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.

How I got here a/k/a TMI

“How often it is a small, almost unconscious event that marks a turning point.” These words were written by a courageous, Christian, Dutch woman named Corrie ten Boom when writing of her life in "The Hiding Place." She, her father and her sister were imprisoned by the Germans during WWII for hiding Jews. Ms. ten Boom is the only one of her family imprisoned to survive the Nazi concentration camps. She was in her early 50’s when she was put into one of the worst Nazi camps in Germany – Ravensbruck. She survived and lived her life traveling the world giving witness to the glory of God and the fact that even in the deepest pit, God is there. It is a remarkable story. I dare say it has changed me and enlightened me. (Her life makes me and my life seem so weak and small – especially when I complained of living with no A/C for a whole week after Ike). And I didn’t even know of Ms. ten Boom or that this book, first published in 1971, existed until October 1, 2008.

This post is not a review of "The Hiding Place" (although I recommend it highly, esp. the 35th anniversary edition 2006), it is about how I came to find it.

I’ll be blunt – I’ve had what I consider to be a fairly good working relationship with God. I don’t always like what is happening or understand it but I can usually sense His presence. All that changed on August 22, 2008. God just up and disappeared on me – with no forwarding address. Left, fled the scene, goodbye, sayonara, hasta la vista, don’t let big door hit you on the way out. He did give me a parting gift though, one I didn’t understand – or like at the time. To be honest, I don’t particularly care for it now. The last thing He did was lead me to Isaiah 54:7. I won’t quote it all here, but let’s just say it talks about how God is going to forsake me because He’s angry. Not the thing a girl wants to read in the morning before coffee. (Is. 54:9-10 does talk about how later – after the forsaking – God will have everlasting mercy and kindness on me. But He didn’t lead me to verse 9-10, He led me to verse 7 – the one about getting forsook).

When God says forsaking, He means it. The rest of August and September were very dark and dry like the Sahara. I could not find Him anywhere. I looked in all my usual places but found no one there. (I did find one of those pennies once in a while. Usually when it was particularly dark, but other than that God was not communicating with me at all). And everyday was Dodge Ball. The red balls flying so furiously, I still have a few bruises.

September 30, 2008 was the darkest day. I don’t recall all the red-ball details but by nightfall I was out of the game and I didn’t want to play anymore. I took my ritual 9:00PM bath (I know, why too much info) and pretty much collapsed there in the tub. I completely broke down. My heart was broken, for many different reasons but a big one was that I felt after everything I’d been through I always had God and now He had broken up with me. I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. I didn’t have any strength. My face was wetter from my tears than my body was from my bath water.

I climbed out and crawled into bed and just wanted to be left alone. Of course, that was not to be. My phone rang and it was a friend telling me another friend was having a bad night and could I please check on her. Are you serious? I am trying to lay here and fade away myself. I didn’t feel like helping anyone nor did I feel like I could. But I said Okay that I would call her and check-in with her. It’s just a quick call, right? The second my friend came on the line I knew she could not be alone. She needed someone. What I failed to realize at that moment is that actually I needed someone too.

Despite her protests, I went to be with her at the minor emergency clinic. We were there until after 2:00AM. During the time I was sitting with her in that little room waiting for someone to come and take care of her minor emergency, something unseen was taking place. God was taking care of my minor emergency. That is the night He reappeared in my life.

Because of her accident, I thought of a book that I wanted my friend to read. I thought it would be helpful and offer counsel to her so I decided to go the next day/that day and get it as a gift. While at the bookstore I discovered "The Hiding Place." I thought it sounded like an interesting story – Dutch watchmaker survives concentration camp, yada yada. I bought the other book too. (Funny thing though, my friend never got her book from me). When I got home I started to read both of them – I can’t give a book I’ve never read can I? I read them both at the same time. I was riveted. God was swarming back in and I could barely keep up.

Still can’t, really. He is now giving me more water than a thirsty girl can absorb. I realize it’s more than anyone wants to know or cares about. But the thing is is that when I thought He was gone, He wasn’t. Silence – or forsaking – doesn’t equal total abandonment. "There is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still," - Corrie ten Boom. The circumstances in my life have not changed since August 22 but everything in me has changed. I have such peace that I never knew before.

Peace. It is such a beautiful thing, a precious gift. And to think it all turned around during such a small event as keeping company with a friend in the emergency room.

God’s funny that way. We think we are helping but we are really the ones getting helped.

Bike Lessons

When I was five or six my parents gave me a bright shiny new bicycle. It was beautiful. It had a sparkly banana seat and I couldn't wait to jump on it and ride like the wind. We lived on a street that had 2.3 kids in every house – I was the only girl – and I was one of the youngest. That bike was my ticket into the boys club.

When I first laid my eyes on it I envisioned joining the neighborhood pack and racing off on grand adventures unknown. Up to this point I was left out when my big brother and the rest of the street kids went to far off places – like the field behind our neighborhood or the convenience store a few streets away. (Back in the late 60’s it was still safe for a kid to venture to such places). But I would be left out no more; the size of my world just exploded.

To me that bike was more than two wheels, a seat and a chain. That bike was grown up. That bike was freedom.

Problem was I couldn't ride it. I didn’t know how to ride a two-wheeler. I had dreamed of this day and even though I now had my bike my greater world was still beyond my grasp. What I needed was someone who knew how to ride a bike to show me what to do. Luckily, my dad was more than happy to volunteer for the job.

The first thing he did was put training wheels on my bike. I hated those things! They looked so dorky and just screamed “I’m a baby who doesn’t know how to ride a big kid bike.” After a few days or so I asked if we could remove the training wheels. I felt comfortable and thought it was time for them to go. Instead, dad adjusted them so they were uneven, making the bike wobbly. Telling me that since I had handled that so well now I needed to see how I did when the training wheels weren’t so secure. Heavy sigh.

We kept this “adjustment” period up for what seemed to me to be an eternity. It was unbearable after a while. Bikes don't go fast when burdened by training wheels. Finally came the big day and dad agreed that the wheels could come off. But even then I still had trouble keeping the bike upright on my own. So dad did what all great dads do – tried to induce himself into having a heart attack. He must have run up and down our street holding on to me and the bike for miles. I don’t know how many times I crashed into curbs, trees, cars or him. But he was so patient and strong and never got tired.

And he never let go of me – at least not until the very last minute when he was sure I knew how to steer safely and I was strong enough to keep peddling on my own. And when he did finally let go – Oh man, I don’t think I had ever felt such a rush of joy and fear and excitement in all my short six years. I can still picture exactly where I was on the street the moment I realized I was riding my bike on my own. That was one big smile. It’s still one of the coolest days of my life.

Keeping us safe and not letting us get ahead of ourselves – that’s a dad’s job.

We want to grow up quickly and rush out to conquer the world but it is the Dad’s job to slow us down and make sure we are strong enough to steer and peddle on our own. I feel like that’s where I am right now. Riding with training wheels - on what/for what I have no clue. But I know, just like my dad, my Heavenly Father won’t let me go until He is certain I won’t crash and burn. Well, at least not too often but if I do, also, just like dad, He too will pick me up, dust me off and send me back out there.

I don’t know why, but I feel like my world is about to explode and another big smile is coming when it does.

I can't say it any better

Its a simply stunning Fall day here in Houston. The air is crisp and cool. My dog and bird are frisky and playful this morning (to the extent a bird can be frisky). And the day is full of promise and hope. I don't think I could be in a bad mood if I wanted to be. (Okay I'm tempting fate - or a red ball - on that one but the day is so great I don't care). I'm sitting here trying to put all my thoughts down and I realize the perfect words have already been written. Why improve on perfection?

So with compliments to mr. e.e. cummings, here is what I would have written if I had thought of it first:

65

i thank You God for this most amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a true blue dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any - lifted from the no
of all nothing - human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e. cummings


Have an awesome day and I hope you do something that brings joy to your heart. Its that kind of day.

Dodge Ball

I hated rainy days in junior high. First off, my 8th grade class - of 14 people - was housed in a temporary building. You know, the kind that never survives a hurricane, tornado or lightening strike. There was no covered walkway from the classroom to the main building; we were always getting soaked as we puddle jumped through the parking lot to go eat, use the "facilities", etc. Secondly, the rain made it impossible to hear in that tin-can rainy death trap (on second thought maybe that should go in the plus column).

But what made rainy days the worst was the fact that P.E. was held indoors in the gym. That meant a boys and girls "co-ed" activity must be found and that meant Dodge Ball.

Let me clear this up right now - Dodge Ball is not a co-ed game. No 8th grade girl has ever thrown a red-rubber dodge-ball that an 8th grade boy could not A) dodge, or B) catch and then C) throw right back at her at the speed of light hitting her squarely about the head, chest, neck, gut, legs, arms or face.

The girls were mercifully knocked from the game early leaving the boys to duke it out for supreme being of the gym. If we were lucky the games lasted long enough that we only had to play 2 or 3 games in a given P.E. period. But with a class size of 14 the games went pretty quickly and I was exposed to sudden death and danger more times than I would have liked on any given school day.

What is it about the rubber they use in those red balls? Man, it stings when it hits you - no matter where on the body - even when covered by double-knit polyester gym clothes.

Even though I played my last real game of Dodge Ball 30 years ago, there are days when I am so sure I am still back in that gym fixed in a fierce battle of life and death.

From the moment I get up and start my day the red balls start flying:
- Bad hair day a-comin' and no amount of gels, sprays, polymers or shellacs is going to make it look presentable (whizz red ball right to the face);
- Out running errands and every crazy with a license is going where I'm going, driving slow, no signal, cutting me off, stealing my parking space (slam red ball to the chest);
- Check my mail and I get a bill I wasn't expecting - forgot about that stupid insurance co-pay (clunk red ball to the legs);
- Had an argument with a salesgirl over nothing for no other reason than I was in a bad mood (direct red ball punch to the gut);
- Checked my email and found a "Thanks but No Thanks" email response to a resume (2 red balls right to the solar plexus);
- And probably the biggest hit of the day - just needing some comfort after such a rough day/game of life I grab a bag of Oreos and a glass and (BIG WHAM red ball to the neck) no milk in the fridge.

White flag. Surrender. I give up. Dodge Ball you win.

Or perhaps not so fast...

Thing about Dodge Ball is both teams get to throw red balls and I haven't thrown mine yet. And as it turns out, I only need to throw 1. Actually, I'm not going to throw any - I'm giving it to my Teammate to throw for me. He can throw lots farther and harder than I ever could. First though, I'm going to take a Sharpie and write down on my red ball all the hits I took today before I hand it to my Teammate. Now all I have to do is let go of the red ball, let Him have full contol of it and stand safely in His shadow and watch while my Franchise Player makes the comeback of the day for the Team.

And tomorrow my Teammate and I get to start fresh - and hopefully it won't be raining.

3 little words

It’s just 3 little words. I say it all the time. It’s easy to say. In fact, I’ve been saying it for years; to lots of people, for lots of reasons. But do I really mean it when I say it?

The problem with words is that saying something often does not translate into easy to do, no matter how many times you say it. In fact, sometimes the more you – I – say something the less meaning it actually begins to have and the harder it is to actually do.

But these 3 words are sooo easy to say and are the portal to peace and happiness. Why then do I have such trouble putting it into practice? Well, I didn’t know I did until God set out to show me and correct the error of my ways.

For the last 10 months (a/k/a an eternity to me; the blink of an eyelash to Him) God has been proving to me in all sorts of fun (I use the term loosely) ways that what I thought I knew – I don’t. What I thought I could do – I can’t. It’s been a long dark night, these 10 months without a job, I’ll be honest. I have tried everything I know, looked everywhere I know to look, said every begging, pleading, “I promise to be good. I’ll …fill-in-the-blank…forever/never again if …” prayer I know how to say, I have yelled at God, and I have given God the cold shoulder – and always His response is the same. Silence. Then somewhere I find a penny.

What?! That’s not a response. After you find pennies literally following you around – hundreds of them – you realize that’s exactly what it is.

I began to catch on that God was clearly saying something to me through pennies this past June while I was on vacation in Paris. I was blessed to have been taken there by my partner and we had just visited Notre Dame. While in the Cathedral, I lit a small votive and said a prayer. I had been doing this in each church I visited during that vacation, which had been many, so God had heard the same supplication many times. This time though I really gave my prayer my all using lots of “Please Lords” and “Heavenly Father” and invoking Jesus’ name a couple of times because I was sure once was not enough. The trip was almost over and then it would be back at the whole job-search thing so anxiety was really setting in and I thought Notre Dame was a perfect place for my final “career” request. As we left the Cathedral and were walking down the street we stopped at a street vendor to look at something and I looked down at the sidewalk. Beside my left foot was a coin and as I always pick up coins I bent down to see what kind of Euro I found.

But I did not find a Euro. I did not find a Franc. In the middle of a Paris sidewalk I found a United States penny.

What did this penny mean? What was God saying to me? “Don’t worry Kiddo, I’ve got it all under control.”

He has performed miracles, some tiny some grand, in front of my eyes to show me that He is the One who knows and He is the One who can. 3 little words. They are still so easy to say but they are anything but little. He is teaching me the true meaning of them every time I say them. I mean them more and more each time I say them. There is a lot left to learn about these 3 little words – a lifetime’s worth no doubt. And He’ll keep teaching and leading me one penny at a time even when this season’s lesson finally ends. And this difficult season will end.

God has promised that no wheat gets threshed forever. I live on this promise. And God keeps His promises. How do I know?

I trust God.

Beware the Guard Bird!

I'm not sure this is what God meant when He said to protect yourself by putting on the "whole armour of God." But it sure scared away my dog.

I didn't always like sushi

Sushi. It used to scare me. I was scared the first time I tried. In fact, the first time was an accident. I ordered off the wrong side of the menu. The left side was cooked fish, the right side was raw fish. But what I saw was described in such an attractive yummy way - and the name Philadelphia Roll - didn't sound off any alarm bells. But when the tray of odd looking pieces of raw salmon (I was not focusing on the cream cheese or the fact that the salmon was "smoked" at that moment) and SEAWEED wrapped around the whole thing was delivered, I felt clearly out of my comfort zone.

What was I to do? I was the only one in my group who had ordered from the "right" side of the menu. Everyone else was sitting safely with their sauteed whatever. And all eyes were on me - "what is that?" Not wanting to be a goober or worse - flake out in front of my big brother and his roommate (I was a junior in college and had gone to NYC to visit with a friend over Spring Break) I acted all casual like I ate this stuff all the time.

But here's what was really happening: my heart was racing and butterflies the size of 747s were flying crazy patterns in my stomach. I was going to have to eat this stuff! Would it be slimy? Would it be gross and fishy? Would I gag on it and spit it out? (Not cool in front of big brother). And how does one eat a "roll"? And what is Wasabi? (Figured out what that was really fast - wow). Okay, here goes . . . hey, not so bad. In fact, it was pretty good.

That first sushi experience was not bad, in fact it was fun, even invigorating. Over the years I have stepped out and tried other types of sushi rolls and nigiri - sushi on a bed of small rice. What I like most is that sushi is fun. Its a fun food. I never have a bad time when I go out for sushi. And sushi is sociable. I can go with friends or alone but I am never lonely. When I sit at a sushi bar there is always a conversation to join - whether it is with the sushi chef or the fellow diners, the experience is almost always different and enjoyable. And there are so many varieties of sushi; there is something for every palate.

I decided to try something new but was scared I would make a fool of myself in front of my friends. I didn't. To think all I would have missed out on if I didn't take what I considered to be a risk.

I know somebody who is like sushi - seems kind of scary if you don't know Him but really great fun and totally worth the risk. And who will introduce you to wonderful new flavors and varieties - of yourself. You've always known they were there but maybe just needed a Buddy at the sushi bar to help you go from the safety of a California Roll to the excitement of an Unagi-Eel Nigiri to get there.

Next time you're feeling a bit out of your comfort zone think about asking your Buddy to go with you. It just might open your world to all sorts of new taste sensations.

He does it for me. Who do you think prompted me to order the sushi in the first place?