Everyday Heroes

“Everyday heroes don’t let life’s challenges bring them down. Instead, they stay positive and find a way to overcome their obstacles. Everyday heroes don’t always succeed, but they consistently act on the belief that they can do something to improve their situations and those of the people around them.”  

Noah Blumenthal

My husband sent me this quote many, many months ago.  I saved it in my email inbox and find myself opening it – a lot.  For one, it is a great source of encouragement.  My husband considers me a hero – AMAZING.  I don’t feel like a hero.  I feel like someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, who can’t always keep her mouth shut and most recently, like someone who puts milk in the pantry because her ADD is out of control.

Now, I am opening it to be reminded of all of those everyday heroes that have changed my life.  The heroes that wanted to improve my situation.  I have a childhood riddled with people who improved my life – investors.

Marilyn Bowers was one of those investors.  She lived across the street and her daughter was my very best friend.  She took me in as one of her own, thrown in with three great kids.  She introduced me to the concept of a Saturday night date with the family that involved grocery shopping and ice cream after.  Her laughter was contagious.  Her influence is seen in my home today.  My daughter is reaping the benefits of my time as a Bowers family member.  Eden had no idea in October when our family danced around the house to the “Monster Mash” it was because Marilyn made it a tradition.  What a gift.

I also had the gift of a coach, Harold, that was willing to work with me night after night to be a ballplayer that averaged thirty-two points a game as a fifth grade basketball player.  His investment as an everyday hero changed my mindset.  I gained confidence in myself and my abilities.  I never lost that confidence.

I could blog for a year and still not cover all of the everyday heroes that have crossed my path and changed my life.  Everyday heroes are better than superheroes – they are real people doing real things.  And I thank God for all of them.

Blind Spot

"More and more people are buying bigger and bigger,...and the bigger the vehicle, the bigger the blind spot." - Consumer Reports


I think we are living bigger and bigger lives.  Relationships are at an all-time high.  Facebook, Twitter, cell phones - we can communicate all day long if we want to.  


But what are we saying?  Are we using our voice to edify or lift up each other or are we using our voice to hurt people?  Or, like me, do we speak without realizing we might have a blind spot in our communication?


Think about it.  Think about your emails, think about your blogs, think about what your saying and how it might be interpreted by the reader.  


I know I have a serious blind spot.  I know I speak from a candid, transparent heart.  Most of the time I am describing a journey or an event - typically I describe moments, but seldom have I stopped to think of the inference that might go along with my interpretation.  


"More and more people are talking bigger and bigger,...and the bigger the voice, the bigger the blind spot." -Monica Epperson

the CHURCH

“The single greatest cause of atheism in the world today is Christians, who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.” – Brennan Manning

If the above quote rings true for you, I am so very sorry.  I have had the opposite experience.  Actually, so opposite that my quote would say, “the most believable evidence of God is found in His earthly hands and feet – His children.”

I have a Christian family.  Some call them a LifeGroup, or a CareGroup – whatever, it doesn’t matter.  What matters is the connection.  Living your life with people who respond and react as your family.  In this respect, I come from a huge family.

Part of that family was over on Saturday night, September 24th.  Typically that is a rough date for me, my dad’s birthday.  He would have been sixty-one years old this year.  But it wasn’t rough this year because this year was John’s 40th birthday (our fearless leader these days.)

Many times throughout the night I scanned the room with such love and appreciation. Women who have blessed me with always showing up.  Men who have rallied around each other through some tough circumstances.  And my favorite, kids who are growing up with each other and surrounded by adults who love them and accept them even as they are jumping off sofas and smearing sticky fingers all over the glass.

We are not a perfect group.  We have unruly children at times and might not always glorify God with all of our words, but we understand love.  We understand what it means to be patient, kind, long-suffering, and most assuredly – not keeping a record of each other’s wrongs.

So, this morning as I am finding beads, feathers and half-eaten candy wrappers – I am reminded of this incredible gift I have been given, love and family.

Our babies, now self-proclaimed “big kids” will have all these memories of homes filled with love and happiness and hopefully, Lord willing, when they hear a quote about Christians being a cause of atheism, they will give the same disconnected stare I have given such quotes….hugh??

Picture Book Review by Lia Constanda

A Heart with Two Homes by Monica Epperson

Reviewed by Lia Constanda

The writer of “A Heart with Two Homes”, Monica Epperson is the CEO and co-founder of the organization “The child of divorce, Inc” (formerly known as “Blended Love, Inc.”)  along with her husband Dr. Brian Epperson. They are both educators.

Published in 2008, “A Heart with Two Homes” generated a lot of discussion amongst professionals working with children who acknowledged the need for resources for the growing numbers of children of divorce. Responding to this Monica founded “The child of divorce, Inc”, a nonprofit making organization, which she funded   from donating the royalties from her book.  Helping children of divorce is the mission of the organization.  “A Heart with Two Homes” is its first work that later led to forming a committee charged with writing research based curriculum for students and teachers.

The book is about a little girl called Elizabeth, whose parents divorced when she was 8 yrs old. She continued to live with mom and had regular visits with dad. In both environments she assumed a different persona. When with mom, she was a little girl, enjoyed dancing and did girly things, to please mom. When with dad, she was a little tomboy, played sports and did boyish things, to please dad. As time went on she found it difficult to define her true self.  She was confused: was she Lizzie, as mom called her, or was she Beth, as dad called her.

Eventually Elizabeth discovers with the help of a school guest speaker the benefit of writing therapy and later the benefit of sharing and talking openly about her feelings to friends and family. These processes help her confront her parents about their lack of communication as far as she was concerned. The book ends on a positive note, as the parents through their actions acknowledge their mistakes thus helping Elizabeth to find her true identity as a whole person and not as the two halves of one.

The book identifies some of the problems created by parents in divorce cases, such as a child’s emotional turmoil, confusion, insecurity, isolation, lack of trust, unresolved conflict, to name but some. 

The book also offers options for the children of divorce on addressing their concerns about their feelings. The idea of a private Journal, where they could confide their most inner thoughts and feelings is eminently suited to those situations.  It is a well known fact that one of the merits of writing is to help clarify thoughts. As the famous French writer Gustave Flaubert once said:"The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe." The idea of using a journal helped the little girl in this case to cope positively with change once she identified her true concerns and discovered what she really believed about herself.

The Scar

For most of my life I have been incredibly protective and discreet about a scar I have on my upper right leg.  It marks a childhood cancer scare and a week in our city’s pink palace, a hospital.  Most of my friends are not even aware of this scar, even those I have spent time with on the beach or in pools.  I have hidden it, cleverly, most of my life – until now.

Last week, my daughter had one of those days that all of us moms dread when we have a girl – the day that other girls hurt them.  We all know these days are coming.  The minute the doctor says, “It’s a girl.” A flash of the sharpest-tongue, meanest-spirited junior high girl you’ve ever known pops in your head.  OH,NO!

So, when Eden told me her sad tale of rejection, I was semi-prepared.  What I wasn’t prepared for was her long pause and decision to withhold any more information about her insecurities until she was confident that I had once visited this emotional place myself.

She glared deeply into my eyes and asked, “Mom, have you ever been left out?”

At that moment I could honestly see that all she has ever known is two very outgoing parents that typically plan the party and persuade the wall flowers that the middle of the room is safe.

“Yes,” not even realizing that I was about to reveal to her my most hidden secret.

“When I was in second grade I had to go to a lot of doctor visits.  At one of the visits I was told that I would be having a surgery because I had something on my leg that could cause me to get really sick.”  I said wondering if she would even care.

“What happened?” she leaned in wanting to know all of the details.

“Well, they scheduled the surgery for the last day of school before the Christmas break so that I wouldn’t miss a lot of school.  But, what they didn’t know about that day is that it was the day of the big Christmas musical and that all of the second grade kids would be a part of this musical except for me.  So, each and every practice for the three weeks leading up to that day, I sat along the gym wall alone.  I would watch my friends laugh and sing and whisper while on stage together and sometimes they would whisper and point at me.” I said shocked I still remembered.

“How did that make you feel, Mom?”

“Truly left out and like I didn’t have any friends for a while.”  I concluded.  “But it didn’t last forever and now I try to pay attention to the people who feel on the outside because I can relate to how they are feeling.  It was a gift.”

And so I immediately recognized that my scar was a tremendous gift.  That silly, insignificant scar on the back of my leg that I have hidden for way too long is actually  now a prized possession marking an experience that I had that won the trust of my baby girl.  Thank you, Lord, for my scar.

How many other scars do I bear that have been masked instead of used?  Or maybe I should say how many gifts do I not give away?

Maybe we should quit asking, “Why me?” and just say, “Thank you for choosing me.”

Man Behind the Curtain

This month I celebrated seventeen years of marriage.

I actually had a complete stranger at a wedding, when told I had just had my anniversary the night before, ask me if I had gotten pregnant.  What a weird thing to ask someone, I scowled of course and said no – but he got me to thinkin’.

Why did I get married at 20?

Oh, yeah, because I knew when I first met Brian that he was going to be that guy that no matter who I married – he would always be there, too.  You know what I mean.  The one that got away.  The first cut is the deepest.  So many songs written out there about this truth.  So, being concerned about the next guy and his feelings I decided to spare him the grief and marry Brian – only fair.

But what I wasn’t privy to back then was that I was actually marrying my God-appointed personal life coach.

The days have slowly passed, but the years have flown.  Each one marked with life experiences together.  And each year, I grow and make positive changes thanks to his investment.

Brian has not only allowed me to live a good, easy life thanks to his provisions, that he will tell you are straight from the Lord blessing his work, but also to explore my faith, my dreams and my roles in life.  Not that he, by any stretch, is easy. He isn’t easy.  Brian is incredibly hard to life with if you are a person who wants to do the minimum to get the maximum.

He is a perpetual life coach.  He believes in pushing the envelope until you are stone cold dead.  His presence alone is convicting if you are coasting.

I fought him for years.

Now, I am incredibly grateful.  This week, and it’s only Wednesday, I have worked through a children’s book deadline, a curriculum deadline, and wrote a talk I am giving in October to over 700 people.  I am not content to sit back when I am capable of giving my best – especially since I have been reminded that this isn’t a dress rehearsal.

Now, more than ever, I understand what Oprah meant when she said, “For everyone of us that succeeds, it’s because there’s somebody there to show you the way out.”

Blessing Mommy

Today was one of THOSE days.  Since I am the writer and you are the reader, just fill in the blank with a bunch of drama and anxiety of your own flavor and add a times ten to it.  Yes, several pats on the chest reassuring myself that this is simply anxiety not a heart attack in my late thirties.

So as I am washing the dishes after dinner relishing in the five seconds standing alone with no deadlines or drama I hear a faint chorus coming from the bedroom, “we’ve got to go bless…Mommy…”

Dancing to the kitchen island with a Macbook in hand appears a working Daddy with a singing Eden.

“We have to bless Mommy with our presence…”  the two continue to sing without any shower to blend their tones.

At this point the song goes completely south including all kinds of bodily functions and then plummets into an ensemble of all of my most embarrassing moments and to top it off they added some human smells to the music.

I am rolling – a full snort adds to their noise.

Ironically enough, although the two of them took away my quiet moment, ambushed me with insults and terrible songs – they blessed me.

My heart quit palpitating.  I laughed.

All is well in the world again.

Concluding a Chapter

Change has been such a constant in my life, like most of you I am sure.  Just about the time I think I have perfected my schedule, relationships and so on – well, they change.  Most of the time with plenty of warning yet still so unexpectedly.

I am a wimp to change.  My reaction nine times out of ten is the same one I had as a seven-year old girl.  I cry a little at first, then pull some crazy sour grapes rationale out of the air until I end on some Pollyanna, nonsensical mantra that I pour out to everyone in hopes that one day I will believe it.

I think this time I am going to pull up my big girl pants and attempt a new philosophy, “I am concluding a chapter.”

We all have concluded many chapters.  Lost loved ones, changed jobs, broke up with the opposite sex – whatever, doesn’t matter what the content is the feeling is usually the same. We can stop and reflect, pull out the memories we want to save, pull out the memories that require forgiveness, and pull up to the bar or pew in conversation.

The chapter I am finishing has been a beautiful chapter about people, programs and a building – a church.

As a newly married couple, my husband and I found ourselves on the back row of a church quietly easing into the body one conversation at a time.

Over the years, each sermon hit closer to home.  Some sermons and relationships actually caused our course to change.

People, being woven into our lives, became our friends – brothers and sisters in Christ and in life.

Each year holding memories that are burned in my heart and soul forever.  Memories of being the first-ever Kindergarten teacher at the preschool.  Memories of studies upstairs, coffee talks downstairs, updates on loved ones in the halls – memories made all over the building.

Watching our friends marry one another.

Two funerals, burying both dads and celebrating each of their lives in the same chapel surrounded by love, service and most importantly – my friends.

I could write a whole, lengthy chapter of all of the shaping, molding and imitating of wonderful people in that building, but I won’t because most blog readers like it quick and swift with a point.

Well, the point is this:  Wherever you are in your life, whatever you may be concluding – finish well and read it until the full chapter is finished.  Then, and only then, can you look back with gratitude for the characters, and appreciation for the wisdom gained, and hopefully – laughs and lots of ‘em.

Family Traditions

When I was younger, I was enamored by family traditions.

My Mom’s side of the family always had a wonderful Thanksgiving tradition.  The kids (me and my cousins) all played together while the big people put all of the dishes in some kind of order to make walking through with your plate a bit easier for everyone.  My goodness, we must have had over fifty people every year.  Some years that line was at our house, or my Grandma Shirley’s house and then finally to end up at my Aunt Novella’s house where it remains today.

I wouldn’t trade a single Thanksgiving Day for all of the money in the world.  My cousin, Jeanean, was one of those cousins I played with, looked up to and shared that tradition with back then.  She is no longer with us, but there hasn’t been a Thanksgiving since that I haven’t shared a memory of her and our times playing in the yard or listening to music.

Traditions, I have decided now, are created by adults who understand this concept of making memories.  Adults who know that each day is a gift and that time is flying by so it is important to reserve the time for those you love.  Those you want to always say, “remember when…”

Eden’s Nana understands this concept.  Since I joined the family as Brian’s girlfriend at eighteen, she has always hosted a Sunday dinner.  A spot on all of our calendars to come together and enjoy her infamous cooking.

Brian and I even drove home from college each weekend to keep the tradition of the Sunday dinner.  Obviously, no one had to twist our arm, we were broke and happy to get an incredible meal for free.  We also found ourselves loving the game of Scrabble with his parents.

Over the years that tradition alone kept our family close.  Megan, Brian’s sister, graduated from college herself and began a career.  As her schedule has become even more demanding and her life crazier than I can remember, she still tries to keep the ancient tradition of Sunday dinner – thus keeping our Daddy’s girl in our lives.

We have had seasons of busyness for all of us.  Yet, the perpetual date of Sunday dinner remains on all of our calendars.

This year, I have decided to quit being enamored with traditions and start creating them.  To start thinking about ways to set dates on the calendar to say, “I care about making memories with you.”

Because I do.  Money has never lured my affection, but people caring to make memories with me will get me every time.

I Heart Ree Drummond

I am sure that Ree Drummond has entered most of your homes, blog readers, through your stomaches.  She has posted incredible recipes that have real substance for you to feed your families.  Or maybe she entered your home through her fabulous photography of the range.  Either way, I am sure you’ve had privy to her adorable antics long before I entered the ranch and met the infamous, Pioneer Woman.

She entered my world, through my heart.  I just finished reading her book.  Her love story, told through the purest voice of transparency, reminded me of the beauty of falling in-love with a man.

As I tucked my daughter in bed and clutched the book as if it were an animal that might get away, I found myself getting lost in her story.  Following her journey through self-discovery and flashing lights, I was reminded of the young, naive girl I was when I met my man.

She met Marlboro Man.  I met Vanilla Ice.

She dated a man on his ranch.  I dated a man in his car most of the time.

She found herself creating a lot of embarrassing moments.  I am unfortunately no different on this one.

She fell in-love when she already had other plans.  I fell in-love and couldn’t even remember my previous plans.

I had never planned on reading her book.  I don’t read books about love and romance.  I read practical books with statistics and human behavior as it pertains to death and divorce.  (No, I am not a Debbie Downer, just my book club meets at Laureate.)

So, how I ended up glued to her book and forfeiting sleep to get through it, I will never know.

But I do know that I would not take back one page, because each page brought back the memories of nineteen years ago – memories of dating my true love.  Memories that made me laugh, turn red, and lust all over again.

I can now only say – thank you, Nana, for forcing me to take the book home and thank you, Russ, for suggesting I follow her blog so many years earlier.  Now, of course, I wish I had.

I Heart Ree Drummond. http://thepioneerwoman.com/

 

Are You My Mother?

Not too long ago, I found myself visiting with an old friend from an era that felt like forever ago, yet seemed unresolved. As we talked about old times I started to see those old times from an adult perspective.  Some of those were really rough old times.

My memory took me back to my first year of college and the misfit feeling of being the only one of my friends from a divorced home.  Whispers.  ”Bless her heart…”  I could only fit into these families at the expense of myself.  At the time, I was willing to spend it all.

This wasn’t the only time I found myself being punished for being lost.  I could rattle off many, many more stories of searching for my perfect fit.  Enough so, that as I was reflecting my heart came to a stand still.  I was completely taken back by the drastic difference of the traveling girl I once was to the solid woman I am today.  When did I change so dramatically?

“Fix me.”  At some point, I requested from God.

His reply came with a visual of a picture book, not surprising considering I love them so very much.

A picture book that illustrates perfectly the relationship I have always had with Him.

A baby chick hatches looking for his mother.  As you turn each page, you see the chick asking things and people who don’t resemble him in the least – simply, “are you my mother?”

The things and people tell the chick exactly why they could not possibly be related, leaving the chick as a misfit with each turn of the page.

As the pages turn, the isolation and obvious differences sadden the chick.  As the reader, you cannot help but want to rewrite the story and make some of these things and people want to adopt the chick and embrace the similarities, but you can’t cause you are not the author.

But a greater relief is to come – see, at the end of the book the chick is scooped up and loved by a beautiful creature that looks just like him.  A mother that went away for food to feed her young one.  A mother that always had a plan.

I found my resolve the day my Father revealed Himself to me.  That day I realized my real family tree – and the book shut.

Beautiful Ballerina

I have truly been in the right place at the right time, several times, but lately not as wonderfully right as I sat today at Theatre Arts.
The studio today was filled with spectators for five, little ballerinas having their very first ballet class.
One of those babies, Lauren, had no idea that this class had been created especially for her and her grandma to have an unrepeatable moment.
As she picked out her sweetly, perfect ensemble with her mom and grandma just days before, she did not know it was a "bucket list" line item on her grandma's list.
Lauren's grandma has terminal cancer.  Lauren's mommy knows all too well how limited  her mom's time really is because Lauren's mommy was the Oncologist PA that took of my dad in his last days.
The moment made memories created on video.  I know because I took the video.
I stood in the corner watching the happy tears of a grandma watching her sweetie pie twirl and laugh. The room was filled with love and appreciation for life and new experiences and the profound reminder of the brevity of it.
A theatre school, friends bringing their children and a dance teacher that was fit for the job - all came together to create a memory.  A memory for one of the most beautiful ballerinas you will ever meet.  A memory this tiny beauty will value as the woman she will one day become - a memory with her cherished grandma enjoying her first dance.

Bigger than Washington

I had the honor of attending an evening at Oklahoma Weslyan in Bartlesville last night.  The dinner included an evening with Gov. Frank Keating titled, "Crisis Leadership."  Powerful topic, even more powerful was the prelude by Dr. Everett Piper where he clearly and poetically declared the mission of the University - a quest for absolute truth and the integrity to live out the findings.
So, as I am sitting there intrigued by the paths that led the woman and men around me to their careers, I realize that we've all had to address "crisis leadership."  Crisis, bad times, they come to all of us.  What a gift.  Sure, you are thinking - what????  But seriously, think about it.  The gift is the equal playing field and the reminder of the Coach.  Humans, no matter what title, all have a time of crisis.  Most of us have a time in our life that we have a visual so tattooed in our noggin that we can resurrect it at will and become watery-eyed over it.  Moments that are bigger than us.  Moments that are bigger than words.  Moments that we can only cry.
Last night, Mr. Keating had a moment like that.  Despite the honorable introduction, the long list of accomplishments, the name dropping, the rhetoric of political agenda - despite it all - even he had to stop mid-sentence as he was recalling seeing a soldier's dress blues and shiny shoe under the rubble of the Oklahoma City bombing.  That moment - was even now, over a decade later, bigger than him.  As his eyes teared and his chin quivered, I thought, "praise God."  I praise Him because He has created an emotion to remind us all that He is bigger than us and that even the brightest and best of humankind still hold no candle to the steadiness through a crisis that He keeps lit.
We are told that there are no tears in Heaven.  I believe that.  He does not need them because He is huge.  It all makes sense to Him.  But thank goodness we have tears here.  They are our reminder that even the most polished man still has moments that are bigger than him.
God Bless America.

Intentional

Women can get lost.
I have found it incredibly challenging to balance my life. I desire to be all things to all people especially those I share a roof with over our heads. I have always seemed to do it at my own expense. So, I get lost.
In my maze of discontent, I rear up and fight the ghost of achievement and lose yet again.
Stacking all the duties and descriptions defined by women writers, I find myself slowly slipping a heavy noose around my neck until I am dangling - feet kicking - then limp. A wet noodle of no value to anyone.
Over the years this cycle of the Proverbs 31 wife battling the Susan B. Anthony has become all too often and all too familiar. Stopping this cycle takes real intention, real understanding of the core that drives it.
So, for me, I have found a simple mantra of balance comes from staying balanced with intention.
My intentions for my husband are voiced and accomplished. He knows why I do what I do for him. He knows the intent of the daily actions. My daughter also sees my plan intentionally to be a part of the routine that encompasses her life. She fully understands that I am a part of her daily life on purpose, not because it is convenient or just worked out that way.
I look into fifth grade faces of children once a week because I have intended to reach, to teach and to provide an adult perspective of making it through this challenging world with a positive view. Intentionally, planning to be a part of an equation of healing and restoration.
Sure, I could go on with my intentions with friends and family and other interest in my life, but you get the point. The point is simple - intention is everything.
If you don't intend on doing anything - you will get lost.
Don't get lost. Plan your intentions today.

Happy Birthday!

The beauty of living through losing young, vibrant people in your life is that you appreciate birthdays. Each birthday is a gift.
This week I turned thirty-seven. I love being in my thirties. For me, these are the years that I still have somewhat of a youthful appearance, but am loaded with experience and discernment that I didn't have in my twenties. At thirty-seven I can laugh at myself, forget obvious dates and afford the expensive lattes. What a life!
Even more importantly, I value what is truly valuable - my relationships. They are more precious than all the money in the world and more permanent than fleeting fame. I am a wife, mother, daughter, friend - I am a part of families, girl groups, churches, committees...I am loved.
This year I decided to throw my own birthday party, which I strongly recommend. For those PR people - the saying, "perception is reality" really rang true this year. I declared it an important event and would you believe so did everyone else? Crazy how that works.
So, why blog about it?
I want the same for you. Happy Birthday to you. Praise God that you are alive and given the opportunity to live this moment - because you aren't guaranteed another birthday. This may be your last one. Don't let it quietly slip by in the night. Don't go a wallflower - be the life of your own party. People will celebrate with you if you are bold enough to declare your own moment!

Irreplaceable

This season, for some, is the month of Abib or Nisan - the first month of God's calendar according to Exodus and other testaments in the Bible.  It is a time of rebirth, both visually in the world and spiritually in the heart.  As buds bloom and the warm air allows us to sit outside and take in all of the beauty that is waking up from such a dead slumber, our minds are also waking up to the idea that someday we will be waking up from a dead slumber to a bloom we cannot even comprehend - our own resurrection.
Lately, I have heard an expression that has caused me to evaluate its meaning.  The expression is, "he (Christ) took my place on that cross."  I am sure that I have heard this expression a million times and have probably even said it, but this year - I stopped - thought and hurt over ever having said it.
He, Christ, did not take my place.  My death on a cross would have simply just been a dead person on a cross.  This is not an equal exchange.  We are not equal.
Christ, adorned in favor and royalty, power and prestige - did not replace a man.  He rescued mankind from never blooming.
Regardless of the songs we sing, our feeble attempt to say thank you, or our horrid cliches throughout the season - know this - He is irreplaceable.

Today

Today I had a choice – just like you.  I decided not to focus on all the sadness.  I decided to take a break from my own expectations and just enjoy the day.  I chose to live today moment by moment.  I could have disappointed myself and chose differently, but I didn’t and I am so grateful for right now – today.

I started by driving my daughter and her friend to school appreciating having a third grader and the sweet concerns of a child with limited adversity and a heart of gold.  My mind immediately took me to GRATITUDE.  She is blessed and I am thankful for her life, her love and being a mom.

As I laced up my running shoes, I didn’t focus on the guilt of not being able to get out there more often, no – I focused on being able today.  Yay, me.  Back on the trail.  Back out in the beauty.  I ran up on a little, red robin – so gorgeous.  I stared at her (not that I know for sure) and thought, “I love the color red.”  Oh, and I do.  I love the enthusiasm seeing red brings to me.  Makes me want to live passionately.  ENTHUSIASM for today.

Coffee around the corner with friends from who knows when – the kind that knew you before you even knew you had a dream.  Laughs, empathy and great stories.  Today – CONNECTION.  They know me.  I know them.

Lunch with my man.  For those of you who have married your first love, do I need to say more?  His eyes, his humor, his intellect (which I wish I could keep up with more) keeps me enamored and curious…smart, eye candy.  ENJOYING today and the one who lives it side by side with me – ALIVE.

The next part of today is what other days would be a real downer – the TO DO LIST.  Oh, no, not today.  It did not take me down.  I stopped and APPRECIATED that I am healthy and energetic and able to do the list.  PRAISE GOD.

Today.  Life is fun.  Today.  I am focused on the fun.

If I asked you to focus on all the brown in the room you are currently sitting in – you would see a lot of it, even if it wasn’t the main color in the room.

Today, focus on the “fun” in your life, even if it isn’t the most dominant color in your room.  Focus, and love today.

Happy Today!  And it isn’t even over….

humility, man's greatest asset

Lately, I have found myself in circles of conversation that appear to be a verbal display of dominance.  It is amazing how many people feel it is necessary to speak their resume or accomplishments, having no idea how transparent their insecurities are to the circle.
I have the privilege of having a walking buddy that has reached many of the world's pedestals, and do you know what she encourages in my life?  My motherhood.  Her professional experience and resume could compete with any woman in the metroplex, and she knows my ambitious side to create movements and succeed in nonprofit business - yet, in her age and wisdom - humbly, she promotes "motherhood."
Her humility in conversation has led to my growing respect for the person she is at the core, not her resume.
What a model.
You don't have to reach the top rung on the ladder to display humility that leads to respect.  It starts with just accepting yourself - exploring your beliefs and staying true to them - it starts with transparency.
Think about it.  Think on all the circles of conversation you've been in - who did you enjoy most?  The boaster or the party goer who just lived in the moment?
Unfortunately, I have been both.  I hate that.  I wish I could say that I have always been comfortable in my own skin, but I haven't.  Mainly from wounding, lack of validation, I have been the chic in the circle begging for scraps of encouragement after reciting my accomplishments - ouch!   The worst part of that is when you hit the pillow at night and you are reflecting the evening and all that stands out is your own insecurity.  Bummer, embarrassment - especially when you know better.
How do I combat this?  Hearing truth.  Hearing what is noble and truthful, which is, simply - man's greatest asset is HUMILITY.

Truth & Peace

It is incredibly hard to find peace without a life of truth.  Have a child, they will show you.
If you are not living your own understanding of truth, you cannot be followed or believed - which leads to an unsettled life of lies.
Today's world calls this concept, "being comfortable in your own skin."
I call it, simply - real.
What do you really believe?  What do you really live by?  Who are you, really? Why are you here?
These questions aren't always answered at the same time.  Sometimes it is a long, winding journey that arrives at some place of understanding and insight.  Many Christians struggle with the journey.  They hang their hat on a piece of the truth, but don't have a love for the pursuit of truth.  You cannot fully comprehend the look of an elephant by only seeing the ear.  No, you smooth your hands over the ear, feeling each wrinkle until it leads you to the neck and so on.  It is the same with the pursuit of truth.
My experience and study has led me to believe that this journey of pursuing truth is where the peace is stored and available to all.  Each time my fingers run over a new area of study and understanding I become aware of another piece of explanation.  Not for the purpose of the great "ME" puzzle, but for the purpose of the Great Story of life.
It is a beautiful gift to receive peace through the path of truth.  It is free.  The closest the world has come to marketing it and packaging it for the mass market is the Chronological Bible.

Live / Laugh / Love

How many of you have a plaque or a framed piece of art that says, "Live, Laugh, Love?"
I do.
I look at it almost everyday and most days walk away completely forgetting my intentions for the day.
Today was one of those days.  I just walked away and forgot to enjoy the live part or to laugh at myself for being so serious or to relish in the love all around me.  Shame on me.  What a poop.
So, as I am recapping the day with self-deprecation and disappointment I got an email, an update from my friend Cari.  She is in Houston at MD Anderson.
Cari has just begun her fight against cancer.  She is forty-five years old and has cancer throughout her body.  She has no idea how much longer she has to LIVE / LAUGH / LOVE, yet she does it - like right now.  She values it.  She knows how precious it is to find the funny in the moment even in a hospital.  She knows how important it is to tell her husband, Steve, how much she loves him.  She knows what she wants - to LIVE.

Cari didn't have a bad attitude today.  Praise God for Cari.  She reminds us all to live by the plaques hanging on our walls.

My Crazy Aunt Carol

When I was a little girl my crazy Aunt Carol took me to Six Flags.  She is hilarious.  She is one of those women that has absolutely no boundaries.  The possibilities for fun are endless with her - they always have been from even my first memories of her in my life.
As I was at Six Flags on Friday with Brian and Eden, I found myself revisiting a moment I had as a five- year old - facing an adventure head on, Aunt Carol style!
Looking up at the rickety roller coaster I immediately thought of all of the things that could go wrong, until I looked down at the nine-year old eyes begging for an adventure.  So, I put on my big girl pants and thought of the joy I had once had at Six Flags taking on rides that felt too big for me.
I told my little adventurer the story of my dear Aunt Carol bribing me with a pink elephant named Crystal to ride the parachute ride with my cousins.  Aunt Carol not only got me to have an adventure, but she gave me an even greater gift of passing it along.
One day - one moment - over thirty something years ago and wha-la - CONTAGIOUS.
I have now been reminded of the moments that can be passed down.  Time invested in teaching children to love an adventure is priceless and only takes being in the moment.
Be contagious - oh if I could lone out my crazy Aunt Carol to all school-aged children.

The Race

I love to run.  I love it from the moment you say, "now" and you get your iPod ready and start the stretches.  The excitement of looking out and planning your trail and how much effort you are willing to put into it - what you want to think about or plan for in the future.  It is an escape.
Life can be like running.  You hit it hard and just start running.  In the beginning you believe you've mapped out a trail.  You may have decided what thematic music you want playing to your life.  You might have even marked out a finish line and visualized the crossing through to the other side - all smiles of course with the look of victory on your face.
What happens when you are hitting the pavement at full speed and you've been going awhile and you look around to realize you aren't quite sure where everyone else went and where the finish line is suppose to be?
Do you stop and look around to see if you can hear or see anyone?  Or do you keep pounding the pavement with determination to get somewhere, even if it ends up to be nowhere - at least you will get there fully spent and exhausted?
I am not a psychologist, yet, but I think either answer must reveal some real drivers of our hearts.
I personally, am stopped in my tracks by the abrupt halt to my life when someone dies.  I have had it happen enough to recognize the need to identify the race and who is running it with me and where on earth am I going?
I first felt this way at age 15 when I lost my 17 year old cousin.  My life as a crazy, young teen was a rapid race in a cheerleading uniform practicing lines for the school musical and holding a seat as an officer in student council.  Her car accident brought a vicious HALT to a marathon I was running for being "somebody" at my school.  As I sat in a hospital waiting room at 3 a.m. on a Saturday night being told my best friend had not made it through the crash - I stopped and looked around.
The race dramatically changed.  The people running the race became the actual finish tape for me.  I stopped being as concerned with me being somebody and more concerned with expressing my love to the somebodies racing around me.  In some ways, I quit running and became a real sideline gal rooting those around me to pursue living and love because I knew it was brief.
I stayed in that state of mind for a long time.  Truth be told I probably used it as a cop out of running.  I created a new high school and college mantra, "do the minimum to get the maximum."
That mantra rang in my head for years until the next experience - my dad's death.
As he was dying, this talented man in his fifties, he spoke of regret - oh, the pain of regret for having not really raced in his heat.  He did a 5K when he was built for a marathon.
So, I emotionally quit filling everyone's water bottles and laced up my shoes.
Engaged in life - wrote a book, wrote a song, started a nonprofit - if it was a dream I had ever secretly desired in my heart - well, then I pursued it.  Oh, it felt good.  I loved running again.  Busy feet, busy fingers, busy - busy - busy.  Running, running so hard I could actually hear the wind singing in my ears.
Then, yet again, another death - my light-hearted, living free step dad who ran his own victorious race!
So, Lord, I stand before you on a track, looking around yet again - no runners in sight - no markers to find the finish line.  And I think I finally get it.  Jesus, you are the pacesetter running just slightly ahead with your balloons or flashing light letting me know that I don't need to know where we are going to end up.  I don't even have to know my own pace.  I just have to know Your pace and follow those feet pounding the street.  My days of standing on an empty track unaware of why or where I am going are over.  Jesus, You are the steady.  I will follow You until we go through the finish tape together - having run the whole race.

A Daddy's Heart

Most of you have realized already that my step dad, Tom Hudson, the man who ripped my heart out with his suffering, passed away last week.  He did.  He suffered at the end more than I have ever witnessed firsthand and unfortunately, I have seen a lot, as I watched my biological daddy turn to skin and bones - screaming out in pain as cancer ate through his bones.
You may think I am being a bit graphic, but I want you to understand the visuals that expose these thoughts.  Graphics that will not soon be forgotten - until now.
Why now?  Because that is the power of taking thoughts captive.  That is the power of our minds.  When I begin to camp out on the horror of their suffering, I stop - kick it out - and remember what these men lived for.  They did not live to suffer.  Their lives should not be highlighted by the end.
Ironically, these two men had a lot in common.  I shouldn't be surprised considering the same woman, my mom, choose both of them.
Tom Hudson lived to share the gospel in complete freedom.  He announced his position in the family of God to whomever would listen.  Sometimes it got embarrassing, not for him, but for us.  I am far from embarrassed now.  I am thankful.  His child-like declarations of grace and love are comforting me now.
My dad, Michael, was more of the serious sorts when it came to his faith.  He loved to have philosophical conversations about the way God worked in the world and what parts of life emulated His character.  He spent a lot of time being incredibly curious about the details of the inner workings of creation.  I understand that.  I have that side, too.  That side causes me to dive into study verses taking the Christian rhetoric and calling it faith.  It isn't by the way.  It is just a vocabulary that brings no comfort at all, just a social circle that can talk the same.
These men, have me in common, a daughter with a piece of each of them to carry on a legacy.  The legacy of faith, real faith.  I am blessed.  I am grateful.  I have been loved as a daughter by two exceptional men.  Men I am pleased to call my dad.  I praise God that after three step dads, He allowed me to have an open heart to love a man that was able to give the best gift a man is able to give - a daddy's heart.