Texting

Remember when parents used to torment their offspring with stories about walking uphill five miles everyday to school...in a blizzard, barefoot?  I can top that.

When I was a kid, our family had one phone.  It was attached to the wall in the kitchen; the cord was about four feet long.  I was allowed to use it 30 minutes a day to talk to my friends.  After that, I had to either go over to their house or wait to talk to them at school the next day.

And if my friend lived out of town?  I had to use paper, ink and a stamp.

I had a traumatic childhood.

These days we have a plethora of communication choices.  I like to email, talk on my cell, instant message, post to Facebook, blog...etc. etc. etc.  All of these methods are easy, accurate and pretty much instantaneous. 

But I hate texting.

There are lots of reasons I dislike this method of communication.  For one thing, it takes me a while to hit all the little buttons.  And even when I get them right, my message often ends up looking like this...

I don't have box time to in.

Or...

I just but my finger really sad.

Or...

I'll come he I have to.

Or...

How did the came sound this morning?

My son was just telling me (via text) that my phone predicts the words I use most often.  I texted back...

On, not mind. 

I know there are lots of phones out there much fancier than mine.  My coworker's phone enables her to speak her message, and then it transposes it into a text.  That's pretty crazy.  I don't think I can justify spending the money required to have that kind of technology.

Then again...last week I sent this to a girlfriend...

Do you want to come over Saturday and sex?

It might be worth it.

Gram

She made chicken and dumplings and Barbie clothes.  She grew violets and collected teacups.

Sometimes I remind myself of her.

She sent so many presents at Christmas time.  Each gift was carefully wrapped and tied tightly with thin satin ribbon.  Sometimes she taped old Christmas cards on top.

Her home was in the desert, right next to the train tracks.  The sound would have bothered me anywhere else, but the trains were part of Grandma's house. They belonged as much as I did.

Every summer my siblings and I rode the Greyhound bus to see her.  We sweltered.

Thankfully, kids were allowed to swim in the pool at her trailer court twice a day.

I visited her one summer when my kids were little.  For the first time I saw her home through adult eyes; it was small and worn.  She had lived and loved from that tiny space for years.

One day the decision was made that she could no longer live alone.  It was the right decision, but so very sad.    I asked my dad to bring her to me, and he did.

She couldn't climb the stairs, so we made our laundry room into her bedroom.  I hoped she was comfortable, I wanted her to feel at home.  But she had lived alone for so many years; our activity made her nervous.

She missed her home.  She was mourning.

And she hardly ever came out of her room.

In the early morning hours, when she was alone, she talked to our parakeet. "Pretty birdie," she would say over and over and over again.  Occasionally, she would come out among us and stand by his cage. "There!  He said it!" she would exclaim.  But I didn't hear it.  I never heard it.  She would tell me I just wasn't listening.

The ambulance ride was more traumatic than the stroke.  The second time it happened, we drove her to the hospital.

The decision was made that she could no longer stay.  It was the right decision, but so very sad.

They let me roll her wheelchair onto the plane and get her settled.  I kissed her on the cheek as we both tried not to cry.

That was the last time I saw my grandma.

I was sitting quietly in the kitchen the following morning, feeling like I had failed her.  Plain as day, clear as a bell I heard, "Pretty birdie!"

I had learned to listen.

And I like to think that she would think I remind her of herself.

Still On My Feet

I saw this quote on a friend's Facebook status the other day...

"Alaska is a magnificent, majestic, wild and beautiful land, patiently waiting for the right moment to kill you."  Jerry Pippen

My friend is in to all kinds of adventurous stuff I don't understand.  I'm sure there is an adrenaline rush attached to things like ice climbing and extreme skiing.  But I don't have to go anywhere to be in danger of being killed by Alaska.

She tries to kill me every year in my driveway.

I've taken some legendary falls.

A few years back, I was hauling a box of heavy glass vases filled with flowers out to the car.  I slipped on the ice, my feet came out from under me, my arms flew up, and the vases landed on my face.

Scared the beejeebers out of my kids.

Nosebleeds can make things look much worse than they actually are.

Ironically, I was on the way to deliver groceries to a battered woman who was hiding from her abusive husband.  No joke.  Ask my son, he ended up having to drive because my eyes were swelling.

One Sunday last year I was headed out to start my car before church.  It had snowed the night before and I mistakenly thought there would be some added traction.  I went airborne as soon as I stepped off the deck.

It was a rough landing.  My hips hit first, and then my back.  I remember consciously waiting for my head to hit. I was not disappointed.

I lay on the ice thinking I might be dead, have a broken back, or both.  I thought about staying there until somebody found me, but I got cold.  I did make it into the house; thankfully my phone was by the door.

I didn't make it to church that day, but I prayed quite a bit while I was in the emergency room.

Truth is...I really don't need Alaska's help when it comes to falling down.

One morning I tripped over Daisy while coming down the stairs.  I fractured my big toe in five places and gored my arm with our unfinished stair railing.

Did you know the saying "I saw stars" is literal, not figurative?

But all of that is behind me.  I have an important announcement to make. The treacherous ice between my front door and car door has officially melted.  I have made it through an entire winter without falling down.

I think next year I"ll try ice climbing.

The Smartest Dog

A while back, one of my coworkers found an interesting list on the internet.  It rated 70 breeds of dogs by intelligence.  Her dog, a healer, was in the top five.  My dogs, lhasa apsos, weren’t. 

They came in at a stellar 64. 

I might have defended their honor if I thought it was possible.  It really wasn’t.

The first lhasa apso I ever saw was absolutely adorable.  His name was Ewok, and he looked just like one.  I knew that was the breed for me.

Rosie was my first.  She was the most beautiful puppy I had ever seen.  Her personality, however?  Not so much.  She was very conceited…much like a cat.  If she chose to sit on your lap, it was because there was something in it for her.  She never came when she was called, and every chance she got she ran away to the neighbor’s house.  She would scratch on the door and they would, of course, let her in. 

Rosie insisted on Rosie's way.

Despite her arrogance and selfishness, I do believe she is in Doggie Heaven.  Her three litters of pure-bred puppies enabled us to pay for several mission trips to Mexico. 

Did you know dogs are saved by works, not by grace?

Nike was an absolutely beautiful lhasa.  He had the sweetest temperament, and he could sit up on his back legs for hours.  I suspect that was because he was too stupid to realize he was uncomfortable.  Sadly, he was the dumbest dog in the history of the world. 

I would give you examples, but you just wouldn’t believe me.

Unfortunately, Nike was a one woman dog.  And when that woman went off to college, he just couldn’t cope. 

I hope his sweet temperament earned him a place in Heaven, because the last year of his life would have qualified him for an eternal destination with a very hot climate.

Daisy is the best lhasa…actually, the best dog…I have ever had.  She’s adorable, sweet and cuddly.  She wants to please me and I like that.  She does tricks; when I say, “Praise the Lord!” she barks. 

I think that is very spiritual.

My other dogs had an annoying habit of barking when I came home, and Daisy had picked it up.  When she became an only dog, I decided to break her of it.  I keep a box of Scooby Snacks by the front door; if she doesn’t bark at me, she gets one. 

The problem is, if I take too long getting my coat and shoes off, she barks.  So I hurry.  Faster.  And I give her a treat. 

If she’s busy outside and still comes when I call her, she gets all excited and wants a treat.  So I give her one.

After she goes for a ride in the car, she runs in the house and barks expectingly at the treat box.  She's such a good dog.  Of course she gets a treat. .

And I suspect if there was a list rating the intelligence of those living in my house…

She would come in at number one.

Over Our Heads

There is something living in the ceiling above my daughter's desk at work.

Her coworkers doubt it, but I don't.  It doesn't matter that I'm 2000 miles away.

Our family knows about these things.

There was something living in the ceiling of my son's bedroom.  It was really loud and it was really annoying.

It was a squirrel.  A big, fat squirrel with a big, fat family.  We didn't care about the little guys, we figured if we caught the ring leader the rest would be so terrified they would choose to relocate.

An official neighborhood meeting was called to develop strategy.  We decided we really didn't want to hurt him.  We just wanted to prove we were smarter than he was.

So we set traps.  Lots and lots of traps...all over the roof.

We caught nothing.  This guy was stealthy.

He was evasive, too.  We hadn't even caught a glimpse of him.

The noise grew louder.  My son had to move out of his room.

We had another meeting to regroup and reorganize.  Desperate times call for desperate measures. Out came the BB guns.

No need to call the ASPCA...as hard as they tried they weren't able to hunt him down.  And I really did get tired of little boys in camo hiding in my backyard.

Poison didn't seem like a good idea, what if our nemesis died in the rafters and stunk up the whole house for months?  It was time to call in reinforcements.  Or a realtor.

My friend and I stood outside the house and discussed my options.

That's when we saw it.  A lone wasp drifted through a tiny crack above my son's bedroom window.

My friend got some silicone and sealed up the crack.  About a week later the noise stopped and my son moved back into his bedroom.

We never did see that stupid squirrel.

I heard he moved to Portland and is living in the ceiling above my daughter's desk.

My Dirty Little Secret

There is something you don’t know about me.  Only a select few do….and now I’m about to admit my secret to the world in indelible ink.

Oh, this is painful…but they say the first step to healing is admitting you have a problem.

Here goes…

I'm a slob.

Ouch.  It looks awful in writing.

I’m honestly not sure how I got here.

When my kids were teenagers, our house could definitely get messy.  There were musical instruments to trip over, mountains of shoes by the door, school books and papers strewn about.  My sewing machine lived on the dining room table and the kitchen island was perpetually covered in projects.  But one knock on the door and the three of us would spring into action.  We could have everything hidden in the laundry room in a matter of minutes.  And if we didn't move fast enough, I could always blame the mess on them.

Now there is no one to blame but me.

I hate that.

I'm actually pretty amazed that I can mess the entire house up all by myself. I didn't know it was possible.

The sad thing is, it's starting to bother me less.  And that bothers me.

In the past couple of weeks, I have willingly asked friends to swing by my house and let my dog out, being fully aware there is a train wreck waiting behind the front door.  In years past, I would have let Daisy spend the afternoon with her legs crossed before I would let anybody witness my messiness. 

One sweet friend left flowers when she came over.  I found them sitting on the counter surrounded by dirty dishes. The dichotomy was kind of nauseating.

I'm thinking that was a turning point for me.  I don't want to be that girl.  So I've decided to turn over a new leaf, make some new commitments, turn from my slovenly ways...

 ...I will wash the dishes when I run out of bowls and spoons.  I refuse to continue eating ice cream with forks..

 ...I'm going to do the laundry before I run out of clean clothes and towels.  No more scavenging through my garage sale pile or drying off with a hand towel.

...I will find my bedroom floor every Saturday. 

...I promise to make my bed more than once a week.  Okay, at least once a week.

...I will attempt to clean the laundry room so there is more room to hide stuff.

...I will clean out the refrigerator and I will spare you the details.

See?  I'm making a good start.  No need to organize an intervention.  Or a cleaning party.  

Besides, I have to get back on the ball.  My daughter is coming in June and my mom is coming in July.  I couldn't bare to let them see how far I've fallen.

And if you decide to drop by before then, do me favor?

Call first.  

Goodbye, For Now

It was Valentine’s Day, and he was dismayed because he had nothing to give her.  She had saved many beautiful cards from years past and hoped displaying an old one on the table would satisfy him.  It did not.

His days of shopping were over, but he liked to sit on the bench by the door of the grocery store and wait while she gathered the things on her list.  A friend happened by and asked if he needed anything.  He did.  When his wife returned with her cart full, he was holding her Valentine. 

“He has always been a loving husband.  He never forgets to say thank you,” she told me as we shared a pizza in their home.

I believed her.

I had watched them renew their vows on their 50^th anniversary.  She wore her wedding dress, and he looked as pleased that day as I’m sure he was the day they first exchanged those sacred promises.

I was beginning to think he would never get old; it happened over night.  It became harder and harder for them to make it to church…and then, they couldn't.

It wasn’t right without them. The vast room changed; I wanted it put back the way it was.  We all did.

The last time I saw him was on Valentine’s Day.  I hoped the rose I brought for his lovely bride would be enough, that it would make him happy.

Soon after, they moved.  The new house made it easier for her to care for him.

And today, he died. 

“He led a long life,” we assured ourselves this morning.  “He is with Jesus.”  Those words are true and they comfort.  But I’m thinking of her.  It’s been over 60 years.  How will she say goodbye to half of herself?

Then I remember.  She knows a love greater than his.  That love makes it possible to say, “Goodbye, for now.”

And one day, when her list has been gathered and her cart is full, he will be waiting by the door…a Valentine in his hand.

My Perfect Man

I decided not to date while I was raising my kids, and I asked God to help me keep that commitment.  He totally did, because nobody asked. 

My friends tell me I spent all my time surrounded by gaggles of teenagers and sporting a sign on my forehead that said, “Not Interested”.  That might have helped, too.

My kids are grown now; they are both college graduates (or soon will be) and happily married.  So, guess what?  I’m interested.

Alaska has a reputation for having lots of single men and few single women, but…well, I’ll just repeat a saying I’ve heard a lot….

The odds are good but the goods are odd.

(If you are a normal, single Alaskan man, I apologize profusely.)

So, what’s a girl to do?

Not too long I ago, I screwed up my courage and decided to join eHarmony.

Filling out the personal survey was a daunting task.  I had to lie once; they asked how much time I usually spend crying and my average was up that month.  But I was truthful about everything else.  I completed the survey, paid my money and waited for My Perfect Man.

(BTW, eHarmony doesn’t make any of my personal information available, not even my email address.  And they only send men who are Christians.  Or appear to be.)

Things didn’t quite happen like I thought they would. I didn’t get hundreds of matches.  And for awhile, the overwhelming majority of the matches I received were men several inches shorter than me, over 10 years older than me, and from the Deep South.

I thought that was interesting.

And then there were these guys…

Asked what was most important to him in life, one guy answered, “God and sex". Delete.

If the first question they ask me is, “How important is intimacy to you in a relationship?” I delete them.  They don’t know me well enough to ask that question.  I don't know me well enough to ask that question.

Sadly, if they have poor spelling and grammar, I delete them. 

Yesterday I had a guy who listed his job as “unemployed”.  Really?  Then why is he paying money to dink around on eHarmony?  Delete.

If they look like a creepy stalker dude, I delete them.  Seriously, I figure they post their best picture, right?  If that’s their best, what is their reality??

Business has been picking up; I’ve had lots of promising matches lately.  But I’ve run into another problem...

They aren't interested in me.
  
I know, right?  I'm as shocked as you are.

I don’t take it too personally, because the truth is they rarely even check out my profile.  Since my first name doesn’t appear too threatening, I guess the word ALASKA must be.  The rare few that do check me out don’t send me questions, or send the wrong questions and get deleted.

Honestly, I don' think I look like a creepy stalker chick in my pictures.  Daisy doesn't either.  And my girlfriend assured me that my profile is kind of funny and well written.

This creates a problem, because I state right on my profile that I believe in chivalry and if they want to get to know me, they will have to initiate contact.  And I’m not changing it, because I just don’t think it’s too much to ask.  

So, what’s a girl to do?

I know, trust God.  I do and I will. 

I would like you to know some important things about My Perfect Man that eHarmony didn’t ask.  If you have a desire to do some matchmaking, please take care of these prerequisites before you get my hopes up, ‘kay?

1. He must be in charge of light bulbs, buying them and changing them.
2. He has to be willing, when necessary, to have the dog put to sleep. 
3. He must be good at putting lights on the Christmas tree. 
4. Snow will be his responsibility
5. If he’ll weed whack, I’ll mow.

And PLEASE be sure he understands something very, very important.

The odds are good but the goods are odd.

South Of The Border

Every year during spring break teens and adults from our church youth group go to Mexico.  They stay in a plush hotel.  They spend their days playing in the ocean and laying around on the sand working on their tans.  They eat out every meal and stay up late playing video games and chatting on their cell phones.

What?  They don’t? 

JUST KIDDING!!!

I know what they do down in Mexico, because I’ve been four times.  Let me just say they do NONE of the above.  They do the exact opposite.

It’s very hard to describe the relationship our church has with the believers we work with in Mexico.  We live in different cultures, we speak different languages, we have very different climates.   But we are the same.  We have the same goals.  We are family because we share the same blood.  The precious blood of Jesus.

Our teens teach Vacation Bible School in several area churches. The Mexican teens help with games, crafts, crowd control (essential, trust me!) and translating.  Language needs to be translated but there is no need to translate the love…in either direction.

A construction team goes to Mexico, too.  They accomplish impossible tasks in a short period of time.  Our teens spend part of their days working on the building project.  One year we built a house.  A WHOLE house.  I loved that project because I dearly love the woman it was built for.  She has been a beautiful example of selflessness over the years. 

Just thinking about her makes me want to hug her.

The Mexican believers host us in their homes.  We provide food for the week, but it is nothing compared to what they provide.  They sacrifice much for our comfort.

Know what else we do together?  We have FUN.

I celebrated my birthday in Mexico one year and my host family bought a cake.  They didn't speak English and I didn't speak Spanish, but they let me know it was a Mexican tradition for the birthday girl to put her face in the cake.  I didn’t want to put my face in the cake, but I had no choice.  My host dad did it for me.

I thought I was cool for participating in a traditional custom.  A few years later I was told by a trusted source that the custom doesn’t exist.

Just thinking about it makes me want to slug him. Wait!  I mean hug him.

My son has been to Mexico five times, and has always stayed with the same family.  When in Mexico, I don’t share him.  He belongs to them.

Watching him say goodbye his senior year was a heartbreaking thing.

During the trip home, my son voiced aloud how much he wished his Mexican family could attend his graduation.  That wish went from his lips to God’s ears and miraculously came true.  Generous friends in Alaska gave airline miles and his Mexican dad sacrificed a week’s wages so he and his daughter could watch my son graduate.  It was supernatural international love.

I look forward to the day we will all be in Heaven, living on the same street, sharing the same culture and able to understand each other without a translator.  But right now, I miss them.  I need to go next year.

I’ve got some family to hug.

Matters Of The Heart

There are good things about my heart.  It’s loyal, committed and very optimistic.

There are bad things about my heart, too.  It’s loyal, committed and very optimistic.

I have often thought a person's greatest weakness is their greatest strength taken too far.

One spring many years ago, someone important to me made a decision that greatly impacted my life and the lives of those I love.  A different heart may have seen it coming.  A different heart may even have prepared for it.  But my heart was surprisingly surprised.  It was also utterly devastated. To say I had a hard time accepting what had happened would be a tremendous understatement.

There is a lilac bush in my front yard; it was planted the first year we lived here.  I love lilacs, but didn’t know much about them.  I didn’t realize they don’t respond to pruning and I lost all potential blossoms for years to come. 

I prayed many desperate prayers during that painful spring, but I distinctly remember letting God know it would have been nice if he had made my lilac bush bloom. Couldn’t he have looked ahead and seen how much I needed that beauty in my life?  With all the heartache and change, was that too much to ask?

I had been in town one morning and as I pulled back into my driveway I noticed a flash of color in the front yard.  I couldn’t believe my eyes…there were dozens of beautiful flowers on my lilac bush.  I had no idea how I could have missed seeing the buds.  As I drew closer, I realized the blossoms were artificial; they had been skillfully attached by my caring and thoughtful neighbor.

God made sure my lilac bloomed all summer, long after all others had stopped.

It took several years for the dust to settle around that decision, and my heart continued to pray and hope for the best.  I got it, too, it just wasn’t what I thought it would be.

These last few months have found my heart grieving over another decision that hurt.  The circumstances are not the same, but painful none-the-less. A different heart may have been able to let go.  A different heart may have given up.  But this is my heart. It will continue to pray and hope for the best, this time remembering the best may not be what I think it should be.

The moose that frequent my yard continually prune my lilac...it bloomed for the first time in ten years last spring. Was God a year early in providing the beauty I needed?  No.  

I've been watching it bloom all winter long.  

Gluten Free Me

It’s such a nasty word, isn’t it?  It sounds white and pasty…like Elmer’s.  Hard to believe such an ugly word makes food so tasty.  Fresh baked bread, peanut butter cookies, chocolate cake…

GLUTEN.  There, I said it.  In the nick of time, too. Stopped me from going down a dangerous…albeit delicious….road.

In the last year or so, I’ve been motivated to take care of some chronic health issues.  Before Christmas one of my health care providers suggested I try a gluten free diet. 

Before Christmas??  I ignored her. 

Of course in January she asked me how the diet was coming.  And I started to feel guilty.

I’m no good at guilt.  Or maybe I’m too good at guilt.  You get the picture.

I checked out a few websites and got some ideas about what I was in for.  At the store, I headed for the gluten free aisle and was stopped dead in my tracks.  Do you know how EXPENSIVE that stuff is??  Holy buckets.  But I figured I couldn’t live without the gluten free equivalents of the things I love. So I paid over $6 for a gluten free corn bread mix.  I paid almost $7 for a gluten free brownie mix.  Four ice cream sandwiches were $6.59.  I thought going gluten free was supposed to make me feel better.  Those prices made me nauseous.

The cornbread took forever to bake, and when I finally took it out of the oven it was still gooey in the middle.  It tasted okay at first, and then it landed in my stomach.  Like a ROCK.

My son once had a dog that ate rocks.  (Can you believe his name was Rockie?  No joke.)  I now know how he must have felt.  But after spending 6 buckaroos, I ate the whole cotton-pickin' 20 lbs of cornbread.  It took four days and I gained three pounds.

On a Friday night I decided to mix up the brownies.  The batter tasted good and smelled great.  They, too, took forever to bake and looked gooey.  But who doesn’t like gooey brownies, right??  (Except for my daughter, who hates chocolate, but that topic deserves a post all its own.)  I cut the brownies into 16 squares like the box said…but the pieces were so dinky.  I ate four. Okay, it was probably more like five...or six...ish.

Did you know that some gluten free flours are made from ground beans?

Did you know there are some bodily noises that are impossible to sleep through? 

It was a long night…for both me and my dog.  I wasn’t uncomfortable, I was just….surprised.  And so glad it was Friday.  And so very glad I didn’t decide to eat brownies for breakfast on a work day.

I’m still doing the gluten free thing, but I stay away from the processed stuff.  Vegetables, fruit, cheese, milk, meat, fish…all I can eat, man.  I eat a lot of oatmeal.  And today I found out I can have tortilla chips, my one true love!!  And I do feel better.  I feel lighter.

And I'm hoping one day soon Daisy will come out from under the bed and be brave enough to sleep with me again.

  

About Prayer

I have always been prayer challenged.  I have a history of text message prayers…you know, “Father, bless her.  Lord, be with him.”  I wonder how often God has thought, “Skirt-Girl?  Can you be more SPECIFIC?”

I’ve wanted to do better and there have been times I’ve really tried.  I’ve known some amazing prayer warriors over the years…I once asked a faithful older woman if she would teach me how to pray.  She gave me a quizzical look and said, “Well, you just do it.”  She made is sound so easy, but for me, it just wasn’t.  There were so many other things to do, things that didn’t require me to keep my mind from wandering.  My mind had a mind of its own.

Last fall I found myself in a brand new place, and I didn’t like it.  My youngest had just been married and I realized that for all intents and purposes, I was through with hands-on parenting.  I had given my son the same talk I gave my daughter…you know the one.  The ‘If You And Your Spouse Have Problems Don’t Tell Me About It’ talk.  And, hey, I really meant it.  But it left me wondering what I could do for my kids.  So I decided it was time to start getting serious about prayer.  I could do that for them, and for a lot of other people.  Even for myself.

I started on Aug. 30^th.  I took a stack of 3x5 cards and wrote names and needs on each card.  And I began to pray for those needs every single day.  I never took a day off, not even SUNDAYS. 

I’ve learned some things I’d like to share with you.  I hope you have a rich prayer life and already know the stuff I’ve learned.  But just in case you need encouragement, here ‘tis.

1. It doesn’t take long to get addicted to prayer.  I found I couldn’t take a day off, I didn’t want to because I became more invested in the people I prayed for.  I was loving them better.
2. It’s really hard work.  There were days when the needs on those cards weighed a ton.  My emotions got tired.  On days like that, I learned to take a break from asking and concentrate on thanking.
3. Expect Satan not to like what you’re doing.  He’ll throw stuff at you to try to get you to stop, and he’s persistent. But when you realize what’s going on and that God does like what you’re doing, Satan becomes a bug to be smashed. 
4. God doesn’t have to show you what He’s up to.  I asked for peeks under the curtain…some days I begged for peeks under the curtain. Sometimes what God would show me was a complete surprise.  He’s very creative.
5. People are complicated and some things just flat take time.  I hate waiting. God knows all the intricacies within a person and he won’t push.  I’ve asked him to.  I’ve begged him to.  But he refuses to allow me to push him.

By the way, begging is completely unnecessary.

6. Sometimes I have to let go.  It’s so, so painful.  But just today God told me to focus on his plan for my life and stop focusing on his plan for somebody else’s life.  I can still pray, but I have to give up FOCUSING.  He doesn’t want my play by play.
7. God is working even if I see nothing.  He is.  He’s God.  If I don’t believe that, then I am a fool for spending all of this time praying.

And I am no fool.

I’m over six months into this prayer warrior journey and I have no desire to stop.  I love telling someone I will pray for them because I know I can be trusted to do it.  Of course my part in prayer is insignificant compared to God’s part.  I know he listens, and I know he longs to answer in his time.  I still fight the fact that prayer is all about God's timing, but it is.

Please remind if I forget.

If I can do prayer, I know you can.  It isn't easy, but it will bless your socks off when your friend tells you she is shocking the oncologist with her quick cancer recovery and you know you’ve had a little part in that.  Honestly?  It makes me cry. It's one of the sweetest feelings I’ve ever known.

Amen.

Skirts

I’ve got my mornings down pat.  Alarm goes off… hit snooze button three times.  Shower, makeup then downstairs to let the dog out.   Breakfast, time with God…then upstairs to get dressed.  Back down… run outside and start the car.  Fix hair, grab snack, pat dog’s head, layer scarf, coat, gloves…and I’m off. 

Like a well oiled Alaskan machine, this girl.

It was a cold morning by my definition….and that definition changes often.  Though 40 degrees can feel cold in September, it can be a heat wave in December.  But -7 is cold in March.  -7 is cold in ANY month.  That’s when the “start the car” portion of my morning gets really important.  Like, really.  I don’t have a garage, folks.

Everything was going according to plan that day until… 

I pulled my front door shut and started for the car, but something was holding me back.  Literally.  My skirt was stuck in the door.  The locked door.  And it was my FAVORITE fluffy skirt, not just some old wreck.  I tugged gently, but it was in there and wasn’t coming out.

My house key was in my running car about 20 feet away.

What would you do?

I like skirts.  I always have.  I like the way they make me feel feminine.  They also allow me to feel defiant…it’s my way of telling the frozen tundra I live in to go ahead and throw any temperature it wants at me, but I refuse to be defeated.  

I was struggling to come up with a title for my blog, and was asked what its purpose was.  Truth is, I have a lot of stuff to SAY.  So that’s the purpose.  I hope to make you laugh…and I hope to make you cry as I share happenings from my life and log home up here in Alaska

Just remember…

She Likes Skirts J