that they are "mine" I pledge my loyalty, my energy, and my honor to them. I am not only mine any more; I am theirs and I owe it to them to be everything I should be. After all, they want me to be theirs.

Be Mine.

Isn't that exactly what Jesus is saying to us? Didn't He give us the greatest Valentine of all? After all, He sacrificed His own life so that we could...be His.

He personally carried our sins
    in his body on the cross
so that we can be dead to sin
    and live for what is right.
By his wounds
    you are healed.

1 Peter 2:24 NLT

When we belong to Christ we experience a love that cannot be compared to any other on earth. Because it is the only True Love. And nothing can ever, ever separate us from Him and His love.

 And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.  No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

Yet on Valentine's Day, a day that is now so far removed from its original meaning, we find ourselves rushing and fretting all the way to the card store to purchase someone else's expression of love. For $3.00. We try to express our love through boxes of candy, bouquets of flowers, and heart-shaped EVERYTHING.  Not that I am knocking those items as kind gestures, but I just think there can be so much more to a day that is set aside to show...Love.

In John 13:34-35 we read the words of Jesus: 

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”       

He wants, even commands us, to be His. His disciples. His students. His voice. His Love. He wants us to...Be Mine.



I like to "do" events. I enjoy the planning and preparation, but I mostly enjoy watching memories being made. I have been "doing" events since I was in my teens. School dances, talent shows, a high-school homecoming parade that actually shut down streets (with city permission). Now it's parties, auctions, banquets, weddings.  I looked back at some of the things I helped to organize and develop and I finally came to the conclusion that doing these events is a result of my spiritual gift of administration, not hospitality.

Because if it were hospitality I think I would be smiling at them more than I am. When the thing is underway, whatever it is, I am usually making my rounds to ensure that there is plenty of food and the beverage containers are full, trash is picked up, and no one is trapped by some of the complicated decorations (which happened once at a western event with prop fences and rope). I am also making sure that the amazing people - mostly my husband - who are there to help me haven't abandoned me, finally being pushed over the edge at the request of "can this table go away?" or, even worse, " I need that table back!"

Most recently I was part of planning and hosting a birthday party for a friend. A friend who also plans events. No pressure there. The party wasn't going to be a surprise, but I wanted to add something that would bring a smile to her face; something that would cause her to know that I had given her event an extra touch. Since the theme was "Winter Wonderland" I decided to throw in a white chocolate fountain. Fruit, cake, pretzels all coated in smooth, creamy white chocolate cascading down and landing in a pool surrounded by strawberries. Yum.

Now let me say that I have a true love/hate relationship with the chocolate fountain that our ministry has. It takes forever to warm up, has user-unfriendly buttons, and is...very functional-looking. But anything that streams melted chocolate can't be all bad.

Or can it?

At the appropriate time I constructed the beast and placed it in the center of the table that was solely dedicated to it. Featured, even. I added the chocolate pieces and tried to remember which button to press to heat the warmer. This machine, in addition to having non-descript buttons, also has a mechanism that causes them to blink. The trick is to remember whether they are blinking because they are READY or because they are NOT. Or because it is about to blow chocolate all over the table. That happens too. Really.

Now you may be thinking that I should just refer to the instructions. I would had they not been discarded years ago. Years.

I went about my business of preparing the treats to dip, checking the other food items I was responsible for, and enjoying the company of the ladies who had worked harder than I had and had decorated the room beautifully. We were very busy and time was racing by.

And the chocolate was actually melting! I had pressed the right button- Winter Wonderland indeed! The next step was to press another button to allow the chocolate to...flow up. Nothing happened. I stirred, melted more, did some pre-melting, added a little oil. Nothing. No flow. No matter what I did, I could not make the chocolate come up from deep inside the machine and emerge at the top, to flow down the sides. It was, most certainly, NOT going to be the lovely focal point of the room. Instead of oohs and aahs  this area was now just another food station.

Not to let the idea become a total failure (for no other reason than to NEVER WASTE CHOCOLATE),  I used a spare crock pot (yes, I had a spare crock pot) and it became the White Chocolate Fondue Experience. It was...okay. It served a purpose and it was still, after all, melted chocolate. But the effect was just not the same and I doubted it would bring a smile to her face and be the blessing I was hoping for.

During the cleanup process, and packing the beast back up, I noticed a false bottom in the box. There, under the cardboard was a long, gray piece of spiral-shaped plastic. The coil. The coil! THE COIL!!!!!

I had forgotten to put the one piece in the center that made the chocolate go from the very bottom of the pan to the top of the fountain. Without this key center piece, the solid that had now become moldable, pourable liquid could not perform how it was expected to. It had to be pulled upward in order to flow down. In order to be what it was supposed to be, the very center had to be just right.

So it is with us, dear friends. When we do not have Christ as our center, our core, we cannot flourish. Even as prepared and ready and moldable as we are, we cannot "pour out" until He is central and is pulling us upward.

Make sure you are completely constructed in Him and then be ready for His love to cascade down around you in a sweet, warm, and glorious way.

Just this morning, in my quiet time, I was contemplating the vast importance of the cross. How everything else pales when compared to the promise of eternal life in the presence of God. The things that annoy, hurt, even terrify us are nothing when placed within the shadow of the cross where Jesus gave His life for ours.

I was led to think about the 23rd Psalm and the fact that He is my Shepherd. He guides me, leading and prodding, and gives me rest and comfort when I need it most. Ultimately I will rest with Him forever. So what could possibly cause me any concern-- real concern?

Then the phone rang. News from a sister in Christ that made a chill run down my spine and brought me to my knees. Seeking His Face and looking for His purpose, I glanced across the room. The pre-snowstorm sun shining through the family room window sent a glorious message to me.

 

"I'm here, child." Never far away. Always within reach. Always reaching out to me, calling me. Offering love, comfort, protection.

 

Bring the chilling news. Bring the trouble, the warfare. It all pales in the shadow of the cross.

 

 

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

 

John 14:27

 

 

 

The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life— of whom shall I be afraid?

 

Psalm 27:1







 

 



The other day, when I was packing up the Christmas decorations, I broke an ornament. It was one of the ones I bought when we were first married, at a place that is no longer in business. Let me be clear- this was not an expensive ornament, by any means. But it was old. And even though I always take care to cushion them in tissue and re-pack them in their original box, some accidents are inevitable. It is the way of life, and this was just a thing. But it still made me sad and it still made me think.

We take care to store some of our favorite decorations in "downstairs storage" (that's what I am calling the junk room, just so you know) so that they don't endure the extreme heat and cold of the attic. But for all of us the years take their toll.

When it was new, the ornament, I mean, it was shiny and strong and it had all its glitter and the hanger was clean and snug-- but it was new, so I really didn't think about it as I hung it up on the living room tree. I mainly just wanted it to hang there and look pretty. It was there to reflect the light from the tree and the other decorations in the room.

As the years wore on, some of the glitter wore off and the shiny-ness began to fade. It was still a lovely ornament, though. It had a purpose: to fill the empty spots on the tree and to add a little color.

It the later years, I began to look forward to putting it, and the others like it, on. I chose them first, and I used them near the new ones to give a contrast between the new and the old. The new ones were pretty, but the older ones were the anchors that made the tree something really special and that paid tribute to a life together that has now seen 30 Christmases.

When we are young, we are strong and energetic and...glittery. We make a nice appearance, but we haven't had the experience we need to really shine.

As the years pass, and we become externally fragile, we begin to grow so much stronger inside, down deep in our core. We become able now to serve our true purpose: to reflect Christ's Light and to fill the empty spots in this world that has so very many empty spots. We add much-needed color to the complexion of our families, our workplace, our community.

Our hope is that those new "ornaments" that come along behind us will value us and will look to our inner strength, even though we may look frail and delicate. We are stronger than you know-- stronger, indeed, than you are. You need us. You need to come alongside and allow us to be the anchor that fills and reflects and provides a contrast and perspective.

In my haste to clean, I tossed the ornament in the trash. Now I wish I had kept it. I wish I could look at it to remind myself that, even broken, especially broken, we all have worth.

Well here it is: the last day of 2013. Hallelujah!

I don't know about you, but I am happy to see it go. This year I have seen friends betrayed. I have seen people make poor choices and cause others to suffer for those choices. I have been a part of too many tearful phone calls and have had to brace myself for more uncomfortable conversations than I care to recall. This has been a year that has truly been "life-changing." You may have been one of those who has called on me during this year. If so, know that I have counted it as an honor and a privilege to have helped you through your dark time. I have had my share of them. I know. I know. I have never once minded talking with you and praying with you and crying with you. I just hated that we had to be doing it in the first place.

You may have been one of those whom I called on when my head almost exploded. Hey, thanks for being there. Thanks for praying for me. For taking time from all the mess you had going on to get on your knees and go to the God of All on my behalf. I needed it. It worked. Some of you told me to quit my miserable job and I did. Thanks for that. You even told me that my hair looked nice when I was in the hospital. I needed that, too.

As bad as 2013 has been, it has also had its rewards; if the bad stuff hadn't happened, I wouldn't have drawn as near to the Lord as I have. I have pleaded to Him for my own health and well-being as well as for my dear friends and family. I have called on Him for strength and courage and kindness and compassion and wisdom in ways that I never have before. I have sought His Face at the top of majestic mountains and in the deepest valleys. He has been there. And will continue to be there. He promised.

So I stand ready to turn the page on the calendar. Tear that thing right off the wall. Shred it. Toss it out with the burned-out strand of lights and the expired egg nog.

Sort-of. Because when we begin a new year it means beginning it without the loved ones we had to say goodbye to. It's another milestone that they will not be a part of. We'll do things without them and that feels weird. In the first few years following the death of my mother, I remember not wanting anything new. "Something New" was something she had not seen, had not been a part of, and I felt as though I was betraying her and her memory by experiencing it. I later came to terms with all of this with the help of the Holy Spirit guiding me through Scripture. I realized that death and heaven were her reward, not her punishment, and that she was experiencing the best kind of "new." It was ok for me to laugh and smile and do new things here on earth, because she's having a great time with Jesus and I will too, one day.

So we can turn that calendar page, knowing that God is omnipotent and that we go into this fresh, New Year with Him as our strength and our guide and our help. There are unknown and unexpected opportunities for us to share His love and His message of hope and eternal life and I pray that I will not miss one of them. I ask His guidance on all that I do and say and that it all will be pleasing to Him.

I pray that for you, too. Whoever is reading this, may you have the confidence and the knowledge that, whoever you are or have been, God loves you and wants His best for you. Go into this year knowing that. Tell Him your troubles and ask His forgiveness. Forgive those who have wounded you. You don't need to carry that into 2014, either. It's not going to do anyone any good. Just let it go, along with the burned-out lights and the expired egg nog.

Happy New Year!

I like to bake. I like to take separate ingredients and mix and wait and gently coerce the concoction into something appealing and delicious. I will attempt any type of baking, but my favorite is bread. It takes patience, tenderness, planning, more patience, and love. People tend to like my bread. I know my family does, and that gives me such a huge sense of satisfaction, especially since I'm not one of the Fancy Cookie People.
Yeah, you know them, the Fancy Cookie People. They're the ones whose cookies stop you in your tracks at the cookie exchange. They bring in their magical treats in a plain Rubbermaid container or on a little plate, like they're no big deal. They slip them in between the store-bought wedding cookies and my sugar cookies that resemble the square states with sprinkles. And as the crowd gathers and says things like "They're just too pretty to eat" and "I'd ask for the recipe but I'd never be able to do that!" they just smile and say "Thank you," with that sugary Southern sweetness like the iridescent granules they put on their Angel Snowflake Drops. They make their reindeer with their pretzel antlers and gumdrop noses (no, they would never use something as obvious as a red M&M). They have their snowmen with the Reese cup top hats. Little Oreos that look like tuxedos made to look like penguins looking like they are skating. On a cupcake.

So yeah. I gave it another try. This time with the help of Pinterest. Pinterest, I am sure, was created solely for the purpose of humiliating me and making me feel totally inadequate. While it helps everyone else, it shines light on the things I have not - nor will I ever - accomplish.

                     But c'mon, how hard can a cookie recipe be?

After all, it uses the same ingredients as the Hersey kiss blossoms, and those are easy. (I have actually never made them, either) The butter softened, the flour measured, everything set. Here we go.

Apparently there is something in the chemical structure of the candy cane kiss that is different from that of the regular chocolate kiss. I am no scientist, but I don't think they are supposed to flatten. At first, when they were just soft, I still had hope. But as they cooled, and the stripey kiss began to look like a scrap of circus tent fabric tossed on a sparkly rug, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. And doing something bad to a cookie is like being mean to a puppy. 

 

They're supposed to look like this:

 

 

Unfortunately I can't post a picture of the mistakes. You see, my family ate them. Because they TASTED AWESOME. Take that, Fancy Cookie People. Keep your swirl candy cookie pops. I'll take my Circus Tent Sparkles any day of the week!





This is the time of year that I go nowhere without a list. Actually, it's a small notebook dedicated solely to keeping me from losing my mind. It has a list of the gifts I want to get people for Christmas, the ones I have already purchased, and the ones I may need to have on hand for that "surprise gift" (you know: the one where someone gives you something and you weren't expecting them to, so you say how sweet it was and that they shouldn't have, because really you are wishing they hadn't because now you don't have anything for them and you feel like a total slug! When, in reality, if you had only known they were going to get you something, you would have certainly gotten them something and it would have been amazing. A-MA-ZING! The perfect gift. But now you are stuck with giving them something that seemed great at the time.

Who doesn't need a cutting board/grocery list/pen combination shrink wrapped with a pre-tied holiday bow? NO ONE! Scratch that off the list. Right now. No one needs that.

I also plan my holiday meals, my goodies, my wrapping paper and gift bag needs. If it comes from Target or Walmart, it is in this notebook. Decorations. Shirt sizes. Christmas tree doodles. (I doodle in line- do not judge)

That's the kind of stuff I keep in my notebook. Except I can't find it. It's here. I know I saw it just before Thanksgiving. I had it when I actually started my Christmas shopping early (which I am sure is somehow related to this problem and I haven't seen the last of the repercussions).

It is a small, spiral notebook and it has a blue cover. Or is it black? Either way, I thought it was great because it had the word "notebook" right on the front. (Like someone would mistake it for say, a shoe.) Maybe it should be neon orange and have blinking lights spelling out HERE I AM!

It'll turn up. In January.

In the mean time, I can be thankful that my name is on another list, in another book, and this one will never get lost, it cannot be erased, and it will allow me to bask in the glory of the greatest Gift of all:  Eternity in the presence of the King.

Oh, by the way, I found my notebook. It was in a bag of the gifts purchased in early November. See? I knew I started shopping too early!

There are some things that are so important that they make an impact, even at an early age. I was 5 years old and I was playing with my toys while my mama was in the kitchen. I saw the news come on the TV and I called her...We sat together on the sofa and prayed for the president's family and for our nation.

Next thing I knew, my sisters were home from school - released early. Everyone had been crying. I wanted to cry, too. I liked this president. As a little girl, I knew that he smiled a lot, his wife was pretty, and he had kids that were close to my age. His daughter even had a pony, and since I did too, I felt connected to her.
Now her daddy was dead and that made me very sad.

The next few days all I recall is that the news was on a lot more than usual, although we always watched Walter Cronkite. Once I even saw a man shoot another man as he walked through a hallway. Later I realized I saw Ruby shoot Oswald. Wow.

I remember the funeral. School was out again and we all watched it. It was sad and beautiful and important. And very American. The caisson with the flag-draped casket. The riderless horse. And the little boy saluting his father. These are the first images of a sad America for one little girl. Now we have another generation with its own sad images. Planes tilting at eerie degrees and aiming for destruction. People running from giant buildings that are about to collapse.

These are our sad American memories. But think about the ones generations before us-
Children asleep in their beds suddenly awakened by the intrusion of natives bent on reclaiming their land and seizing and killing everything in their path in order to do it. Sad, scared children.
Fathers leaving their families to fight a war against a king, leaving the women and children to fare as best they could, so in the end, they would have a better life - and true freedom. All they knew is that it was sad.
Our own nation fighting against itself for a way of life that was at the same time evil and necessary, depending on whose life it was. Disease, poverty, and bitterness grew out of this war and to some degree we are still fighting it.

Sad American memories became global over the next several years-- thoughts of foxholes and air battles. New kinds of evil that threatened the American ideals. But that didn't matter to the little boys and girls whose dads - and moms- weren't there to tuck them in. It was just sad.

So as we remember this Kennedy family who gave up four sons to this nation (one killed in action, two assassinated, and one a life-long public servant) let us also remember the rest of us who were forever changed because of the evil shown to us at an early age. In its truest sense, may God bless America.