Tag Archives: gods girlies

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Occasionally comes a conversation I may wish the next day didn't exist.
Just had lunch with a spunky-hearted friend.  I love seeing her at church on Wednesdays, Sundays and on social media. We pass each other in the hallway by the sanctuary with hearty hellos.  In the Facebook world we give each other the "little blue thumbs up" in agreement with the other's post. We don't, however, agree on everything.
We caught a glimpse of the infamous George Zimmerman trial today while sharing chips and salsa.
Blast!

photo (6)

I told myself I wasn't going to mention it, but I knew immediately I was lying.  It came out something like "I'm going crazy watching this trial".  The response included a request for my thoughts on the case.  I knew I was treading on shaky ground.  The George Zimmerman trial is so emotionally charged.  If you've watched it or read about it for a few minutes, you probably have an opinion. I have, (though I promised myself I wouldn't) read every article written about the case.  I have watched much of the trial live.  I shout at the TV and shake my head in disagreement.  I growl and Google information to prove a reporter's information incomplete or erroneous.

I care so much I tell myself.  I'm passionate and intense.

There are causes and issues that often times steal my heart. 

 Abortion? (I can barely type the word it's so emotionally weighted).

Alcohol abuse-How much alcohol is ok?

Homosexuality-Do people living the lifestyle belong in boy scouts?  Should they be allowed to marry?

Racism/Reverse Discrimination- Does everyone discriminate to an extent?

Child Abuse -What constitutes Child Abuse?  Is it ok to spank your kid?

I read the news. I read the Bible.  And I think.  I consider both sides of an issue, turn it into black and white, and I make my stand.

I find the bottom line; the line that's toed by people who stand for goodness (in my holy opinion). 

It's good to know right from wrong; surely everyone thinks they do.

It's good to know the bottom line.

But behind every bottom line there are people; some on my side and some that aren't.

My facts and figures wound tight in my emotions make that bottom line so large in my vision that the people behind the bottom line become hard to see.

More important than facts I can easily recall from forensic experts in the Zimmerman trial, are the broken families.  Both sides.  Behind the bottom line, you have one family who has lost their son, and one family who fears, no matter the verdict, that their son will, in a sense, be lost too.

Right is right.  And wrong is wrong.  But aren't people who are, in our mind,  wrong, more important than our being right?

If people don't know that we love them, nothing we have to say matters.

23 ........ don’t get involved in foolish, ignorant arguments that only start fights. 24 A servant of the Lord must not quarrel but must be kind to everyone, be able to teach, and be patient with difficult people. 25 Gently instruct those who oppose the truth. Perhaps God will change those people’s hearts, and they will learn the truth. 2 Timothy 2:23-26

"Gently instruct" comes finally after  Don't get involved. Don't quarrel.   Be kind.  Be able to teach. Be patient.

I genuinely love people, but there have been times they have come after the bottom line.

Lord help us to remember that there are people behind the bottom line.  Help us to understand that, really, people are the bottom line.

We pray that our helping people to know you, and trust you, will always be more important than anything we know.

Dedicated to my brother; my favorite person to argue with.

 

 

 

 

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“He found him in a desert land and in the wasteland, a howling wilderness; He encircled him, He instructed him, He kept him as the apple of His eye.” -Deuteronomy 32:10 NKJV

Rylie has a wish and it's no secret wish.  She's shared it in front of her brother and sister rather matter of fact.  She wishes she were an only child.  Surprisingly this wish has not come up when Hayden is taunting her mercilessly.  Nor has she mentioned wanting to be an only child when she and Hallie are arguing about a towel left in the bathroom floor or whose turn it is to watch a show on TV.  So reason leads me to believe that her feelings about her siblings have nothing to do with her desire to be "the only one".photo (5)

She's so fun to play with that I often find myself doing just that; playing into her delusions .  Not long ago Hayden and Hallie were gone with friends for the night so Jason and I pretended that she was it; our only child.  If the name Hayden was mentioned Jason responded "Who's Hayden"?  Last Thursday I woke her up early for an "only child" date.  Riding in the car there was no waiting for Hallie to finish talking; Rylie had the floor.  It was just us two.

Jason and I periodically take one of the kids out on a date for some one-on-one time.  "Only Child" dates have become important in a family where you forget what you were going to say before it's your turn to talk or you may even speak without being heard.

I'm good with having 'brother and sister' time.

I'm an obvious fan of corporate worship. I love listening to that preacher man. And I couldn't do without the Sunday morning greeting-time or the post-worship catch-up time with church friends. I'm in awe of the reverence and intimacy felt in a room where hundreds of heads are bowed in silence one moment and then voices swell the next, in sweet harmony.

I have a special group of friends that I instantly text when I need prayer help, which is often.  I adore my Mom's In Touch group and there's nothing like Bible Study on Sunday mornings and weekday evenings.  I love that God is present in the sanctuary and in group texts.  I'm happy God's in my group.  I'm glad He's God of the multitude.

But He knows when, like Rylie, I'm a needy child.  There can be ninety-nine other  'sheep' and yet it's as if I'm the only one.  He's ever ready for some Him and me time; no being penciled in on the calendar.  He's never in a hurry and His attention is undivided.

We go on "only child" dates and have moments where I'm the only one- and He's the only one too.

He walks with me

(I'm found; encircled)

and He talks with me

(He instructs me)

and He tells me I am His own

(and I am kept)

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

(I am the apple of his eye)

-In the Garden

Time with God isn't always meant to be shared.

I'm thinking Rylie is on to something.

 

 

 

 

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I've had a banner morning.  I only had two mismatched socks in my folded laundry pile.  That never happens.  I normally have a handful of socks that go to the Island of Mismatch Socks, a basket in the laundry room.  I collect them I guess.  I let them mount up; kind of like my registry of troubles and my thoughts of unattainable dreams.

Considering all of the nice-fitting, fresh-smelling sock pairs we have in my family you'd think I wouldn't worry about the pairs we don't have.  Sure there are long-lost socks under beds and in the small crevice that divides the washer from the dryer.  But why worry when we have enough socks for today?  We've never had a day when we didn't have socks to wear.  There have been days I've squeezed my toes into Rylie's psychedelic zebra-stripe  socks.  Other days I've watched as the girls have made their way down our sidewalk to the car wearing two different socks. Does it matter?  Despite the ones we're missing, we'll always have socks.  I'm certain of it.photo (4)

Worry for people consumes me. How will she make it alone? Does he know that God loves him? Will she ever be able to get past her fear?

Small trouble of my own mounts up.  I mentioned in another post, my fluff problem.  Then there's the well-being of my kids that troubles my heart.  Will they be successful next school year? Will they find good spouses, be good spouses?

And my unattainable dreams?  I want long hair, not short. But there's the knowledge that it wouldn't be silky like the hair in Pantene commercials.  I have a dream of getting new couches; ones that don't expose the white fluff that pokes from the seams.  The new couches would have cushions that you don't have to shove back in with your knees every time you walk by.  Couches and long hair? I realize I dream small, but I dream; a lot.

I spend my life buried in the basket of missing socks. I'm covered with random worries and stuck in my thoughts of what I don't have.

I've hardly anything missing from life.

I have friends with real trouble.  I know people in real pain.  How can I help them while stuck in the bin of lost socks and unrealized dreams?

Worrying and wanting are weaknesses to be shed.

Be strong in the Lord.....with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. -Ephesians 6:10,15

The gospel of peace.  I want to wear it.

Always be ready to give answer to everyone who asks you for the reason for the hope that you have. 1 Peter 3:15

Wearing the gospel of peace requires "I get over myself". It requires me knowing my Hope.  I need to know more of He who gives it.  I need him to teach me what really matters.  It's time to stop focusing on missing socks; I have more than plenty.

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Beginning a Journey to Fitness and Health

Kristi: I'm hurting.  My shoulders, my glutes (can't be how you spell it) and my legs are begging me to take a stationary vacation in our big brown chair.  Jason had the brilliant idea of checking out Exygon last night.  We're at the point where we can no longer ignore the fluffy factor.

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Jason: I remembered yesterday that I am allergic to physical activity.  I got on a stationary bike , and immediately I began to perspire.  This cannot be natural.  After a vigorous 5 or 6 minute stint my legs were aching and my pulse was elevated.  The part about my legs aching can be invalidated on the basis that pain is subjective, but the heart rate was being measured. The screen on the bike actually gave me a warning that my heart rate was too high.  I agreed.

I walked into the gym with lots of resolve and enthusiasm about getting healthy, and looking good, and living longer, but as I laboriously burned the calories on the bike I started to wonder why I had come into this tortuous place.

K: And the mirrors.  Would somebody explain to me how the wall to wall twelve foot mirrors are supposed to be a draw?  There's only one thing worse than staring at an underperforming, dripping wet with perspiration- while wearing ill-fitting work-out clothes, version of myself.   -That would be that same image displayed in every cardinal direction.

J: I think that's just the problem.  We've been looking at our selves too long and saying, "We have to do something about this!"  It's easy to say, but hard to do.

I think there has been a motivation deficit.  I find myself on a motivational high in the evenings.  I've always been an evening person when it comes to creative thoughts, making plans and resolving to do great things. The problem is, I can't find the same resolve when my alarm clock goes off in the morning.

The activity I'm best at early in the morning is hitting the snooze button on the alarm without opening my eyes.  I don't think there is an Olympic event for that yet, but when there is, I'll represent our country with pride.

So here's what I'm working on:  How do you transfer the resolve and enthusiasm for the good you want to do, into the time that you have for doing it?

K: ..............Four minutes have passed.........six minutes...........I'm not sure where to go with this. My bigger question is what do you do when your enthusiasm lies in a good book or in a cone with Dutch chocolate ice cream on top; NOT in exercise? Do I want to exercise, or are my pants telling me I need to?

Mornings are my productive time.  I get more done from 7:00 -10:00 AM than I do the rest of the day combined, but saying I do it enthusiastically would be a lie.  I robotically pick up the strewn couch pillows from the floor as do I make my way to the garage to let Griffin out.  I return to the kitchen at approximately the same time every morning to clear the counter of any remnants from last night's kitchen visitors. I unload the dishwasher and take out the trash.  These things are more completed by habit than by passion or energy.  Are my automated steps determined by a deep desire to clean the kitchen or to see it clean? Do I like picking up pillows (for the umpteenth time by Tuesday morning) or do I like walking through a room with things in their place? In my house cleaning, I've got habit and a desired outcome, and it works.

The greatest success, I'm thinking, comes from having at least two of three of the following

*Passion/Enthusiasm

*Repeated effort/try-try again/habit

*A goal or desired outcome in mind, or a point of reference to move away from (like love-handles)

I've got one of three ingredients for physical transformation. I'm thinking I found a goal yesterday.  I'd like to look a little better in at least one of the mirrors at Exygon.

photo (3)J: I think I'm on board with that.  We'll see where this takes us.  Two are better than one.  Maybe I can stick with a good routine for more than 2 weeks if I have someone in the routine with me.  Maybe, I too, will like what I see in the mirror better.  A shared passion and a common goal might be just the key I've been looking for to get into those good habits we've been talking about.

An Exercise Prayer:

Hear {our} prayer for mercy as {we} call to you for help, as {we} lift up our hands toward your Most Holy Place. Psalm 28:2

 

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I had no intention of writing today, but I can hardly help myself.

This is Hayden's second week of working for his grandpa.  His first week consisted of a country boy's welcome; I'm talking chigger-eaten ankles, rattlesnakes (plural) and a one-hundred plus degree sun.  I was starting to feel sorry for him.  Just last night I'd sent him a text asking him for some ideas of things to send him in a care package.

The graph pictured below is the text I get back.  Some thanks. Of course he meant it in jest.... I think.

graph

But It's true.  Moms are scary, and not just when they're angry.

We don't mean to be.  We have a God-given responsibility; and one of the most precious privileges. We take Momhood seriously; so serious, it's scary.

A Guide to Understanding Mom's Scariness:

We're scary because we're tired. With yesterday's smudgy makeup, and our hair every-which way, we may still be wearing the same pink athletic shorts we were wearing the day before-We're zombies on our toes. "Got. to. keep. going."  And that's just our scary outside.

Some of us are not physically over thirty-two hours of labor, the hundreds-maybe thousands of diapers we changed, or carrying you when you weighed forty some-odd pounds because we knew you were a little tornado destroying anything in your path (like the row of flowering plants at HEB).

We don't cry over spilled milk.  But we may shed crazy tears when someone spills milk all over the counter, down the cabinet and on the floor leaving it to dry and crust....AND no one knows who spilled it.

We may snap at you after we've folded the one-hundred and forty-ninth piece of laundry- when you throw your dirty socks in the floor ( or if you come bounding down the stairs in your fourth shirt of the day). Fatigue makes it difficult to find our "sweet voice".

children

We scare you because we're unpredictable. Just when you think you have us figured out, you'll find that you don't.   That same ill-fitting shirt with the tiny bleach stain you've worn repeatedly suddenly becomes unacceptable to us. We'll seem out-of-control over something small like an unflushed toilet or your light being left on.

We'll act shocked at the amount of junk under your bed though we knew good and well the stuff was there for months.

We'll let you do something you didn't expect, like stomp a mud puddle.  We may suggest you scream collectively in the car.

We may refuse to bring the homework you left on the table to school even though we've brought it six times before.

We'll hug you when you deserve to be grounded for life.

Note: In our undying attempt to mother you properly, hormones make us even more "Jeckyl and Hyde".  Sometimes they're to blame for our for our happy to hostile, in zero seconds.

We're scary because we're scared. We're afraid that the things we say won't stick so we sound off over and over like Rain Man; we rattle off lists of "do's and don'ts" making sure you won't forget.

Things like toothpicks, anything with wheels that you're steering and grapes the size of your windpipe present themselves as potential dangers- as do members of the opposite sex your age.  So we intervene, sometimes prematurely, sometimes violently, in order to keep you safe.

We're complex creatures with a simple heart; a heart that cherishes you. Some things we're figuring out slowly.  Some things we won't figure out.  In the scary mystery of mother, there's one thing that tops the list of things we hope you know. Behind the gripes and beyond the advice we hope you know that we love you madly.  Right underneath the tirade and long talkings to- remains a heart of mush for you.

A note about the graph: The graph pictured above is gracious.  It lists the scariest things in the world as being monsters, crazy people, natural disasters and my mom when she's angry.  I represent all in the list with the exception of natural disasters.

 

 

 

 

 

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I have a pair of jeans in my closet that I avoid. They're probably collecting dust jeansby now from neglect.

It's not that I don't like them. They're my favorite. We're meant to be together.

But as time passes they ask more of me.  The moment I walk into my closet they speak.

Reasons I Ignore my Blue Jeans

My jeans measure me. They always do. I picked out those jeans initially because they made me look good.  And they were comfortable.  But as I grow, they point out what they need to.

They encourage me to work out. I have a way of convincing myself that I have better things to do than work out.  I'm a busy girl.  But when I so much as look at those jeans on the hanger,  they remind me that I'd be better off with exercise.  "How you look is not important," they say.  "You'll be healthier."

They remind me that I should be watching my intake. Occasionally I give in to their invitation to spend time together.  Instead of just allowing our time together to be pleasant, they whisper stirring words.  They make me uncomfortable, calling to my mind my reliance on unhealthy things.    

Much like the word of God, time spent intimately with my jeans reveals just where I need to be.

Though I'm not, my jeans are faithful; unchanging. They don't change sizes to please or fit me.

They're carefully crafted.

They sit in my closet ready to speak a word.

Always wanting to be with me.

I may ignore them often, but I know they speak the truth.

And I know the words they speak aren't formed for judgement, but for my bettering.

They are FOR ME.

I know that if I give them my time, their life-filled words will inspire me.  They will urge me to change, and call me to commitment. It will take work, and time, and parts of the old me will melt away.  Before I know it I'll be spending more and more time with my jeans, and less time with that I once loved.

These are the real reasons I ignore my jeans.  But oh how I want to fit into them.

 2 Timothy 3:16

All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness

The Bible will keep you from sin, or sin will keep you from the Bible. -Dwight L Moody

 

 

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It doesn't feel like a blessed day.  Surely your heart is heavy for the devastation in Moore, Oklahoma.  That's why I felt strange singing "Hosanna" as it played on Pandora this morning while I put on my makeup.  It's a "lifting up" kind of song and doesn't match my emotions this cloudy morning.hosanna

Hosanna reminds me of celebration.  Matthew 21, verse 9 tells us that upon Jesus' arrival to Jerusalem, the people spread their cloaks on the road while others laid palm branches on the road.  They shouted,

Hosanna to the son of David!

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

Hosanna in the highest!

They were glad he was there.  While celebratory in nature, I think these words carry deeper meaning.  My study Bible tells me that their words were both praise and prayer.  The origin of the word Hosanna, means rescue, save. Like us, they were in dire need of a Savior.

Even though they didn't grip the magnitude of this man's presence, the long waited for Savior was in their midst.  I love it, that the same words "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord," were also spoken in the Old Testament in the time they were waiting for a Savior.  Those words are found in Psalm 118:26.  They come right after v.25 which is a prayer

O LORD save us

Today is a Hosanna kind of day.  God be praised like every other day.  But as we shout Hosanna or whisper the prayer through hurt and confusion, may we remember that He is our rescue, our hope.  And though life brings us circumstances far from what any of us dare to imagine, He has saved us.  He is saving us.

Today we live in the Old and New Testament sense of the word Hosanna.  He is our hope, our prayer.... and our hope to come.

Pray for the hurting.  Pray for the lost.

Pray that they would be wrapped in the light that has overcome the darkness.

My favorite lines from Hosanna by Hillsong:

 Break my heart from what breaks Yours

Everything I am for Your kingdom's cause

As I walk from nothing to eternity

May we be so faithful.

Listen to Hosanna by Hillsong http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXCoHxX1OC8

 

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10.  Thank you for the all of the clothes and uniforms that you sewed.  The Snow White outfit you made for me my seventh grade year was crazy good. It should have won the costume contest.me and mom

9.  I'm glad you said no to my wearing boyish shirts in High School when they were in style.  I already lacked a figure.  And I'm sure I would only have come back later to say "Why did you let me dress that way?"....... So thanks.

At the same time, thanks for letting me sport the ridiculous "high hair" of the nineties and for all of the money you spent on aerosol hair spray.  I was good at that hair.  And I'm at a place in life now where I can look back at pictures and have a much-needed giggle.

 8. Thanks for that magnification light-up mirror you surprised me with one afternoon after school.  Maybe if I would have used it more I would have seen how unappreciative I was.

7.  Remember the time you made me close every cabinet door and drawer in the entire kitchen because I was constantly leaving them open? I have two things to say about that:  #1. I'm glad no one turned you in for child abuse. #2. You should be glad to know that your harsh punishment was effective.  Emotional scarring has lead to consistent door closing.

6.  I have your scary face when one of the kids has pushed me too far. I suspect Vicki and Jennifer have it too.  The scary face gene is strong.

5.  Making chocolate chip cookies for just about every occasion, or no occasion at all is one of the traditions I'm proud to be carrying on. I hope my kids think they're as special as I thought they were.  They melted many bad days away.

4.  I'm sorry for crying and hiding on the floor board (at an embarrassingly old age) when I got that kinky perm.  Sorry too, for right thereafter, refusing to get out of the car to go into Koffee Kup and eat.

3.  Thanks for being my GA leader and for always having me at church.  Thanks for attending countless basketball games and track meets. Thanks for continuing the shopping trips when there was disagreement on apparel choices and forgotten thank you's.  Thank you that you taught me to say I'm sorry, but that forgiveness wasn't dependent upon it.

2. You know that time you let me go to the lake with Paula?  I got in the water even though you told me not to.

1 1/2.  Thanks for ceasing the communication between me and the boy with the orange stripe in his hair and the boy from Walnut Springs who wrote me the provocative love letter.  They probably weren't good choices.

1. You were right.

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I practice hypocrisy on a regular basis.  There I've said it.

The definition of hypocrisy according to Merriam-Webster is -

2. a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs

(I'm sending Merriam-Webster a picture of myself in case they want to illustrate the word.)

My posts have enlightened me to this "Hypocrite Syndrome" that I have.  It's usually right before I hit the publish button that I look no further than the title and see that I'm spouting off words, that in actuality, I'm not good at believing myself. I'm stating beliefs that aren't followed.

I wrote "Hold on to Your Reason to Smile" while grimacing.

hyp

"How (Not) to be a Friend" was written by me and addressed to me at the same time.

It's an absolute joke that I wrote "Say Yes to the Mess" because I'm not sure I've ever willingly done that.

Still, I believe what I write though I act in direct opposition.

I'm reminded of a miracle in Mark where a man had brought his son who was possessed by an evil spirit.  The man said to Jesus,

  But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”

23 “‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.”

24 Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” Mark 9:22b-24

I get this guy.

He went to Jesus.  He asked for his help, his belief wavering.  He both believes and he doesn't.  Yet his contradiction is true.

Most of my posts are pleas for help.  I know I should say "yes to the mess" sometimes.  I know that spending time with the kids is more important than my house being spotless.  I believe that.  Sometimes I'll believe it while I'm scrambling to clean the very mess I know to be ok.

Other times I pretend that the Poptart crumbs and socks on the floor are perfectly fine while I'm violently shaking my head "no" on the inside. I'm acting in contradiction to my beliefs.  I'm feeling it's not ok to my core. God knows my  "shaking -no" on the inside doesn't match my pretending to play it cool.

I know I should love my neighbor as myself.  I believe it.  Just because I don't act it, doesn't mean I don't believe it.

I know God can heal all hurts.  I don't believe.  And I believe without power. I'm weak and fallen and I can't do it on my own.

So I'll continue to write and not follow through with what I say.

I'll say I believe and then I'll act like I don't.

I'll even say I believe, then act like I do, but my heart's meditation will be like that father's as it wrestles within me.

And all the while, I'll be pleading with my Savior to"help me overcome my disbelief".

I'll be thankful for his power, and for his mercy in accepting a hypocrite like me.

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spoon hay

And as a slotted spoon liver, be mindful that you're placed in the hand of a mighty God who helps you know that which is worth holding on to and what needs to be let go.

He says:

fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous hand.  Isaiah 41:10

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Ephesians 4:31

And my favorite- The Whatever verse

Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Praying your day's focus is not on trash, but treasure.