More and more.......

This next storm was nothing I could anticipate, expect or be prepared for. This storm involved my first-born. I have a connection to him that defies my explanation…I deeply love and adore all three of my children but there is some sort of psychological, spiritual bond that I can’t explain that exists between myself and my eldest. I have always been able to sense when things weren’t right in his life. When his daddy left he was almost 11, he was old beyond his years and totally devastated by his dad’s actions. He would pour over his Bible in his room and copy verses that he would then write to his dad and ask him to explain how he could do what he had done if he preached the opposite. He grew angry and angrier.

When I remarried and moved here we brought along a little boy who had been a very big fish in a very small pond and put him in an elementary school that itself was larger than the entire K-12 population of the school he had moved from. He made his very best friends in the youth group; he was in the Gifted/Talented program in middle school and high school. He had a sweet girlfriend. He also began taking drugs. I knew something was wrong with Matt…but never in my wildest dreams would I have come up with the answer of drugs. That was foreign to me. I wasn’t stupid – I read all the signs a parent is supposed to watch for….change in friends…nope. Falling grades….nope. Disruptive, defiant behavior….nope. He went to every youth group party, devotional, mission trip, road trip….he maintained an A average, scored a 1300 on his first attempt at his SAT without preparing at all. So of course my son wasn’t doing drugs. He got a very generous academic scholarship to a Christian college and in the fall of 1999 he moved to West Texas. There, away from the confines of home he became a bona fide addict. I would venture to guess he was high nearly every day of his freshman year. Having a 2.3 grade point average doesn’t impress the scholarship folks and at the end of that first year I think he had 13 total credits. We were in debt….and furious. But still ignorant. Still with no clue as to what he had been doing out there….other than not his class work to be sure.

Shortly after he got back home that May we discovered what the problem was and I was completely shocked, heartbroken, and terrified. We told him he could not expect to smoke pot and live in our home – he had to make a choice. For the first time in his life he yelled at me and walked out. Out of his home, with the clothes on his back, a contact case and his car. I didn’t see him or hear from again for over two weeks. That was when I really learned about crying out to God. I became aware slowly that the panic I expected to feel was usually at bay….amazingly enough I could sleep. For two weeks I didn’t know if he was alive or dead, where he slept, if he had anything to eat….he didn’t have clean clothes. But God provided me with the strength for the moment. There is no other explanation because this girl could not/would not have survived the ensuing years. After a couple of weeks he called and asked if he could get his clothes. He rented an apartment near our house and so began a period that lasted four long years.

Four days and counting.......

This letting go business hurts! Tyler made it to Denver safely (though not without incident) and is planning to drive on to Winter Park tonight. When he left he had his bed tied on to the top of his Explorer. It was a reprisal of The Beverly Hillbillies to be sure. Then somewhere in the Panhandle the wind that IS the panhandle relieved him of that load. He just kept on going. So somewhere in the panhandle prairie some cow was treated to a softer place to sleep.

I've cried every single day and night - surely this is going to dry up soon. I have listened to Mark Harris's "Find Your Wings" over and over and over. I'm a masochist like that. The song is absolutely so beautiful and the words straight from a parent's heart. "It's only for a moment you are mine to hold. The plan that heaven has for you will all too soon unfold. So many different prayers I'll pray for all that you might do. But most of all I'll want to know you're walking in the truth. And if I never told you I want you to know. As I watch you grow I pray that God would fill your heart with dreams and the faith that gives you courage to dare to do great things. I'm here for you whatever this life brings. So let my love give you roots and help you find your wings." Now obviously I've listened to it once or twice since I can relay the words so effortlessly.

I know that I have no real power to make things all right or to keep my kids from all harm or temptation. Having one so far away serves to emphasize that all too painfully. I have to trust my feeble efforts at parenting and most of all the God I pointed the way to. I know (although can't quite fathom) that God loves Tyler more, even than I do. I am proud that he dared to do this thing - follow his dream (I seriously hope being a ski bum is not the entirety of his dream!) and make the hard choice to leave all that is familiar. He knows I'm here for him. He knows above all else GOD is who He said He was and is watching over him when I can't.

I'll get beyond this grieving in time. I keep telling myself that dozens of my friends have walked this way before me and survived. I hear, even, that the empty nest has an allure of its own. I'll have to accept that by faith at the moment. I did tell Tyler's brother that I had just cancelled his move to Africa. He could find a mission field in Richardson. Oh my I don't know how I'm going to do that one.

Pray for me!

Yet still more..........

This was not a storm I was prepared for. It was a storm fiercer than any other I had faced. I was swept out of my boat and into the darkest, roughest water I had ever imagined. Most of the time the best I could hope for was keeping my head above water and oftentimes I was barely that. This was the beginning of the long dark winter of my faith. Unlike my previous storm where I called out to God and He responded in unmistakable ways, this time God was silent. I couldn’t sense his presence. I didn’t see his hand in my life. Life became a battle---making it to the end of the day so that I could go to sleep was the highest of my goals. And every day was exactly like the gray day before it. I came to church but could never make it through an entire service. I prayed prayers that felt empty and futile. The only person in my life who loved me completely and unconditionally was gone. How was I to go on? WHY DID GOD DO THIS TO ME?

Through the love and support of a good husband, good friends, a good counselor and good drugs I was able to eventually claw my way through the depression that had settled but I still couldn’t feel God’s presence. Would I ever hear his voice again? I didn’t even have a chance to make it to the boat let alone get settled in it before the next storm hit. In many ways it was the worst one yet. The other storms had been devastating…but none came as a complete and total surprise. I knew my husband didn’t love me….I was shocked that he would choose divorce but still – mentally I had a degree of preparedness. While I certainly did not expect Daddy to die on my kitchen floor a week before Christmas I knew he would die someday. And I knew I would never be ready to say goodbye to him. This next storm was nothing I could anticipate, expect or be prepared for.

Story of the storm.........

I am the oldest of four. My parents had three girls in three years and six years later my brother came along. For a lot of years I got to be Daddy’s “son”. Friday night football games were our date nights right up until I was in high school. I got to go to work with him in the summer. I spent lots of hours riding with Daddy in his truck. I grew up believing there wasn’t any thing worth knowing, any thing worth doing that he didn’t know or couldn’t do. He had lost his own mother when he was a small boy and so grew up being passed from relative to relative…whoever could feed an additional mouth during the days of the depression. As a result of that he wanted to build a family unit that was strong – providing for us the sense of security he never had. In the eyes of the world he lived and died without much that makes a man a success. But it was through him that I learned I could do anything I set my mind to. It was because of him that I’ll tackle nearly every home improvement job I think up. I can still hear in my mind “Shoot, if they could do it we are smart enough to figure it out too!” It was also through him that I learned a deep appreciation for the Word of God. Daddy’s work day started at 4:00 a.m. and if you ever got up to go to the one bathroom our house had in the middle of the night you were most likely going to find him sitting in his recliner with his Bible in his lap. He taught me by example to “hide the words in my heart” as it says in Psalms 119:11.

In December 1997 mom and dad were coming to our house for an early Christmas celebration. Because my sister is a 12/25 baby she has always gotten top billing on that day (and rightly so!). So Mom and Dad came on Thursday the 18th and were going to go on to Abilene on Monday the 22nd. The next day was the last day of school for the year and the kids were all excited about the class parties and Secret Santa’s and the school break. That Friday morning I got my kids up and out the door while welcoming into the house the two little babies I was keeping at the time. Rylee was 2 and Nicholas was 1-1/2 and we were going to have our own Christmas party. Nicholas had gotten very attached to “grandpa” the night before so as soon as he got there he was looking for Grandpa. Daddy had waited until the kids were gone to get his shower and so it was after 8 when he came into the kitchen with Nick draped around his legs. They sat down at the kitchen table and began to play with the toy that he had just gotten and I asked Daddy if he was ready for breakfast. “Sure Hon” was his reply”. I turned to get the muffin out of the oven, butter it, pour the coffee and answer the ringing phone all at the same time. Tyler was calling – he had forgotten to take his Secret Santa gift to school. During the conversation I heard the unmistakable thud of a head hitting the floor. Moms of boys are well acquainted with that sound. Nicholas cried out and I turned expecting to scoop him up into my arms. As I bent down to get him out of the corner of my eye I saw daddy slumped in his chair and then watched in slow motion as he slid to the floor.

The next events remain vivid in my mind’s eye…as though they were burned into my consciousness forever and yet the minutes, hours and days leave no real perception as to their actual passing. I remember grabbing the phone and dialing 911. I remember screaming at the operator both to come and to let me go because I knew CPR. I can see my mom sitting on the floor and cradling Daddy’s head in her lap and asking me over and over “Don’t you know what to do?”. I can feel his chest under my hands as I began CPR – a skill I had never intended to use and certainly not on someone I knew. I can still hear the paramedics tell me I had done well and to let them take over. I cannot erase the pictures of his body lifting off the floor as they shocked his heart over and over. The surreal-ness of following the ambulance to the hospital still overwhelms me. I remember every face of every person who had heard the news and come to gather and support me in the family room of that hospital. I remember the pain in Keith’s voice as he prayed for us. I remember going into the room where the shell of the man who had shown me the way to Jesus was laid, gathering my babies to my chest as they cried tears of fear and confusion and hurt. Instead of gathering around a Christmas tree that year, my family and I gathered in the snow around a hole in the ground where they laid that shell to rest. I remember crying harder than I imagined a person could cry until it felt as though my very insides had ceased to exist.

We Interrupt This Series For........

...an important announcement.

I am grieving the loss of a job. Reality is that I have successfully worked myself out of it and am one blubbering soggy mess. This morning I kissed my child goodbye and watched him drive off for adventure in the guise of INDEPENDENCE. I have been looking forward to this day but I planned for independent living to take place in the far off reaches of, say, Plano. Then when I got used to that maybe even North Dallas! This is not to be for #2 son. He’s pulled up stakes, loaded his Ford Explorer full to bursting with everything we could cram in there and is moving to Winter Park, Colorado. He does not have a job (“Don’t worry, Mom! There is ALWAYS a job if you aren’t afraid to work.”), he does not have a home (“Don’t worry, Mom! I’ll find a place to live.”) and he doesn’t really know anyone, with the exception of the one friend he talked into making this leap with him. Oh, did I mention his Ford Explorer is FIFTEEN years old and he is leaving with MAYBE a six hundred dollars in his pocket???

It seems like just yesterday this confident, self assured, hardworking young man was my equally as confident & self assured curly haired baby boy. He’s never met a stranger, can charm the socks off you with one genuine grin and has been an absolute joy. Oh to be sure, he is hard-headed, stubborn as a mule and hearing impaired if he’s not hearing what he wants to hear. He is an adrenaline junkie and scares the living daylights out of me (Have I mentioned he skateboarded off the house? Drove a car when he was two? Refuses to wear a helmet?) and is not nearly as serious about life as I would wish. But he hugs and kisses his momma every single day of the world when he leaves the house and when he comes back in – how am I going to manage without that?

Tyler, age 6 months:

No matter how many clothes he had on when he went down for a nap:

With his doll (he was only two!!)"Billie Sue":

Easter Sunday at 3-1/2:

Living his dream:

Go with God my precious gift – may all your dreams (and none of my fears) come true….

Short story today.......

It was in the storm I met Him.

I learned that storms, though brutal, do not last forever. They eventually end. I learned that storms are survivable when God is in control. I didn’t need the oars anymore. God was captain of my ship and I thought I was exactly where God wanted me to be. He brought a man into my life that adored me and was eager to become Dad to three hurting kids. The fact that he was willing to take on a woman scarred by divorce and serious trust issues and three children who were dealing with abandonment issues of their own is proof either of God’s direction in his life or insanity on his part. The jury is still out on that one! All of a sudden this country girl found herself living in a metropolitan area that was literally 50 times larger than the community she had moved from. I went from a place where we grew and canned our own food to a place where people were far more likely to get dinner from the drive through than their back yard. I was in culture shock but God was in control. (As a complete aside from this serious post I would like to say that I have completely adapted to that drive-through thing and am compelled to say the day-in and day-out cooking thing is highly over rated!)

And so the story goes on.....

Remember the rule based religion I talked about earlier – I was finding that doing the right thing didn’t necessarily means I would get the right results. It didn’t protect me and you know what? It didn’t comfort me either. The first lesson God wanted me to learn was that He alone had power over the storm. He didn’t cause the storm but he was in control of it and he knew Michelle’s boat was rocking but not upside down. The second lesson and probably the most important was the hardest for me to accept. God had people all over that little community of 3500 that didn’t show up to the same building I did on Sunday morning. I know for some of you that is hard to understand why it came as a surprise to me. But for my time in the world it was a huge revelation and one I didn’t accept easily. There were great birthing pains as my faith stretched before I could wholeheartedly believe and accept that. Even that I had to learn the hard way though. The church we had worked with were grieving, in shock themselves and most believed (and told me) that I should leave. Only when it was those in other faith groups who sat with me, cried with me, made sure I had a place to go on holidays, who told me they were fasting for me. Only then did I accept and believe that I was receiving the love of Jesus from people who months before I would not have fellowshipped. Accepting their love for God provided me with the greatest freedom of all…I wasn’t their judge and in freeing myself from that responsibility I received even greater freedom. The freedom to make mistakes myself. I finally was free to admit I didn’t and couldn’t get it all right. And that was ALL RIGHT! The greatest lesson I learned during the storm was if I kept my eyes on Jesus the storm wasn’t as frightening. If I took my eyes off him I saw the waves just like Peter – but when I was keeping my eyes on him life was euphoric. My faith grew by leaps and bounds. God’s word became real and active. He met me where I needed him. With whatever I needed. With all I needed. For perhaps the first time I understood that God was actively involved in my life and He was really REAL. He wasn’t some judge far off but a father very near. God saw me through that first real storm of my life. I am ashamed and sorry to admit that up until this time I had been absolutely faithful in my service to God. I had been teaching Sunday school since I was 14 years old. I held teacher-training workshops and tried to teach other women to love Bible class teaching as much as I did. I went on mission trips. I was THE preacher’s wife for goodness sake….and yet I didn’t really know God. I knew all about him. But I didn’t know him. I replaced my idolization of my husband and other men of God with an idolization of the only one worthy of my worship. I wish I had time to share this part of my story. Of the ways I would pray a prayer for a specific need and a few hours later I would get a phone call that would begin with “Michelle, you don’t know me but…” Every single need. I had no job history, no marketable skills and yet we were provided for the entire time I was a single mom. I ended up with my own business that was exactly my skill set and I was able to provide food, clothing and shelter for my family. The fact that any of this happened and that I was able to do any of it is proof positive that God was in control of the storm. None of what was accomplished during that time was me…none.

and still more.......

It was somewhere during this most difficult time that a young man moved to the community as a vet in the largest vet practice in town. He was different from anyone I had known before. He talked of a personal relationship with God that was intimate and engrossing. He thrived on talking about Jesus as though he were a friend and most of all he exuded a joy that eluded me. One fall day when the pain was so great I could bear it no longer I got down on my knees in my dining room and cried out to the God that I had all but abandoned. Truth was I was angry at him. Everyone repeatedly told me that my husband was gifted from God…his ministry certainly seemed to be blessed by God. I couldn’t reconcile that with our day-to-day life and had decided that if God was blessing my husband then I didn’t want anything to do with God. But that fall day I was desperate enough to try him one more time. I told God through the tears that I didn’t understand what it was that Greg had but I wanted it and to please take anything in my life that was standing between me and the Lord’s active presence in my life. No sooner had I uttered those words than I quickly added on a postscript to please not let anything happen to my children. I didn’t think my emotional health was strong enough to live through anything happening to them but I offered up everything else in my life. As was my habit at the time I then set about planning God’s answer for him. I don’t know why I thought God needed my help…or why I thought I COULD help…goodness only knows things were a mess. But I always wanted to help so I figured out that my husband would take a sabbatical from ministry. We would have time to reunite as a family and we would be very poor but we would grow back together and things would be great. Somehow in my warped head of rule keeping I knew that marriage was for better or worse for life and I assumed that everyone played by those same rules. I was wrong. On the day after Christmas 1990 I was packing our bags to return to Texas after spending the holidays in Colorado at my parent’s home. My husband had just gotten the latest Max Lucado book and he had gone to bed early the night before pleading a sore throat. He was going to read the book and he asked for notepaper to take notes. He was an inveterate note taker and that request wasn’t the least bit unusual. I checked all the rooms for any shoes or new toys that we would miss at that precise moment when it was too far to go back and get them. No toys, but there lying on the floor between the wall and the bed was that ML book. I reached down to pick it up and the papers fell out. I picked them up, shuffled them a little to get them back inside the front cover when I noticed the words “My Darling”. An apology note I thought to myself…for any of a hundred neglects and so I sat down and began reading. I hadn’t gotten much beyond the first paragraph when it dawned on me that this wasn’t making any sense and only a little bit farther when it became painfully clear that the letter was to one I would have called my best friend. From my husband. The boat I had been riding in was rocked in a wild storm that completely caught me by surprise. The oars were washed overboard, I couldn’t see the shore and I didn’t know how to swim. Those days were the most gut wrenching I had ever experienced. In one decision by my now ex husband, I lost my identity (Preacher’s wife), my house (preacher’s home), my financial support and my church family. For 16 years I was the preachers wife.. 16 years I had lived in 3 different places. 16 years removed from the community I’d wanted to spend my whole life in. It was no longer home. Daddy had gotten sick and for me and 3 kids to move back home would have been a financial hardship. My kids were Texans! Through a series of events God led me to believe he wasn’t done with me yet in that little community.

More....

As I said, I grew up in a home that was ruled by alcoholism of the generation past. We were so busy living perfect lives and being perfect examples there was no room for mistakes or weaknesses. The way we dealt with them was to deny their existence. Keeping up appearances was the most important thing in my life. So there was nowhere to turn, no experience to rely on of how to ask for help. We were not long into our marriage when one inescapable fact was glaringly apparent. My husband and I agreed on one thing. We both thought he was the greatest preacher/teacher/man we had ever known. He was truly gifted in ministry. People came to him in great numbers. No matter which community we lived in the church where he preached quickly became a drawing card to the community at large. He did weddings, funerals, graduation speeches….he was truly gifted. But he didn’t’ love me. I became lonelier and lonelier. The verbal putdowns became more and more frequent. The predictable thing happened – I began to believe what I heard which only further exacerbated the problems. I had always wanted a big family – would have been happy to have six kids. Instead I had endometriosis and fertility was a huge issue. By the grace of God I finally got ½ my original 6 but the years of drugs and surgeries and dashed hopes took their toll on my emotional health. I had reached such desperation that I found myself standing at the bathroom sink and staring into my own eyes, willing myself to empty the contents of the medicine cabinet into my mouth. The thought that I had 3 precious babies who needed at least one parent in their home always kept my feet on the planet earth but I was broken as could be. Still, I had a role to play and I played it well. No one knew we weren’t the happiest couple in the neighborhood. No one knew that our marriage was a sham that was ruled by criticism, silence and absence. If the absence wasn’t physical then it was emotional.

Faith story continued.....

My grandfather was an alcoholic. Although he was dry the entire time I knew him, he was very much practicing his addiction when my mom was growing up. Those living with alcoholics learn to keep secrets, to act as though you have no problems and to maintain control at all costs. Even though there was no alcohol ever in our home those coping mechanisms were learned. So you better believe I stayed in the boat. I stayed in the boat with the oars firmly secured in my arms and no other’s. As long as you acted right you could get a "right" result. I carried this understanding into my religious life as well. You went to church every single time the doors were opened and you kept a checklist of the required acts of obedience. Each week you checked them off and then could feel somewhat confident in knowing you were doing right. I didn’t curse, drink, dance or date those who did. The religion worked for me and I thought I was doing exactly what God wanted from me. The boat never even left the dock but I didn’t know it was supposed to. I graduated from high school and began college right in the little town in southeastern Colorado where I had grown up. I was going to marry a local boy, I knew exactly what side of town we would live in, which elementary school our six children would attend and who would give them piano lessons. I met my local boy future husband and he would come to church with me and decided he needed and wanted to be baptized. Then the story went awry. He decided he wanted to become a preacher. Clearly my boat was getting ready to move out into the harbor a ways. I didn’t like it – not one little bit. But I could still see shore – I still had the oars and I adapted. We lived in Denver for a year while he finished school and then we began our lives as “The Preacher and his wife”.

My whole entire faith story

I don't know how God works but I know when He starts nudging me along a certain path there is something up ahead for which He is preparing me. For quite some time I've been thinking about my journey and how I got here. I've shared it recently but I don't think I'm done because there's still not that sense of "AHA! so that's why...." So I am going to be writing about it for the next however many days it takes me to get it all out there...maybe someone will be blessed or encouraged and maybe I'll figure out what I'm supposed to be doing at the moment. And so the story begins....

When you look in your Bible at examples of faith there are many - but the one that I am thinking of right now is Peter, and one particular incident in Peter’s life. That would be when he looked out across a raging storm tossed sea and in spite of everything sane he put his legs over the side of the boat and walked on water. We spend a lot of our lesson times on the fact that he walked on water. That is huge, don’t get me wrong. But for me, the real miracle began earlier. The miracle was he got out of the boat. I mean what is in a person’s head that they would think the thing to do is get out of the boat in the middle of a raging storm? You see, I’ve spent most of my life in the boat. I didn’t know that wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I liked the boat. Reality is, in real life and in spiritual life, I am afraid of the water. I cannot swim. Way back in the days of childhood when summer came my mom enrolled my two sisters and me in swimming lessons. The way it was arranged there were three different groups at the shallow end of the pool. You started at one side and progressed through those three beginner groups until you moved on to deeper water. It took me all summer long to make it to the 3rd beginner group and I am convinced it was a social promotion. I was head & shoulders taller than those kids who were jumping off the high dive but I never got over being afraid of the water. That pretty much symbolizes my spiritual and emotional life as well.
(to be continued)......

Women of Faith

I am SO glad I went to the pre-conference as well as the conference. It was exactly what I needed and my spirit was refreshed. I took away so much that I don't know where to start processing all the things tumbling through my head. I thoroughly enjoyed Dr. Henry Cloud's sessions. I always connect the most with Sheila Walsh. I laughed so hard at Anita Renfroe that I thought I would break a rib. She is without a doubt the funniest lady I have every heard. Nicole Johnson is gifted - I had no idea that I loved Nicole Nordeman but now I do! All in all it was just a blessing and I am so grateful to God for giving me the opportunity.

Dr. Cloud reinforced some things I have been thinking about for quite a while now. I am continually challenged by my desire to be real and my desire to be proper. You generally can't be both I've found and way too often my desire to be accepted is much stronger than my desire to let the real Michelle show through. The Michelle that is wounded, that struggles with doubts, with anger and apathy. I am not sure I can be a vessel that God can really use if I don't become transparent but as much as I love my brothers and sisters, it never really feels safe to be real. Because, all the rest of the church is working hard to be proper too. I think it takes one brave soul to turn the tide and perhaps God continues to call me to be the brave soul. But I am not. Really. But I'm tired of being strong too. I've been reliving "my story" for quite a while now and I am beginning to suspect God is preparing me for something and that is disconserting.

Weekend plans

Two weeks in a row I have taken Friday off! What a joy. Tomorrow two friends and I are going to the Women of Faith pre-conference and I am looking forward to it so much. I know I am going to laugh. I know I am going to cry. I know I am going to be standing on Holy Ground....I just can't wait. We're going to make it a real experience by riding the Dart Rail down too - three old gals on an adventure!! Since they are several years younger than me I'm thinking they won't want to know I included them in the old gal category. We are going to have to leave at dark-thirty tomorrow and Saturday to make it though - so I am crashing early tonight. I know God is going to do something great this weekend -- I just pray I am an alert enough to recognize it when it is happening. God bless ya!

A little piece of heaven..

Last Friday morning DH and I hopped on a Southwest Airlines terror machine plane and went to Amarillo. Then we drove to Spearman. This was DH's birthplace and home for 18+ years, mine for just 7. But it feels like home to both of us. It is also the place I get to see these loved ones. It was a much needed break from the craziness that is city life. While we were there we went out to the old homestead to view the newly installed solar powered water well. Here is the solar part: and here is the well part: and here is the peace part: It restores my soul.
I wanna go back. Soon.

Silver

Where do you hear God most? For me, the kitchen sink. Doesn't quite look like holy ground does it? WE INTERRUPT THIS DISCUSSION TO ISSUE THIS DISCLAIMER. The picture above was taken in the midst of remodeling. No, my backsplash is not lovely sheetrock. Yes, I know the sink is not clean. And now, back to our story. I have had a couple of experiences when I was overwhelmed with God's presence - when I knew He was wanting me to know something about him and me and our relationship. Invariably those times were times I was polishing silver. That's just not an every day occurrence around here. Honesty forces me to admit there is very little in the way of housework that is an every day occurrence. However, I have been forced to polish silver when those pieces were needed for a wedding shower or reception of some kind. Once it was because we "inherited" DH's mother's silver tea set. In his childhood home that silver service was a thing of beauty and it held an honored place in the dining room. After his mom died and his dad remarried that silver tea service was moved to the garage, unloved and unwanted. When it was brought to our home I didn't celebrate it's arrival to be sure. All I saw was a whole bunch of work and an item that didn't fit into our life style. God impressed upon my heart that I was just like that silver. I had been created for beauty and honor and sin had blackened my life. The blood of his Son restores me to the beauty that was intended for me. As I applied the polish I began to see my reflection. That's my desire - that looking at my life you'll see the reflection of the one who polishes me.

Well, I am

completely thoughtless. Not as in, rude, uncaring, arrogant or unlovely. As in WITHOUT. ONE. THOUGHT. WORTH. BLOGGING.ABOUT.

It's a sad testimony to the current state of affairs in my life. Nothing remotely interesting, even to me! The saga of the kitchen remodel is going to go on forever so I don't even want to THINK about that, let alone write about it. (Latest tragedy problem is one of the outlets is dead.) How does one go about fixing that you ask? You rip a big fat hole in the wall - the same wall you spent an entire weekend putting up tile. The thoughts in my head are not pretty at the moment and so you see why I cannot share them.

We are finally having a "normal" summer in the metroplex. This means it is 110 degrees in the shade. It IS mid-August after all, but all that rain and cool weather (trust me, 92 degrees IS cool for summer around here) I have been woefully spoiled. It's too hot to even move outside. Saturday we went out to eat with friends that live at the end of our street. I would not even walk to their house. They came and picked us up in their car. I'd already decided we were driving to their house if they didn't. I do not like to sweat.

Last night (Sunday) darling hubby and I went to the Majestic Theatre in downtown big D and saw "Defending the Caveman". He has an incredible ability to make you laugh uproariously at your own behavior. He nailed the differences between male and female down. Funny, funny stuff. You should definitely check it out. Thomas had gotten these tickets for me for my birthday. He definitely outdid himself - our seats were ON THE FRONT ROW. AND we had valet parking. So Happy Birthday to me all over again!!

There you have it - the comings and goings of the C family. Perhaps my relaying of these events will trigger some writing mania and I'll get beyond the writer's block that is paralyzing me at this time. Until then -- see you!

Step right up and get yours!

She was lifting and pulling at the same time, one foot firmly planted on the floor while the other one was braced against the monstrous device of torture. Just a little more lifting, a little more tugging and the object of her attention would be torn from it's God-intended place of residence.

Yep. It was time for my yearly mammogram. And that was my womanhood she was yanking and lifting and pulling. In all likelihood she was not born in the U.S. Her accent was strong enough that I comprehended very little of what she was saying but I did understand "Now, relax." RELAX??? I was standing in a room wearing nothing from the waist up while a total stranger was holding my breast in her hand. Once she was certain it couldn't be pulled anymore she lowered a large flat plate which commenced to flattening my boob into something resembling a potato pancake. "Hold your breath." This was a totally unnecessary command since all the wind had been knocked out of me shortly after 1500 pounds of pressure had been applied to my chest. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to and besides all that I had blacked out shortly upon seeing that plate lowering toward me.

• In·dig·ni·ty a : an act that offends against a person's dignity or self-respect : INSULT b : humiliating treatment

Of course I am extraordinarily grateful that the technology is there and that I can be reasonably assured all is well each and every year. But hopefully there is a woman somewhere, locked in a laboratory, who is devoting herself day and night to creating something a little less painful.

I'm just saying.

Teens vs. Dogs

REASONS WHY HAVING A DOG IS BETTER NICER EASIER THAN HAVING TEEN AGERS:

1. A dog adores you. All the time. No matter what.
2. A dog never cocks her eyebrow and says "You're wearing that?!!?"
3. A dog never asks for money. She may cost you a great deal of money but she doesn't ask for more in addition.
4. A dog's whereabouts is always known because she is loyally at your side.
5. A dog doesn't leave every light in the house on. All night.
6. A dog does not borrow your clothes, shoes, or makeup never to return it. In the event she does borrow swipe your shoe you don't have to wonder where it is. She is proudly carrying it in her mouth.
7. A dog does not question your sanity, your taste, your authority, your ability to have existed to this point without aid.
8. A dog does not ask for the car keys.
9. A dog does not jump up and down and yell "Party!" when you leave for the evening.
10. A dog is happy to see you when you return.

REASON WHY ALL POINTS ABOVE CAN BE ARGUED IN FAVOR OF THE TEEN-AGER:

A teen-ager (at least I personally have not experienced this) does not ...ahem....leave a deposit on your living room floor while you sleep. Not one, er..deposit. Not two. THREE SEPARATE "SURPRISE GIFTS".

That is the last time she gets human food. Abbey!! Bad girl!

Epiphany

Tonight I was in the car by myself when I believe that God gave me an insight into the heart of the most perfect of parents. It's been a tough spell in my parenting life, filled with a lot more doubt than confidence, tears than joy, and fear than peace. I've had to draw a line in the sand, stand firm and trust that God would give me the strength I needed. It is literally tearing me in two and there isn't a second of the day that I don't want to relent, make an exception or just plain pretend that none of the rebellion exists. As of this minute, I've had the strength to stand but it breaks my heart. Tonight I had my eyes opened to how it must break the heart of my Father when I want something that is contrary to what his will is. When I want something that is not in my best interests but I want it anyway. He says no when it is (of course!) within his power to say yes. I am not so presumptuous as to suggest there is any comparison to my feeble parenting attempts and the Lord's care for me. It was just that in that epiphany as I was hurting so much, I felt him say, "I know, Michelle. I know what you're experiencing." It doesn't ease my sadness any, but it comforts me to know that He knows what I'm going through. I am just so grateful that he lets me know that too.

Brought to you by...

I seldom watch TV infomercials because, well why would I when I can watch the same Flip That House for the 4,372 time? But, on occasion I have been known to get caught up in some Miracle! device, lotion or potion demonstration and for just a second I'm dreaming, "Could it be so?" That thought is usually vanquished 3 seconds after I guiltily think of all the devices, lotions and potions that have resided in my house for a period of time, never quite bringing the promised miraculous results. I'm nothing if not semi-intelligent so am now reasonably skeptical of anything that promises ... well pretty much anything. So I probably would not have tried this product if I hadn't been given a free sample in the grocery store.

Guys and gals, let me tell you, miracles still do happen. This is one new product that is every bit as fabulous as it promises. Run, don't walk to the nearest store and stock up on this divine invention. It will save you hours of soaking and scrubbing the Crock Pot!! Reynolds, you have done mighty fine this time!