Crazy Dog, Spider and Horse

Wouldn't be my life, if there wasn't some hysterical moments.
So, last week I kept a pretty busy schedule with Blended Love meetings, Eden's school schedule, my Bible Study class at church....etc., etc., etc. My life motto of living in the moment took a back seat to preparing for the next whatever.
But as usual, my reminder of keeping true to my belief, came in the form of another series of "crazy" moments.
The morning started off with not having my garage door opener and having to use the punch code on the garage. Like most moms, I can come and go about 10 to 20 times in a day, so having a garage door opener is not really a luxury, it is key to my expediency to deliver goods and/or people! Now, this morning I had an additional obstacle...our new neighborhood watch dog...due to my neighbor leaving a bowl of food and water on her front porch. Not suggested.
Well, this guy, I like to call him "Bob" because I call everyone "Bob" until I know their name, doesn't always recognize that I am the owner of my home. So, from time to time he will bark with all of his passion and concern for our block and try to keep me from feeling comfortable entering my home. Having dealt with that for three trips home already, I was extremely tired of trying to convince this security pup that I really paid the mortgage on this house, but this next trip into the house would be memorable for both Bob and me. Because this time, my car came screeching down the street going way faster than I should admit and obviously with a driver in hysterics. Why, you ask? Because this driver just had a spider fall off her eyelash and down her shirt and eventually onto her right hip. I WAS INCONSOLABLE.
As my door flies open with my pants around my ankle hobbling to the code with a barking dog at the driveway edge, I turn and scream, "I live here!"
Bob politely looks at me with a look of, "oh, well, you should have told me earlier."
Now, I have almost completely undressed from the code area to the mudroom and am now finding myself in front of a team of tournament golfers through our back windows. Embarrassing. I can only hope that they are experiencing a glare from the sun and cannot see into our home.
Relieved, yet traumatized, I am forced to re-enter the car, obviously in a new outfit, to pick up my child from school. As I am regaining my sense of calm I look over to our dear, sweet mini-horse farm that brings a smile each time I sit at the stop sign waiting to carry on with my chaos. Almost nostalgic to see these fairytale characters right here in the middle of town. Yet, not this afternoon. The brown one (another Bob) sits legs crossed over his boy parts with his front legs dragging him along for a bit of joy ride without a female horse. Looking right at me, he has no shame. I, however, am horrified. He has no idea that he has just shattered my perception of the mini-horse sweetness. Now replaced with an equivalent to humping dogs.
As I drive away from the scene of such inappropriate behavior, I am reminded that I have been brought back to the "moment" I so desired to return. I sigh and live in the present once again.

OU, Our University

Last night was tragic. The boys had taken their royal seats among the recliners, the food was ever so manly, but the mood changed quickly as our greatest ever quarterback went down. You could hear the nervous slurp of the QT drink, the complete freeze not to glance at the Virginia game...it was that moment in every man's life that they say the profound words, "will the season be ruined?"
They waited patiently through half-time to get to the info that would change the season forever.
Deep breaths followed as the x-ray revealed, "Negative!" Sam Bradford will live to play another college game! Pass another slice of pizza, Saturdays will continue with man farts and loose lips!
OU may have not won the game last night, which is tragic, but they did not lose the ultimate player and for that we can all relax and hope they will become the underdogs of the season....and as always they remain Our University!

Back to School

Well, as I am watching the sun go down, literally, I see the book closing on the last chapter labeled, Summer.
Eden and I spent a lot of time at the pool this year. Some memories are sweet, like watching her learn how to dive, or watching her order her own food and some for others believing it was "free."
Some are not so sweet, like the time I put down toilet paper on the toilet seat forgetting I was soaking wet. It took about five big guffaws for me to recognize what had happened and about five hours to finally get all of that toilet paper off the back of my wet legs. Good news, I don't easily embarrass, so I was over it by dinner.
But now, those long days have passed and it is the classic back to school time. I know, I am currently sharping over 50 pencils with a small sharpener, ironing a uniform and wandering how the alarm clock works, it has been so long.
So, goodbye summer....hello fresh new year with a second grader!

Cancer Fighters

Is making it to your 60th Birthday enough life?
Is making it to your 50th Birthday enough life?
For these two men in my life....I would yell, NO!
My step dad and my cousin are both such a joy to be around that it is almost unbelievable to think they would be fighting for their lives and more time with their families.
For those of you who have been through a loved one battling cancer...you know the fight is as real as going to war. It is a family fight. A fight for sanity, a fight for joy, and ultimately a fight to live.
For those of you that have already lost a loved one and are fighting a new fight with more loved ones...you know the armor gets heavy.
Hang in there. We never give up. No matter how low the white count, the red count, the multiple tests...we believe...we hold out hope for a miracle. Until the fat lady has sung, we believe they will make it. They need to see that in our faces, in our speech, in our willingness to go to bat for them...we believe and carry the torch of hope.

Everything Breaks

It doesn't matter how new... everything breaks.
This morning I pushed my glass in the water dispenser of my refrigerator, obviously expecting water to go in my glass. It didn't. It went all over the side and down the door. Bummer.
It's less than two years old. But it proves a point..."expect broken."
There is no getting out of it. Unless you live for only a few seconds, you will experience broken.
A storm can take down a house in a matter of minutes. A diagnosis can break your heart in just a few words. Houses need repair. Cars lose value and break. People, as much as it hurts us, have bodies that break down.
We live in a broken world that offers absolutely nothing material that can withstand fire.
We live among a broken people that cannot offer hope through their own mortality.
We watch, curiously expecting perfection, but always suffer disappointment.
With a broken heart, a broken refrigerator, a broken pair of heels that I used to love so much, a broken schedule, a broken toy in the toy box....I give you...no hope of permanent repair.
But thankfully, Jesus can give you hope. Not the cheesy, Bible character that is made up with blush on His cheeks, but the warrior. Who breaks for the greater good. Who breaks us and our toys to give us permanent. He is from a dominion that our futile minds cannot comprehend, a dominion of perfection.
100 years from now I will not be concerned with a broken water dispenser. 100 years from now, my heart with be mended, my faith restored to visible truth, complete...simply not broken. And it will never break again.

You're Not Good Enough

If you have lived long enough at some point you have heard the phrase in your head, "you're not good enough." Sometimes it is true, sometimes it is just insecurity coming to the surface. Either way, you're not alone in this thought.
A little girl sits on the bleacher waiting to see if her number will be called after a long road to cheer leading tryouts. Each number called reinforces her thought that she isn't good enough. It doesn't matter how hard she practiced, how much weight she lost, or even how long it took to pick out the outfit with the perfect bow. Girl after girl until she knows she wasn't good enough.
Or the boy waiting patiently for just the right girl to go to the dance with him. He finally gets up the nerve to ask her and she politely lets him know that he isn't good enough for her.
The PhD student that makes it through all of the coursework, but cannot finish the dissertation. This confirms, "you're not good enough."
I could list example after example, some I lived through, others I read about.
But what I can't tell you is what it would feel like to have a doctor or an organization with your health in their hands tell you that you are not good enough for the medical care that would save your life. I do not know what it would feel like to sit in a holding pattern for close to a year taking one chemo treatment after another to stay alive while you wait for Washington to approve your bone marrow transplant and then be told, "you're not good enough."
My heart breaks for the soldiers, young and old, who depend on our tax paying health care to heal the wounds of battle and yet remain broken or unhealed because they have been deemed unworthy or unfit.
We begin life with uncertainty, we hear messages that are discouraging, but most will end life with some form of hope. People who were cheering you on, someone holding your hand. We all know that cancer is not what usually appears on a death certificate, it is a "complication" with treatment. The key to this being that treatment was occurring...hope of surviving it, even if all hope statistically was lost a long time ago.
How does this happen? Why on earth, having all experienced defeat, would we ever reinforce the ugly side of desperation to hopelessness?

Productivity vs. Depression

When my dad was still with us he told me that if I ever got depressed to become very productive and it would get better.
Oh, he knew my heart and genetic make-up.
If he were still here I would tell him that the sad veil that covered my face with his passing was taken off ever so gingerly with productivity.
Then I would send him a picture of my first tomato.....