Ruby Red Slippers

"You can do it. Just jump, I'll catch you." Words from my dad as I stood trembling on the side of the pool and he stood in 3.5 feet of water in the shallow end. He might as well have been in 100 feet of water as far as my little self was concerned. I didn't know how to swim. What if he didn't catch me? What if I drowned? This was virgin, scary territory. What was a little girl to do? But his coaxing eventually convinced me to jump to him. He was my dad, he would protect me.

He, of course, pulled the 'ol learn-to-swim fake-out by backing up as soon as I was air borne. He didn't catch me, instead he made me swim to him. Nice, since learning to swim was the point of this exercise in toddler terror. Terror notwithstanding, dad did not let me drown and did pick me up - eventually. He just wanted to help bring out my swmming skills.

And as it turns out I did learn to swim. Not all in one day, of course. I did take actual lessons (which were no less traumatic) to perfect my innate swimming skills. My parents even made me join the club's swim team a few years later because I was such a good swimmer - I have lots of 6th place ribbons to prove it.

The reason dad could instruct me to jump and then not catch me but instead make me flounder until I started swimming is because I already had the ability inside me. I had just not realized my ability yet - it was hidden until that moment in time.

I have other hidden, latent talents - we all do - innate gifts given to us by our Heavenly Father. Some talents are visible right away - the ability to sing, dance, do complex mathematical equations. But others remain hidden, cloaked behind layers of life, emotions, and fears so that they are unknown to us - abilities like strength of heart, generosity of spirit, patience.

Gifts like these sometimes must be brought out by other means because we don't believe they actually exist, at least not in ourselves. God takes us on journeys to show us ourselves as He sees us. For some, certainly for me as far as my talents are concerned, seeing is believing. If a few years ago you were to tell me I am a patient person I would have said "No, I am not." But God has taken me through many journeys requiring patience, which have shown me that I am indeed a very patient person. I have the ability - in most, not all circumstances, let me be clear - to wait graciously. I didn't always think I did, so I had to learn it for myself.

I am reminded of Dorothy. The Wizard of Oz had nothing in his black bag for her - because as it turns out she didn't need anything, she already had it. Dorothy, as she is trying to leave Oz, is told by Glenda, the good witch, that she can go home at any time; she has always had the ability - the ruby red slippers on her feet. Glenda states that had she told that to Dorothy earlier she would not have believed her - "she had to learn it for herself." Once Dorothy professes what she's learned she clicks her ruby red slippers three times and takes herself home to Kansas and Auntie Emm.

Like Dorothy, everything I will ever need I already have. God has bestowed upon me - and you - the exact gifts, talents and abilities I will ever need. Perhaps not all the ones I wanted - I've always wanted to sing and be a rock star, but that is one thing no one wants me to do (trust me on this!) The gifts I don't know about yet, or believe I possess, God will show me along the way. God did not give me something He does not intend for me to use. While I don't always care for the little journeys God takes me on to show me my bestowed gifts, my abilities, they do reveal more of me to me.

And, I am discovering, I have a closet full of ruby red slippers.

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Thanks Be To . . .

I love Thanksgiving. The turkey, the stuffing, the mashed potatoes, the green bean casserole, the dinner rolls, the pie – the pie. I do love me some pecan pie. The football games all weekend long. The getting together with family and friends. I think it is one of the best holidays we have.

Typically, when I was growing up we went to my grandparents’ house. They lived in the same city I did but they lived on seven acres – inside the city. They had this wonderful, huge forest of a backyard. My brothers, cousins and I would run around and play football or other sorts of games outside with their black lab Happy. If it was really cold my grandparents would have a great fire going in their enormous fireplace in the living room. And I would sit on the hearth and let my back get really hot where it stung to touch it. (I wanted to see if my shirt would burst into flames but I usually could not stand the heat long enough to find out.)

Dinner was served around the formal dining table. My grandmother used all her “good china” and silver. We drank water out of silver goblets. Goblets! That was what princesses drank out of in the olden days of kings and castles. I loved being fancy. The table was so beautiful and long and everyone fit around it. I didn’t have to eat at a “children’s table.” When we would have Thanksgiving at our house the dining table didn’t fit everyone and I was always put at the kids table, usually in the hall – even as an adult. (That's what happens when you're a middle child.) There was always lots of love and laughter around the Thanksgiving dinner table.

A completely different but equally warm and wonderful Thanksgiving is one I celebrated about a decade ago with a dear group of friends. We took a trip to the Hill Country area of Texas. We stayed in a motel retreat next to a river. It was cold and perfect. We made a hodge-podge motel kitchen Thanksgiving feast. It was wonderful. We sang carols at the outdoor fire pit. We played touch football – because its Thanksgiving and you have to play football – it’s in the holiday rule book. I visited my old camp, we canoed – of course there was the requisite falling in the freezing water, there was short-sheeting of the beds. This was a wacky, wonderful Thanksgiving weekend, full of memories and laughter and reasons to give Thanks.

That’s what I love about the holiday. It’s for all comers. No one is left out. It’s not “religious” and thus leaving out those who don’t practice a particular faith. It’s not about politics or past wars or past presidents or co-opted by the retailers. (They have kindly waited until the next day, lovingly referred to as “Black Friday.”) It is a day to stop the madness, gather with those you love, invite those who have no one or want to begin a new tradition and break bread together and give Thanks.

I will give Thanks for the good friends, the devoted family, the deep love, the constant support, the ever-present laughter, the big ears, the broad shoulders, the strong arms, the soft hearts, the kind spirits, and the enduring patience and faith I received this year. Blessings, each and every one. Gifts bestowed to me through the grace of my Heavenly Father. He will have an honored seat at my Thanksgiving table.

My basket is full to the brim and overflowing with blessings. There have been days when Thank You were probably the last words coming out of my heart. But the truth is I can’t think of one thing I would change. (Well maybe one teeny tiny little thing.) Everything has brought me to this now, to this moment. And my heart is full of love, and light, and peace. And that along with my wonderful family, dear friends, good health (whew that nasty cold thing is long gone, yippe), great dog and crazy bird is more than a girl deserves.

Blessings come small and blessings come large and they come everyday in a thousand different ways. And blessings come to everyone. God does not withhold His bounty from anyone. There is always something for everyone to be thankful for. Thanksgiving is a holiday that brings all people together. It knows no boundaries. And that is how it should be. Everyone is invited to the Thanksgiving table. The table is huge with plenty of room and no one sits at the “kids” table.

Would we find God breaking bread at any other kind of table?


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Did He or Didn't He?

It's an age old question. There has never been any definitive evidence to point to an answer. The Bible is silent on the matter. It is never mentioned in any of the four Gospels. Paul never writes about it in any of his letters. Yet, the question has been around for centuries. And I think it's an important one. Did He or didn't He?

Conventional wisdom would say Yes, He did. Of course He did. Jesus was a man with an enormous heart how could He not? He had too much love to keep from pouring it out at least once.

But reason makes a different argument. He was always on the go. Never in one place too long; it would have been impractical. He just never put all His focus on one heart, that was not His way.

Scholars, students, lay people and even cartoonists (e.g. Charles Schultz) have been debating this question forever. I myself have wondered as to what the answer is many times.

Well wonder no more. I have uncovered the proof that should put this debate to rest once and for all. It turns out the painter Sebastiano Ricci somehow discovered the truth and immortalized the answer back in 1720 in his beautiful masterpiece "Last Supper."

See for yourself:



Jesus did indeed have a dog.

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Fall Traditions

The weather here has been cool and crisp lately. It is beginning to feel like the Fall season it is. There are other tell-tale signs – football is on and there is talk of the nearing college “Bowl Season,” the leaves on the trees, while still green are beginning to look a bit yellowish around the edges – death cannot be too many more months off for them.

I love the Fall. It has such a distinct flavor about it. Change is in the air – and I don’t mean anything doing with elections or politics. It is a time when people slow down and start doing little fun things like decorating the front porch with hay bales, pumpkins and scarecrows. There are all sorts of festivals this time of year. It seems as if every little town has a Harvest Festival or crowning of the Pecan Queen or some such event.

Some people like to “watch the leaves change.” Around here we have to travel to see that happen if we are interested in any change besides green to brown – we miss out on the green to orange to red to yellow spectacular known to most everyone north of Dallas. (But we know the luxury of not living in snow 6 months of the year, so there is that trade off.)

In my family, we had a fun Fall tradition when I was little. We had several pecan trees in our backyard and it seems that they shed their pecans each Fall (thus the apparent timing of the crowning of the Pecan Queens). During halftime of Houston Oiler’s games on TV my parents would send my older brother and me out into the backyard with large brown grocery sacks and see who could collect the most pecans.

I remember being bundled up against the cold and running around the yard in some sort of November Easter-Egg style pecan hunt/competition. My brother and I would scour the yard for those green egg shaped nuggets. And the funny thing is most of the time mom and dad didn’t alert us as to when the game came back on and halftime was over. They left us out there until we unwittingly cleared the yard of each and every nut we could find – all in a supposed effort to see which one of us was the better hunter-gatherer.

When we came back we measured the sacks to see who won and of course, there was the requisite crowing from the victor. But then came the real deal, while we could eat some of them most of them were set aside – we had this fancy cool pecan nut cracker that really looked like an atom smasher and these little picks to get all the pieces out of the shells (People today are so lazy and miss all that fun when they buy them already shelled.)

The real deal was that the pecans were Christmas gifts to family friends. We had to put them in these bright colored paper bags and tie yarn around them to give out to people for Christmas. (How long ago was this? Who hunts and gathers gifts from their yard anymore? I think I’m bringing this tradition back this year.) This was no “contest” between my brother and me. This was A) a way to get us out of the house for an hour and B) get the pecans picked up so my parents didn’t have to do it themselves. What a rip off!

Bait and switch, a ruse, trickery, deceit, manipulative parenting! Maybe a little. But it was “for our own good.”

In point of fact, we had fun out there. Even if we thought we were out there for one reason and we were really out there for a different one my brother and I still had fun. We still made a game of it and we did get to smash and eat some of the spoils, err, Christmas gifts. Would we have done it if mom and dad had said “Here take this sack and go pick up all the pecans in the yard so we can give them to friends?” Probably, but only after protesting and only because they were our parents – and I know I would have done it reeeally slowly and with a lot of heavy sighing.

God does that to me too sometimes. I think He has me doing something for one reason and later, after I’m done I look back and realize it was for a totally different purpose. He knows me very well. If He were to tell me “I’m going to teach you a lesson now” I would be like, “No way.” And there would be lots of heavy sighing. But, if He says “Hey, would you like to go on a little hike to a beautiful waterfall?” I say, “Sure!” It’s what He shows me on the nearly impossible 11 hour, 14 mile hike that I wasn’t expecting that’s the gift and the lessons I will never forget.

Bait and switch is a game as old as eternity. But it can sometimes be good to play. Just be careful if you are asked to join a competition to gather pecans at halftime – someone’s getting them for Christmas.

Typhoid Mary

I am not a good patient. I hate being sick. I have been down the last three days with a horrible cold/upper respiratory thing and its not even winter yet. This does not bode well for things to come.

Generally speaking I am in good health and don’t often get sick. But when I do I don’t like it – I don’t suppose any one does. I have no energy. Everything aches and chills. I have no appetite and all I want to do is sleep. But who can sleep when you can’t breathe?

As far as patient etiquette goes I’m rather whiney and like my pillow fluffed and orange juice refreshed on a regular basis. Alas, as I live alone the whining falls on deaf ears, those of my dog, and the fluffing never happens. It’s a good thing this happens only once a year. (Knock wood.)

But this got me to thinking. What about Jesus? Remember when we were discussing Him becoming man so He could explore and experience everything we went through? Well, I don’t recall Him ever being sick. There are references to His suffering but nothing directly to His being ill.

I don’t recall Him ever succumbing to infection or breaking a bone or getting a cold. I’m sure He did. He was human after all and He spent His time around a lot of grubby, sick people. In any event, if He ever did get sick I bet He was a star patient. No complaining. No whining that He had the chills and a headache. He probably got out of His sick bed to fluff the pillows of others and get them more juice. (Trying to make me look bad.)

The closest time I can think of when Jesus would have been sick is when He wandered about the desert not eating or drinking for 40 days. I’m sure He was hot, hungry and pretty weak. At the end of those 40 days Satan tempted Jesus by telling Him to turn stones into bread so He could eat. Jesus resisted and told Him no one lives only on food but also lives on the Word of God. Satan tried to tempt Jesus two more times while He was weak and vulnerable. Both of these times Jesus resisted again and Satan finally left Him alone and then “the angels came to help Him.” (Matt. 4:1-11).

When I am sick and feeling really lousy with fever and body aches my defenses are down. I am apt to say Yes to just about anything to make the pain go away or agree to something because I’m doped up on cold meds. And that’s when I’ve been sick for 2 days. Jesus was without food and water for 40 – 40! That’s crazy. I would have been turning every rock I saw into bread and a bucket of water.

Even when in sickness Satan doesn’t take a day off. In fact, that’s when he’s most likely to strike with a vengeance. I know that’s when I started to think of all the things I should be doing and wasn’t, etc. My guilt creeping in and taking over instead of just letting myself have a couple of peaceful days to rest and recover.

Jesus’ desert story is a good reminder for me. Even when I’m weak, He is strong and if I resist Satan’s attempts to distract me “the angels [will] come to help” me and I’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time with no need to whine.

Receiving Grace

If I were a football player I would not be a receiver. I might play lots of positions but it would not be that one. Oh, I can run, albeit not fast, and I can catch – I’m just not good at receiving. I’ve never learned the proper technique.

Take compliments. I’m no good at them. I can give them and I love to get them, I’m just no good at receiving them. Call me a compliment killer. Tell me my hair looks nice and I’ll say Thank You then go on about how I think it really looks crummy and I had wanted it to look so much better. Say you like my blouse, “Thanks, but it’s really old and out of style. I really should stop wearing it.” Why can’t I ever just say “Thank You” and smile and accept the compliment? Be graceful about it?

I’m not much better with gifts. I love giving them and love getting gifts – but please just leave them on my doorstep. I'm no good at receiving them. I hate opening gifts in front of people. What if I say the wrong thing or don’t act gracious enough? What if I already have one (I never do) or don’t like it (never happens) – or like yours better than hers and she’s standing right next to you (slight possibility)? Dread of all dread. Why is it so hard to just receive the beautiful gift and its warm gesture and express Thanks, simple, sincere Thanks without thinking lots of extra embellishment is needed?

Love. This is the big one. I dish it out. I love to love. But the hardest thing of all for me to receive is love. I try. I thought I did it well but now not so much. I have gained a new understanding of love lately and in the process discovered that I don’t receive love very well at all.

I have been unemployed since January of this year. This being November, that’s a long time on my calendar. Other than a small bit of my own finances and unemployment from the government I have had no discernible income. What I have had is the most wonderful, loving family support system of my partner, my parents and my brothers keeping me a float. My family has been there for me at every turn. They have kept my roof over my head, my car in my garage, my electricity flowing through my light bulbs and my dog’s bowl full of kibble. I don’t know what to say to love like that. Love like that humbles me. How do I ever say the right kind of Thank You? A hug just doesn’t seem gracious enough. This love is so deep and strong and real. Why can’t I accept this beautiful gift without feeling guilty?

The answer to all the above questions is – because I don’t feel I deserve it.

I am completely comfortable with the concepts of our capitalistic society – supply and demand, a day’s wage for a day’s pay, you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours, keep what you kill, two way street. What I clearly get uncomfortable with are God's economic concepts of free, unearned, unmerited, one way street, no strings attached, unconditional, grace.

This past year has taught me the true meaning of that last one – grace. Grace, as I understand it, is God’s unmerited favor. It’s His blessings given to us just for being us. Not for anything we did or are going to do but just because He loves us. I admit, I think I understand the concept. But really I don’t. I don’t get anything in this world with out earning it. I was taught that at the earliest age. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch” as the saying goes. So, it’s just so hard to live in a world that demands we earn everything and places value on everything we do. That’s even the first question we get at parties – “So, what do you do?” Nice. Real nice. Then God says we don’t have to do a thing to earn His love, we get it by grace. My head spins.

Since I live in a world like that it’s hard for me to then turn around and suspend that belief when it comes to God. It just is sometimes. I know Jesus came and died for me and wiped away my sins so when I die I can go to heaven. But for the other stuff while I’m here, it is hard to relax and just receive His love, His grace without thinking I also have to jump through certain hoops to get to Him.

Case in point: today I was driving and thought to myself, in a rather frustrated PMSie kind of way, “What is it going to take from me for God to give me my breakthrough?” And this is what I got back, “Nothing.” Nothing? "Nothing." God is not “waiting” for me to do anything to trigger my breakthrough. And by that I mean any particular task, uncover the correct acorn so to speak. Stop cussing, act more lady-like, go to church more, give more to charity, etc. The breakthrough will be an act of His love through His grace – period.

He has been illustrating exactly what He means by this all year. My family members didn’t help me because I mowed one’s lawn, or painted another’s living room, or babysat their kids. Each and every one of them did what they did beautifully and graciously because they love me – period. Acts of love through grace.

It's getting easier for me to understand His love and His grace and accept that I am deserving. God is using my loved ones to teach me deeply important and personal lessons about both. And that is a beautiful gift from Him in and of itself right there.

Stay tuned, it's only mid-season and I just might make the team as a receiver yet.

The Greatest Explorer

If there is one thing about myself that I take pride in it is my sense of direction. I have always been able to read a map. I know my East from my West, my North from my South. I can find lost things. I can even properly program then follow the navigation system in my car. All of which is to say I rarely get lost. I would have made a great explorer.

But for all my explorer skills I find I still need guidance. You might call me a modern day Lewis and Clark.

Lewis and Clark were great explorers. They were arguably two of the greatest explorers our country has ever produced. Just think about it. In 1803 the still geographically small United States bought Louisiana from France. Now, this Louisiana Purchase more than doubled the size of our young new country. This was one huge purchase – even France was not sure exactly how much land it sold, that’s how big it was. Thomas Jefferson wanted to know so he hired Meriwether and William to go find the Pacific Ocean and come report back. It took them over two years but they got the job done.

Can you imagine the guts that took? They persevered through many a hardship. They didn’t have a map – they made the map as they went! That’s saying something. But for all their bravery they didn’t and couldn’t do it on their own. They needed a support team with them. No expedition can go anywhere without its roadies. There will be trouble, unknowns, hostiles and danger along the way. A strong team is vital.

But they shortly discovered they needed even more help than they started with. Early on in the expedition while wintering in what would one day be North Dakota they determined they needed a translator and a guide. Even our big, strong, intrepid explorers Lewis and Clark needed to seek a little outside help. Someone who knew how to talk to the locals, someone who knew the lay of the land – someone like Sacagawea. (I really like the fact that these big ‘ol boys needed a woman to help them out and show them the way – but I digress.)

Translator, guide, helper – Sacagawea did a lot to get Lewis and Clark to where they were going. Lewis and Clark were experienced explorers and they still needed help. No shame in that. In fact, it’s just as it’s supposed to be.

It’s always more difficult to go somewhere for the first time. Which is why we go through things, so we can be there to help guide others. Like my dad guided me through my bike lessons. We can all go from St. Louis to the Pacific Northwest with ease because we have Lewis and Clark (and Sacagawea) as our guides. Some things we go through are of course more difficult than learning to ride a bike or explore the Pacific Northwest. But going through hard times or trials and persevering is still important – we can’t lead anybody through something we have not been through ourselves.

Jesus is another and perhaps the best example of this. He became a human being so He could explore and experience each and every emotion, temptation, sin (without actually sinning – I, of course, sin with actually sinning), and problem as we do. This way He knows exactly what we human beings are going through day in and day out. It gives Him street cred. Who would listen to or follow a guide who said “Follow me; I know the way, even though I’ve never actually been there.” Nobody that’s who. Not me. Not you.

Jesus went through things to help guide us through. We go through things to help guide each other through. Heaven and earth – full of explorers.

Lewis and Clark would be so proud.

Calling All Crackpots

My whole life I have seen the world from a slightly off-center, dizzy, bubbly perspective. I don’t consider myself “normal” and really could not define that for you if I tried. If I was for sale in the store you’d find me in the 50% off bin due to too many cracks and chips. With me it’s buyer beware. Despite all my efforts I am a cracked person. And I thank God for it everyday.

When you see yourself as slightly different from “normal” people you might think it would be hard to find a place for yourself. But it’s really quite easy once you learn the secret – there are no normal people. I know, shocking isn’t it? I’ll let you in on another secret – you are not normal either. Ha, welcome to the club! Glad you are here!

I will confess that that one of my cracks is that I have always had a problem with self-confidence. (Humor is a great low self-confidence cover-upper.) I keep thinking people around me can do whatever I’m doing – cooking, singing, dancing, walking, spelling, lawyering, being a human being, reading, writing, arithmetic – better than me (okay, on that arithmetic one, they usually can). But in reality they are thinking the exact same thing about me – now that’s funny (especially if you’ve ever seen me dance).

But my biggest crack is a lack of confidence with God. There are days when I am so strong in my faith but there are a whole bunch more when my faith is so very weak. And days when I ain’t got no faith at all. My mind has a mind of its own. I think thoughts sometimes that I know God disapproves of. There are days when I don’t want to be the “bigger person” or nice to people. And quite simply there are days when I’m not. I know God wants me to be like Jesus and man, it seems like I’m just not getting there anytime too soon. I have my moments, I visit the area but it sure is hard to move in.

I got cracks. I got lots of cracks. How does God use a person like that?

Turns out Gods loves cracks. In fact, the more the merrier He is. Don’t believe me? (It’s okay, one of my cracks is I like to lie from time to time.) Let’s look at the evidence.

Every single person living on the planet today is broken, cracked and abnormal in some way. And that makes every single person living on the planet today the perfect person to be a recruit in God’s Army. To understand this we have to go back to the beginning. The Bible is the perfect place for that. Every person in the Bible – except one, The One – was cracked and broken. Even the Bible’s biggest heroes were fallible, sinful, lost their faith and used by God. Here are a few that come to mind:

- Abraham lost his faith in God. So He listened to his wife Sarah (bad move) and committed adultery by sleeping with his wife’s maidservant so they could have a child together (Ishmael)(Gen.16:2-4). Then his wife decided she didn't think this idea was so hot anymore (big shock) and had Hagar banished. After Abraham saw the error of his ways God still kept His covenant with him and bore Abraham a son with his wife as promised when he was more than 100 years old (Isaac).

- David, who was married, slept with one of his soldier’s wives and the woman produced a child from the affair and then David got the soldier drunk had him killed. (2 Samuel 11:2-17). God still made David king as promised after David repented.

- Peter, one of the 12 disciples, denied he knew Jesus to His face – 3 times on Good Friday. (Matt. 26:69-74). This is the same Peter who the night before tried to defend Jesus from a Roman soldier in the Garden and cut off his ear. Now St. Peter in-waiting is asked if he knows Jesus and he says "nope, sure don't" "Yeah, you're one of those guys who hangs with him" "Don't know what you're talking about. Is that sundial correct? Wow, look at the time. I have got to go." Peter was about as loyal when it counted as an ice cube in a microwave. However, Jesus knew his heart. (And luckily He knows our hearts as well.) Peter spent the rest of his life as a missionary, eventually was martyred, became a Saint and became the foundation (literally) for the Christian church in Rome.

- Noah, after the flood waters had receded, got drunk on wine and his son Ham found him passed out drunk and naked outside of his tent. He put a curse on the son of his son because he had seen all this (can only chalk this up to his embarrassment - haven't we all been there?) Noah went on to live another 350 years for a total of 900+. (Gen. 9:20-22) (I love this little told story.)

- Then there is Thomas. I love Thomas. Thomas was also a disciple who followed Jesus and could be rather pessimistic at times. When Jesus first returned to the disciples after the resurrection Thomas was not there. When the others told him about Jesus’ return he did not believe them – he doubted their story (and gave us the phrase “doubting Thomas”). A week later, Jesus met with the disciples, including Thomas, and said to Thomas to place his hands on His wounds so he would no longer be unbelieving but believing. When Thomas did this he did indeed believe that Jesus had been resurrected. Because of this God blesses those who have not seen but still believe. (John 20:24-29)

All of these people were cracked. All of the people were vessels used by God – cracks and all. Crackpots. God can use whatever cracks we have to offer. He loves us just the way we are, just where we are. And like He did with the crackpots in the Bible, He refuses to leave us crackpots the way we are or where we are.

Pretty good company for you and me to be in if you ask me.

My Sacre Coeur

I have a core. A sacred core. In fact, if you look around, you will discover you do too. These people who know us – sometimes better than we know ourselves. Our people, our posse, our cohorts, our partners in crime. They know us, love us, ground us, laugh with us, stabilize us, encourage us, center us, and help us muddle through thick and thin.

I have a core from my childhood. Women who have known me since my early days. (Yikes!) These women know where all my secrets are buried. They know all about my scary, awful and awkward years – and man, did those awkward years last decades. (The comforting thing is is that I know all about their awkward years too – she says with a satisfied smile.) They helped me through bad test grades, bad break-ups, bad dates and bad perms. They helped me through parents who “would never understand” and parents who were “soo embarrassing!”

I have a core from college. Women who have known me since my earliest tastes of freedom. These women repeatedly held my hair as I prayed to the porcelain god that I would never drink again. They helped me and I helped them through bad test grades, bad break-ups, bad dates and waaay bad perms (the 80’s were not kind to anyone’s sense of style, including my own). We dreamed together as we planned our futures after college. We were in each other's weddings – well I was in theirs, they are still waiting for mine, as is my mom, Lord love her.

These core people from childhood and college remain today just as valuable as they did the last day I spoke with them. If I were to see them today, no doubt I could pick back up with any of them as if none of the last 25 years had past by. You have that same story too. Look around. You do.

We have our current core too. Our adulthood core. The people who know us now. The ones who have seen us grow from young idealistic adults into the supposed mature leaders we think/hope/strive to be. We have started and restarted several careers with these people. They have helped us through bad bosses, bad break-ups, bad dates and unfortunately – bad perms (when will I learn?). They have supported our dreams and helped us get there. And they listened patiently as we vented when the dream shattered in a heap. Children are raised by some and so we buy endless amounts of unneeded candy/wrapping paper/whatever the kids are selling to show our support. (I have some cookie dough if there are any takers!) We love some of them, we live with some of them, we work with some of them and some we hang out with and invite over to watch ball games.

Core people – we are surrounded by them. We are shaped by them. We need them and they need us. They are central to us. You might say they are the center of us. Which is, in fact, right where you will find them –

In our center.

our core.

our heart.

our Coeur.

our Sacre Coeur.

our sacred heart.

It’s no mistake God put our heart, our sacred heart, in the center of our torso, the core of our body. It's the place where He dwells within us. It’s the strongest and most protected part of us. And the heart, the Coeur, is the most painful when it breaks. That’s why having a strong core is so important – people of history to turn to when the going gets rough and tumble.

So, this holiday season when you are giving thanks, remember your core, your sacred core – yours is bigger, longer and stronger than you think. And you are somebody’s sacred core too. There are people out there who have you as a key in their history. A rock that has stabilized their rough sea. And best of all, you are God's sacred core, His sacred heart. So even if you look around and think you see no core, see God. He is your core. He is your people of history.

Your sacre coeur - your sacred heart and His sacred heart - beating as One, inside your chest.

Hug Attack

When I was a little kid of 4 or 5 (why my posts of late all seem to deal with my childhood I don’t know, but thanks for putting up with it) my mom, big brother (I do have a younger brother but he didn’t come along until a few years later) and I would play a game. The hugging game. Mom would wrap our arms around our bodies real tight – like we were giving ourselves a hug. While she did this she would give us a big ‘ol bear hug to make sure the hug stayed “on.” Then my brother and I would run out of the kitchen giggling and run chasing each other all through the house. Seeing who could keep their hug the longest.

At some point during the chase the hugs inevitably fell off. What 4 year old can run and keep their arms wrapped around themselves for more than 1.2 minutes, if that long? (The other sibling would be smug in the knowledge that although they too lost his/her hug, they held it longer - Ha!)

We would walk back into the kitchen and say “Mom, my hug fell off!” She was such a great sport – “Oh no! Your hug fell off? We can’t have that. Let me put another back on!” And she would stop what she was doing, squat down, wrap our tiny arms around our bodies and seal it with a giant bear hug and send us back out of the kitchen on our grand chase.

This game was ceaseless. No matter how many times we came back mom always acted genuinely surprised when we returned having lost our hugs – tiny arms dangling at our sides. The point of the game was to see who could keep the hug the longest - but secretly the best part was getting the bear hug from mom. I felt so safe and loved. The memory of it is still so clear and the warm and loving feeling still so present. It was just a silly game, right? Who even knows how it ever started?

I'll tell you how it started. God is love. That's how it started. God loves us and wants us to know what that is and what that feels like. So he gives us family and friends and partners and spouses and co-workers and children and pets to show us what love is and to give us hugs when we need them.

And He is always there waiting to wrap us in a big ‘ol bear hug when we need Him. He is just like my mom, and vice versa, so patient every time I come to Him after a bad day or sometime I just need a bit of encouragement – “Oh No. Your hug fell off. Here let me give you another one!” And also like mom in the kitchen, He’s always there giving me His full attention.

It’s nice to know we always have a place to go when our hugs fall off. God gives us loving families and friends to hug and to hold, but He also gives us Himself. And no one gives a better bear hug than Him.

The Chain Incident

I am a thief. I purposely took an item, clandestinely hid it and walked out of the store with it having no intention of paying for it. And, I got away with it - for 38 years.

There I said it. I got it out into the bright light of day. And I certainly think the statute of limitations has run.

When I was little we owned a farm outside of town - no, a ranch, no, let's call it a piece of property with cows on it. My favorite cow was "Bossy," and our bull was "JohnJohn" (see, it was no ranch - what ranch names its livestock?) My dad took the family here on weekends so we could escape the city and play "Griswolds go Cowboy." This was a charming place. No indoor plumbing or air-conditioning. I fondly recall traipsing off with shovel and toilet paper in hand to the grove of yupon bushes by the back fence before bed. "Be careful where you squat, you don't want to get bit by a copperhead." Ahh, childhood.

From time to time, dad would need a few supplies from the feed/hardware store in town. This was a great place. It had amazing wonders that a regular city hardware store didn't. Oats and barley in huge burlap sacks. The molasses oats smelled so wonderful. I wanted to be a horse just so I could try some! Nails loose in tubs. I would just bury my hands in the nails. They were so shiny and pointed. I wanted dad to have something for us to hammer and build so we could use that giant scoop used to measure out the nails. And they sold saddles and all sorts of stuff for horses. This place was a Wonderland!

I had to have something. I asked dad to buy me this thing and that thing and always the answer was "no, we don't need that." Need? Who ever said anything about need? As I wandered off dejected I spied these big spools of chains. How cool. So this is how you by a chain. They make it really long and you cut off just how much you need. "Hey dad, we need a chain don't we?" "No." Crushing blow and right in front of the cashier. Skulk away. But what does my little eye spy next to the spools of chains? But a length of chain that someone cut but did not buy!

Without a seconds thought that chain was off the floor and into my little 6 year old blue jean pocket with the ironed on patch over the hole in the knee. How no one, especially either of my parents or my brother, saw the enormous bulge in my pocket is still beyond me. But I marched right out of that store and got into our car with all the "I just showed you" pride in the world. I had a chain - just think of all the things I could do with that!

The bummer about stealing something is that you have to keep it a secret. You can't go around shouting "Ta Da look what I have!" especially not in front of the person who told you you could not have it. I couldn't tell anyone about my big score. Nor could I play with my contraband or allow it out into the bright light of day, lest I risk getting caught and have to return it and get a talking to (a fate worse than death.) And that would defeat the whole point - dad said no but I said yes and I won. What am I going to do with this thing I can't talk about or play with? Well, this is certainly turning into no fun fast.

Here's the other bummer about stealing - it begins to eat away at you. Eventually, the pride over my accomplishment wore off. With no one to show off to who cares that I have this stupid chain. I got the thing back to Houston and had to hide it in the deepest, darkest part of my closet so mom would not discover it. I had no use for a chain in the city. What does a 6 year old girl need a foot-long length of chain for - she doesn't.

This secret became less and less fun the longer I held it. Finally, after over a year I had had enough of that chain eating away at my conscious. I had to get rid of it. But how? I could not just throw it in the kitchen or bathroom trash. The perfect plot was hatched when I remembered my 9 year old brother had a briefcase - do not ask me why a 9 year old had a briefcase, I do not know. The point is he had one and it was the perfect foil for getting the kryptonite out of my closet and out of the house. I borrowed the case when my brother was out and put the chain in it; I then told my mom I was going out "to a meeting" - I was an imaginative child and pronouncements like this generally did not raise eyebrows. Once out the back door I ran to the garbage can and buried the sordid chain as far down in that beat-up metal container I as could. Ahhh, chain gone, burden lifted.

Everything was right again with my world. Sort of.

No one ever did find out. But of course, there was Someone that always knew. Someone who watched me as I stole it. When God knows you know He knows and knows you don't want to talk about it - that's usually when He wants to talk about it. And He is very patient and will wait to talk when you are ready, even if it takes 38 years.

You know, that chain has been a thorn in my side since the day I stole it. When I have thought about it I have always tried to think of it as this hilarious thing I did as a little kid. A joke I pulled. But in reality it has never once given me a moment's pleasure. Well, maybe one moments worth, those first few when I first shoved it into my pocket and ran out of the store with it but none since then. And I think I know why - I knew it was wrong when I did it. I did it because I was mad that I didn't get my way. I thought I was pulling one over on my dad and as it turns out I was pulling a huge one over on me. And 38 years is a long time to live with something stuck in your craw.

So that brings me back to God wanting to talk about it. I keep thinking of this "chain incident" lately. Why? That's over. I threw it away, never played with it, never stole again - what more is there? Plenty.

There is repentance and forgiveness. I haven't done one nor asked for the other - not in all these years.

The bible says we are separated from God by our sinning. God is so grieved to be even the littlest separated from us. And unless we repent and ask for His forgiveness - which by the way He has to give us, isn't that cool - we remain separate from Him and the circle is unclosed. And an unclosed circle makes sinning easier and easier because we just get farther and farther from Him. He knows this, that's why even an act that took place when I was 6 is so important to Him. And why He kept pursuing me about it.

Is there something stuck in your craw? Some nagging corner of your heart that won't let go? Why not think about seeing if there is a little old something something that you need to talk to your Heavenly Father about. Confession is mighty good for the soul - even when it comes 38 years late.