Seriously, It's No Big Deal

     No truer words have been spoken. This blogging thing has been an eye-opener for this chick.

     What these peepers have seen is a lot of smoozing. "I'll link your blog if you link my blog." "Why are you at this blogging convention...you're not in the Who's Who of the blogging world?" "Ohhhh...I'm going on vacay...will you guest blog for moi? I'll return the favor when you go on vacay!"

     Another sight I have beheld is, bloggers with 5,324 followers and 716 comments on sweet photos of family and pets and all they blogged was a recount of the day that just passed. Naps and playtime and walking the dog in the park. I got the wrong blogging information packet.     

     This clues me in that my blog, itsmyo, is seriously no big deal. I don't have any pictures on it, except one of me. I have lots and lots of words.

     I have been told by the popularity blogging analysts that I must do the hokey-pokey perfectly to have a reader following.

     Anyone even READ my blogs? They are NOT full of photos with captions like: See Jeanna craft. See Jeanna bake. See Jeanna and her friends toast each other. Nonononono. They are VERY wordy.

     I was told that there are different types of blogging. You, Jeanna, have NOT found your target readers for your type of blogs!

     When I began, all I knew was I loved the written word and I loved the truth to be spoken. I valued principles and how you could apply them everyday in a practical way. Goofy me thought there were others just like me. They must ALL be on vacay!

    I have been tempted to go with a lighter blogging approach and upload tons of pics of my everyday musings and post every whimsical thought that passes my children lips and involve lots of color and eye-candy. But I realize...that is not my calling.

     To be a wildly popular blogging phenom with a reader following up in the thousands would be ideal and exciting. I would love to be so popularly read that the search engines directs everyone to my blog when they search topics, but I don't hokey-pokey enough for that to happen, nor do I swear & curse, nor am I liberal, nor do I swoon over Hollywood and their morals, nor do I dog men, nor do I spread hate language, and nor do I write incessantly about the color pink.

     Face it, Jeanna. You write about words and their significance and their influence and their importance to humans when they're applied to the spirit. They're a check of reality for the lives lived in denial. They have a pulse to help life when it gets stuck. In these words I write there are thoughts provoked to aide where you keep falling down. They point out, they show, they clarify.

     Do people even want to read that kind of stuff...or do they really need an ooo-wee picture of a tiny cutesy-poopsey puppy that just joined the family and asks the readers to cast ballots to name it? Do people want to be encouraged in their daily struggles and shown where to get help or do they need a photo posted of me in my swimsuit showing my parts for strangers to ogle? Idk. I'm asking.

     If you read this to the end, would you acknowledge that you did by simply typing 'read it' in the comment box? If you don't comment then I'll know that you did not read it and don't care to read it and that I don't need to quit my day job.

     Sincerely,
Jeanna, the Wordy Blogger

     

     

    

    

Feasting on Famine Food

     Do you know what the words 'famine food' mean? It is a phrase describing food that is used to feed third world countries or people that have suffered devastation and need food. This type of food is cheap, quick to cook, void of any natural nutrients but peppered with man-made chemical additives, it turns to sludge in the intestines, and is so processed that hunger is back fairly quickly. Thus, all the bloated bellies.

     We wince when we see all those poor people suffering from starvation and want to send money to help them, but your money would only purchase the same food that is causing the starvation to begin with. White rice, white flour, white sugar, white sugar substitutes, fructose anything, and all the products that have these items listed on their food labels have been stripped of the good stuff (fiber, bran, so forth), and then they're primed and pumped full of fake nutrition.

     This is not a word that I made up, you can Google it, it's a certifiable word. If those famined people had clothes on, their swollen bellies would hang over their belts. America is not a third world country but we are drowning amidst the same famine food. Our bellies, waist, and back fat hang over our belts because we feed on the same famine food. It may have different names and prepared different ways but it's still the same thing.

     Famine food is cheaper to buy, it's quicker to serve, and many households can only afford this food. There are ones that don't care and there are others that are just unaware of what is in our Standard American Diet (SAD). But the naked truth is...our intestines and colons are literally clogged and retaining instead of flowing and releasing. 

      At this point, you know what I'm talking about. I'm not zoning in on the body's nutritional health. There are thousands of health professionals that do that everyday. I am a health professional of the spiritual kind. When you see the doctor, he listens to your heart, lungs, and stomach with his stethoscope. He wants to hear if things are scattin' and beboppin', if they aren't, he runs tests or prescribes meds. Usually, you would go to a specialist for specific problem areas. Did I just tell you anything that you don't already know?

     Not only am I a spiritual health professional, I am a SOUTHERN spiritual health professional, a SSHP. I specialize in diseases of the heart, lungs, and colons of the body of Christ in the Bible Belt. A huge percentage of our bellies are hanging over our Bible Belts. Yes, we are bloated and swollen with the ritualistic usage of undernourished food. Jesus referred to His words as food. So from here on out, think of His Words as food, okay? Humor me.

     Bible Belt Christians know all there is to know about The Good Lord, The Man Upstairs, Church attendance and membership, stewardship, 5th Sundays, covered dish suppers, Sunday School, choir, and door to door visitation. In the Bible Belt someone in your bloodline was or is a preacher.

     The church that I went to raised me to quote Bible verses, Psalms 19:14 was my favorite..."Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, oh Lord, my Rock and Redeemer". I was really good at Bible drills, too, where we shouted the books of the Bible in military unison and I knew each and every Bible story and all the characters involved.

     These 'ingredients' are well and good to the rearing up of young-uns in the Gospel...BUT...here. I. go. (takes in big breath so there is no stopping until truth be told)...we are drowning amidst famine food. Like in America, where we are covered in aisles and aisles of food (Word, remember?) and we are driving through the fast food lanes, gulping down prepared toxic meals and letting prepackaged, disposable, trays of anything go down our throats and we become drowsy and puffy and need naps and then we become dull of hearing and with our eyes shut we don't see what God is really doing and we let the preachers spoon and bottle feed us pablum and milk and we let the workers of the church move our arms and legs to exercise us and change our poopy pants and we cry and throw fits or storm off mad at the church and move to another and our carnality just keeps getting bigger and bigger until it completely droops over our fatselves belts (breathe here).

     Yes, I am insinuating that we are famined and fat at the same time, undernourished and dying of starvation because of lack true nourishment. Those who have made complete and positive transformations of their health because of heart, lungs, and colon issues, had to take their own health into their own hands. So do you my Bible Belt friend. Church should only be confirming what you should be giving yourself at home or beyond the church walls. Activities and programs in the church setting do not nourish you completely, you should be lifting the Word to your mouth daily and feeding on it and listening to teaching/preaching to enhance your foods flavor and add to that worship/praise music to complete the entire dining experience!

     Coming from a long line of preachers and being a member of your church for 30 years does not prevent you from starvation and nutritional depletion. Spiritual nutrition is a daily bread. Feeding purposely on God's food (Word, remember?).

     If you're looking to trim your waistline by a few inches and get your innards flowing and releasing again say this prayer to the Father of the Feast..."Father, give us this day our RDA (recommended daily allowance), of worship to You and Your Word to nourish me, strengthen me, trim me, and to make me an active participant in my letting go of famine foods and let me eat freely at your banqueting table, because your banner over me is love."

    
    

 

Does This Cocoon Make My Butt Look Big?

          I have been in this cocoon for 12 years and 9 months, I am ready to come out of it.

     I'm mature enough to know that just because I am ready to come out of it does not mean I am ready to come out of it, but I tell you, I am ready to come out of it, in the impatient sort of way.

     I sold my dance studios in 1999 with the intentions of going full time into dance ministry. It was called "Dance and The Word" Workshops. The desire to teach and dance as a secular business no longer intrigued me. The days of company teams, dance competitions, hours of extra rehearsals, the constant proving myself as a leader in the dance community had lost its lure and I desired to offer dance as a tool and a gift with a more eternal value.

     At the time of my business selling I was up and running with the workshops and had several bookings to teach on weekends. I had written a book called "Disciples of the Dance" and it was selling pretty good. I was ready to make the transition. I had my last show as Artistic Director of Encore Dance Co. in May of 1999, making the announcement onstage at the end of the show that I was leaving and introduced the new owner/director. It was all done and I was ready to take on the new thing that I felt God was taking me to. And then...nothing...no phone calls...no bookings...no workshops...no interest from anyone. It all dried up.

     I went through an identity crisis. Who was I? What was going on? Where did I miss it? I had been a dancer, teacher, choreographer, and a community presence since 1972, now I was at home doing nothing.
For sure, I grew and expanded and developed and learned things I didn't know that I didn't know, spiritually as well as emotionally. But, I still couldn't wrap my mind around why the world had stopped and I had fallen off of it.

     It wasn't until the following year of 2000 and I was signing my tax returns when I saw under my name "housewife" as my occupation. That was when I got it. I was a housewife. The title Instructor/Artistic Director had always been there. Now housewife had replaced that.

      It was at that moment I became very resolute like Scarlett O'Hara was about Tara. If that was what I was, then I was going to be the best housewife there EVER was! If this was my cocoon then I was gonna embrace it and have peace while I was in it. After all, how long could this process possibly take? Right?

     In 2004, exactly 5 years and 5 months after the sale of my studios I began to teach for one of my students who had graduated and left for college and had returned to her hometown to open a Christian dance school. She opened it in 2002 but I did not feel led to be in the studio atmosphere, AT ALL, besides I had signed an agreement with the new owner of Encore that I would not teach in a local school within a five mile radius for 5 years. The beginning of 2004, God began urging me (with not a lot of enthusiasm from me) to help this former student of mine with her vision to have a Christian inspired dance school with uplifting and motivating music, godly movements as well as devotion and prayer time as part of the classes.

      Still, without much gusto I consented and joined in with her call and ministry. Her business grew and flourished by leaps and bounds. She achieved everything in 2 or 3 years that I had tried to accomplish in 17 years with my school and never did.

     I continue to grow and still continue to wonder why this dormancy. What about MY dreams, MY visions, My desires that are wrapped up somewhere in this cocoon that I think is going to split open, at times, because I feel like I'm protruding hugely out of it!

     When it's time, will I be too snug to come out of the rug? Will I be this big, fat, aimless, worm or something that has lost its butterfly vision?

     I have heard that if you try to help a butterfly come out of its cocoon, even if it is coming out on its own already, that it will die. It won't make it.

     So, as I continue to squirm in this personal cocoon and try to survive the transformation process, I will stay attached to the place where it all started...to God...the author and the finisher of my faith. I will cling to His method that is equipping me for my EMERGENCE!

     There are times I think I'll be squeezed to death. There are times I don't think I have the strength to push out. I feel that my life is ebbing away and what will be left of me will be worthless, of no value to anyone.

      Help me, God, to be the best cocooned housewife that there EVER was for I believe there will one day be an emergence-y of me, I will come out, I will fly.

     "Come, my people, go home and shut yourselves in. Go into seclusion for a while....." Isaiah 26:20  

If It's Not One Plague It's Another

       I'm a survivor. I used to suffer from Roseanne Roseannadanna Syndrome.

      This syndrome was named after her because it has only been in most recent years experts have been able to pin down and identify what causes this debilitating chronic nastiness.
     
     How was I diagnosed? Well, it was a self-diagnosis.

      I had the usual symptoms, repeated chaotic plague-like situations that would cause upheaval in my little world. It would leave me flinging my arms around in Lost-In-Space-Robot fashion yelling, "Danger danger, Will Robinson!". Then, I would find myself, as I could see another bout heading my way wailing, "If it's not one thing it's another!" huffing in a disgusted breath.

     These plagues weren't always all my doing, they did sometimes involve the dastardly deeds of another person which would  domino and the law of 'Cause and Effect' would take over. But more times than not, they were because of my own lack of knowledge of what would set a plaguefest into motion.

Below I have compiled a Survivalist Information Guide to help you identify and to stop the plague madness, but if you deem this useless, well.....plague on my brother.

You might be a Plague-ee if...

    1.) Symptom: The bare essentials of your necessary existence (food, clothing, shelter, water, income, relationships) have been tainted and taken from you on numerous occasions.

         This is the blood plague. Intensified Tide cannot remove this.

        After-effects: The loss or theft of personal everyday belongings, finances, friends.    

    2.) Symptom: Feelings of helplessness take over as you arm wrestle unwanted intruders.

         This is the frog-lice-flies-locust plagues. Like someone projectile vomited all over your belongings.

         After-effects: You seem to run around putting out proverbial fires. It's like you spar with an unseen force that messes everything up on a regular basis.


   3.) Symptom: You experience trauma from the breakdown and/or death of your work-mules.

        This is the livestock plague. The things you need to perform duties die in the middle of its active service.

        After-effects: Your car, washing machine, A/C, hair dryer break down and your utilities have been shut off. In other words, what you need to help you breaks down or dies.


   4.) Symptom: Your immune system keeps allowing the crud and croup, infections and inflammation. It does not defend you. Oh the heartbreak of Psoriasis.

        This is the boils plague. The never ending parade of aches, ailments and meds.

        After-effects: Debris from the parade. The aftermath after the destruction.

   5.) Symptom: There is sadness/unhappiness when you view your kingdom and what remains of it.

        This is the hail plague. You have no damage control plan. Your crops keep getting ruined.

        After-effects: What you DO have is broken, torn, dirty, unrepairable, dinged, dented, collapsing/failing.


   6.) Symptom: Head spiraling confusion-indecisiveness-fear-lethargy jousts with you.You're swinging
         a sword and can't see the evil knight you're swinging at.

        This is the darkness plague. You have no definition of who your real enemy is.

        After-effects: Exhaustion from beating the air or lassoing the wind and the culprit giggles at your dumbness.


   7.) Symptom: A sense of loss permeates your every day. Loss of talents, hobbies, friends, family, and yourself.

       This is the death of the firstborn plague. Life rots and stinks for you.

      After-effects: Things and situations lie unused and untapped. Carnage is everywhere.

   HOLD THE PLAGUES!

      It was never intended for God's Property to experience plagues. The proof of that statement is in Exodus. Only the Egyptians were zapped. GP's were untouched.

                Yet....once in the desert, plagues DID come a-calling.

We believe we are unsuspecting victims with no power to change our circumstances. Lie.
It is cards that were dealt us. Lie.
It's our lot in life. Lie.
We are bit actors in a drama forced to play out our role. Lie.

      PLAGUES ARE CONSEQUENCES IN ACTION!

     We want our golden calf and His golden blessings, too! That's a NO-GO in God's eyes. You gotta choose! It's an either or, neither nor choice. The willing and obedient eat the good of the land, not just willing and not just obedient, but both. Both.

     How negligent and unreasonable would it be for the Holy Spirit not to inform, whisper, hint, or instruct us as to what He wants us to do everyday? How to make right decisions? How to stop the plagues?

     Roseanne Roseannadanna always believed that plagues were a normal part of life and never knew what caused them or when they would hit, thus the Roseanne Roseannadanna Syndrome.

      I, however, as a survivor of the plagues, feel the need to warn others of the flying monkeys.  

What's Peas Got to Do With It?

 This is a sensitive subject matter about being sensitive.

Sensitivity is a sensitive topic of the senses because you have to be sensitive to sense it.

             Following is a parable about sensitive sensitivity:
    
     There once was a Princess, her name was Princess Pea Pod. Why? Just go with it. Anyways, she sensed in her heart it was time to get married.

     By co-inky-dink, Prince Hogh was sensing the same thing at the same time. Being a Type A personality, Prince Hogh checked out the e-Royal Highness Matchmaking Service (for Prince and Princesses don't date they just match and marry).

                                      The King approved heartily.

     When they both realized that they were meant for each other, the Prince had one test to prove Pea Pod's genuine sensitivity level. The "I Sensed That" test.

     So, since they were friends on Facebook, he began to post things on her status that only she would 'get' because they had formed a relationship and were at the place where she should sense their meaning.

     She would feel a lump in her heart every time he would post, "If you love me you'll do what I ask." Not a lump of disgust in the feminist sort of way, but a lump of knowing he was asking her to be sensitive enough to 'hear' him even if words were not used.

    A prompting, an urging, a hint, an inkling, an unction....a sensitivity...she did recognize and respond to them all. Therefore, Prince Hogh knew that Princess Pea Pod was the one formed and fashioned for him.They married and lived sensitivi-ily ever after. The End.

    Every daughter and son of The King is a Princess or Prince and is encouraged to sense the messages from Him. We are exhorted to be sensitive to His nudgings. His subtle gestures.The urgings and unctions are sent to you by Prince Hogh (Holy Ghost) EVERY DAY.

     He'll put a pea under your stacks of mattresses and see if you'll respond to it by saying I sensed that. Then He wants you to love Him by doing the thing you've sensed. Recognizing there's a pea is only part of being sensitive. Doing something with the pea is an offering of love and a display of maturity when you do something with all the peas in life.

                      If you love Him, will you do what He asks?
                                                  

I Opted Out

            What did it mean when I said yes to Christianity?

     Did it mean I'm free to say "Hallelujah" and "Pass the margaritas" in the same sentence? Yes, it does.
           But, I opted out.

     Am I allowed to post scriptures on my Facebook wall and then pay money for tickets and attend a comedy show that the language would melt the jewelry off my body? Yes!
          But, I opted out.

     In order to be thrifty and save a buck (practicing my stewardship in this economy) is it okay to stay in and watch all the crude nude-y booty movies I can for the evening? Sure thing!
           But, I opted out.

          So, basically, saying yes to Christianity means I have freedom to choose what I want. Right?

      I can chew a plug and spit.
      I can sip a little bit.
      I can cover my behind and lie.
      I can tell someone I hope they die.
      I can bark at you.
      I can sing catchy songs about hedonism, as long as it has a
                                                       good beat I can dance to.
      I can become best friends with a slot machine.
      But, what does saying yes to Christianity really mean?

    
      I'm free to hate on you.
          I'm free to key the car parked too close to me.
              I'm free to take office supplies from my workplace.
                  I'm free to be jealous of the attention your kids get and charge up my credit cards so mine 
                                                    will be well supplied and popular and in the clique, like yours are.
                      I'm free to fudge on my taxes if it suits the situation.

             I'm free....I'm free...Jesus made me free. That's right, honey. 

     One thing I know for sure, Grace comes with the Christianity deal. That means when I choose to do one or all of the above mentioned, Grace turns its' head the other way as if I didn't do it and says, "All is well with Thee and Thine, try to do better the next time." Ummmm.....NOT!

            Is that what it means to say yes to Christianity?

     What does it mean then? Opting out...it means opting out.

     When my debt has been paid and I am free from clauses and stipulations, rules and regulations. I can tell satan & company, that wants me to stay under their iron clad contract, that I AM FREE TO OPT OUT...I am opting out!

     Where I exercise my freedom and use my gift of Grace is when I use its' ability to help me to NOT do the stuff that keeps me bound in the Law of Sin & Death. Freedom & Grace helps me to OPT OUT!

     Every time I opt out on a deal that will keep me a "free agent", I sing the song "I'm Coming out" by Diana Ross, but I changed the words to "I'm opting out...I want the world to know...got to let it show". I do that because its got a good beat to dance to.

Oh, You're One of Those

     Many moons ago, as a newbie to the wife and mother lifestyle, in between teaching dance and choreographing, I thought it would be advantageous to supplement our family's income by selling Mary Kay Cosmetics. Yes, I was a Mary Kay Beauty Consultant.

     You know how it goes...you order the kit, you get bookings, a friend tells a friend, you try to conform all you meet to the awesomeness of the products (because the secret of Mary Kay is she bought the recipes/ ingredients list from a tanner that used these ingredients in tanning his hides). But most of all, you absolutely must have stock on hand so you can immediately make an instant trade, cash for product. It is so uncool to get an order and have to wait for it to come in.

     This is why I end up at my bank. I'm young, I've never gotten a loan by myself before. I'm nervous. I sit down at the loan officer's desk, I'll call him Mr. Curmudgeon (if you don't know what that means, please Google it before you read on). I hand him my application, he looks at it and says, "Oh, you're one of those."
I was crushed! Why, you ask? Because I thought the same thing he did about salesmen. In reality, I was a salesman.

     One of my best customer's husband called me "The Pusher". You see, there is an unspoken language that comes with unspoken implications when your occupation is salesman. Salesman, of course, is not the only word with which we do stereotypical deciphering.
   
     Take...
                homeschooled
                stay at home mom
                unemployed
                oh, here's a good one...stepparent.

     I've seen the look on people's faces, you can almost hear their thoughts out loud when I say I homeschool my grandkids. Ohhh, poor child, won't they be behind? Disadvantaged? They won't know how to be social. These things have been said to me. A stay at home mom?...gee, how fulfilling is that? As if staying home to rear your children is a death sentence. Being unemployed, as I see it, does not make me an undesirable...I'm gainfully employed and the benefits are stupendous!

    The one that gripes my butt, though, is the stepparent one. Every time, through my career as a stepmother to Tangae and Stacey, because someone would say "you don't look old enough to be their mother" many times I would just let it ride. Many times people would go on and on and I would tell them that they were my stepdaughters. Here would come the dismissal. It would be as if you just said, "I am their step (not-valid-not-a-part-of-not-viable-not-necessary-not-a-real-parent) mother."

     I cannot count the hundreds of times I would say, "And these are my stepdaughters" and I am not joking, people would say out loud, "Oh." Like, it does not matter that you've helped raise them since they were 2 and 3 years of age and they are now 41 (almost) and 42. Or that you were there for every event in their lives except their births or loved them like a mama would through every situation. It has always been, except for a few exceptions, just like when I was seated in the bank at Mr. Curmudgeon's desk. "Oh, your one of those." A step mother. Not a real mother, you just play one on T.V.

     That same feeling that I felt at Mr. Curmudgeon's desk would hover over me. It would crush me. In reality, I AM a step mother. I must accept that stigmas come attached to this word. I remember once when Stacey had spend the night company over, I heard the little girl say to Stacey, "She's not mean at all" with which Stacey replied, "I never said she was." It was just implied, stepmother = wicked/evil. Thanks to all the fairy tales!

     I have looked at my being selected to be their stepmother as being hand-picked by God, Himself. For me to "step" in and fill a space that was presented to me upon the marriage to their father. I took the position  knowing that I was called from the foundation of time to be their stepmother. God specifically told me that from all the women on the face of the earth, He had chosen me to be their stepmother. I have always considered it a privilege and a great honor to hold that title. Even without the kudos.

     I gladly step back and let the real parents have their roles, their names, Daddy, Momma, I'm happy to be called Jeanna, Tangae and Stacey's stepmother. I don't take it as a slam or a demotion to be listed as one, even when our culture negates any positive meaning to the name stepmother, 'cause God and I both know that I relish and revel in the fact that...yeah...stepmother, I'm one of those.

   

The Twinkle Poof Theory

     I live in the Bible Belt. Living in such a responsible-sounding titled region, however, does not make one  automatically Bible savvy. No, farrrr from it. You see, as I live and go about my life here, what I observe my fellow Bible Belt homies (that would be my brothers and sisters in the Lord) doing is the mixing of their personal beliefs together with what the Bible declares as It's own beliefs. Here is a lighthearted example:

     There's a group of good ole boys standing around at a good ole Southern social. They begin to get into topics of the Bible-kind like sin, saints, and salvation (in the South, the weather, politics, and Jesus are popular topics). Upon further discussion of what it takes to get 'saved' and into Heaven, one pipes up and declares that if you're good enough then that's all that matters. One states that they've rededicated their life, again, and does that off and on to keep the slate clean, that should do it. Another blurts out, "Naw, naw here's the God's-honest-truth...you have to believe that Jesus is the Son of God...and that He died...and was buried in a tomb...and three days later He rose from the dead...and if He sees His shadow there will be six more weeks of basketball!" Righttttttt......

  There is one unspoken belief I encounter over-n-over-n-over-n-over, e-v-e-r-y-d-a-y. I call it The Twinkle Poof Theory. Again, remember, this is ALWAYS unspoken, NEVER voiced out loud. We, (as in the consensus) believe that God is a fairy godmother. Yes, with wand and everything. Now, with that belief comes all kind of notions like He comes at our beck-and-call, He's obligated to furnish our every whim, He must overlook any and all actions that resemble disobedience, rebellion, and lack of sensitivity to moral uprightness, aaaaand He is only to remember when we got saved, and use the 'Grace Clause' whenever we have a flesh-out party (which I call sin, but shhhhh...that's a taboo word around these parts). Yep, just like the good ole fairy godmothers in fairy tales. Notice that fairy godmothers are written as fable characters, God does not operate on the belief system of a fable. But, people like the idea of the fairy...she never requires you to change to get the benefits of..."The Wand".

     Ahhh, the Wand. God does not do Bibbidy-Bobbidy-Boo y'all. He does not wave His wand at your special requests that do NOT line up with what HIS belief system states.This is where it gets tricky for us that try to mix God's oil thoughts and our vinegar thoughts. We pull out the 'Grace Clause' and abuse it to death. Here is our interpretation of the Bible Belt-ers 'Grace Clause' :

     "I, as a saved individual, can and will continue to do what I want, when I want, like I want, and when my dumb decisions get me stuck with consequences with no regard to what God has documented in His covenant, I will holler...'graceeeeeeee!', and I will fully expect for everyone that is my friend on Facebook to pray me through my situation by asking God to look over why I am in this situation in the first place and wave His Mighty Wand in my direction and it will be all over, and all better, and that nasty ole thing that has disrupted my life will depart from me and I will continue forth with my same ways as before, thus saith I, the saved individual." (I, the saved individual, will determine the usage of the 'Grace Clause' as deemed necessary.)

     This path of thinking is like trying to fit God into our fairy godmother make-believe wand-waving ideas instead of us fitting into His Kingdom reality. Our hope is that God will go ahead and co-depend with us as we continue to just 'be who we are and we can't help our flaws' instead of calling out to Him and asking Him to be loving and kind and forgiving and help us to change our belief system and help us to stop mixing our concocted confused beliefs with His. He would be overjoyed to aid you and grant you that prayer...without even the use of a wand! He's seems to be very cool like that.

     I have a tendency to haul people unceremoniously into the reality of the way God's does things and the way He thinks, to get them to face their denial and self-deceit. There are just SO MANY theories that have to be addressed and proven out, like the one I like to call the Be-ings to W-ings Theory. This is the theory where my Bible Belt homies believe that when they die and go to Heaven, they will turn into angels. I will unceremoniously take that one on, too. But that is for another day, for my work seems to never be done, and shall never be as long as there are saved individuals around who believe that our future generations will have larger thumbs because of texting so much. Um...that would be the Theory of Evolution... 




  

     


   

   

Jesus On My Tee

     There was a day that I used to think that the whole Jesus thing was corny, hokey even. Those are the only words that I can think of to describe how I viewed watching people be all spiritual. The Bible covers, the bumper stickers, the t-shirts, the conferences, the pens/pictures/paper weights/posters, etc. with printing on them with quips about Jesus. I don't know, but I truly think it was my aversion to mass marketing Jesus. I just thought it was totally unnecessary. Now, understand that I'm totally aware that no one can hear the Gospel unless someone preaches it. I just had my O on how I thought it should be done.

     I suppose my concept was a more simple approach...just live Him in front of everybody and use words if they were needed. I still can't get a picture in my mind of Paul wearing a "I Saw Jesus and it was a Blinding Sight to Behold" t-shirt, or the disciples handing out "Bray if you Love Jesus" bumper stickers to put on your donkey's rear, or coffee mugs with "He's Stronger Than Your Coffee and He's Stronger Than Your Caffeine Addiction" printed on them. It was a major turn-off for me. Not because focus was being put on Jesus, not at all, it just seemed like the merchandisers were hawking their wares in the temple for a buck. I certainly didn't want to be a part of an embarrassing situation where Jesus would have to show up in here and turn over the marketplace tables and call us all thieves! Using His image but not living His image.

     I knew from my early childhood and from being raised in Church, all the Bible stories. I distinctly understood that Jesus was not happy with the buying and selling aspects. I guess I just gleaned from that, that Jesus did not have a problem with the product itself, but the heart of the people selling it. It was just mindless everyday in and out business to them. They didn't leave their tables to go inside where Jesus was, they waited outside and sold a "form of godliness".

    Okay, so I don't even own a product with a single scripture stamped on it at that point in my life. But I had Bibles galore, and Concordances, and stacks of teaching cassettes (CD's later), books on numerous topics, and confession sheets for faith building. I am a hardcore Word junkie. My Bibles are heavily marked, dozens of notebooks filled with thoughts and prayers, worship music in every CD player that I own, TV channels that preach the Word whenever I'm ready. I have stacks and stacks of these things, bookshelves filled to capacity! Here's the one-two punch...in essence, there is absolutely no difference between my past disagreements with everything printed on something and buying the notebooks, CD's, and books. It's still a heart thing.

      Jesus does not care if you read the entire Bible through every year and study His Word 5 hours a day and pray for three and wear your W.W.J.D. bracelet and quote Psalms 91 daily and then never do a thing to give Him away! He does not take joy in Jesus hoarding, Jesus buying, Jesus selling, or Jesus business. He wants us to have a Jesus relationship...with Him...personally...everyday. When I do that very thing I won't want to hoard Him, I will want EVERYONE to have Him! I will want to give Him away, not sell Him to someone for a dollar.

     Again, I have an understanding that it cost money to get the word out about Him. That's why I don't really have the ickiness I used to have when it comes to putting His name out to the public anyway the public will see it or hear it. It is a form of giving Him away, so to speak, "...freely you have received, freely give" (Matthew 10:8). Boiling it down, having a merchants heart vs. having a ministry heart is THE difference between me having my tables flipped over and attention called to the intents of my heart and Jesus walking up to my table and asking for Himself an "I AM" t-shirt. That would definitely ROCK! He IS THE Rock! But that's for another t-shirt.

The Grass is Always Greener in a Magazine

     I must confess, I have gotten involved with something that I can't seem to stop. Just like any one else, I didn't see it to be a problem. It wasn't a danger or any thing like that. It was not hurting anyone, I would think. I just knew I wanted to do it more and more and it always left me feeling that I wasn't satisfied or the next time would make me feel better or exhilarated even. But it never did. After participating with my behavior I would feel unfulfilled, frustrated even.

     I suffer from, Perfect Home and Garden envy. It does not help that I subscribe to magazines that constantly reiterate to me of my imperfect surroundings. They taunt me in the same 'nanah-nanah-boo-boo' fashion as the playground bully would do. Nanah-nanah-boo-boo is a melodious song that's interpreted as 'look-at-what-you-ain't got'. It's a harsh reality...my house, my yard, my table, even the food in my refrigerator does not look like a photo shoot in a magazine.

     Look at all those photos of shiny happy people standing in their newly built or upgraded pristine kitchens with their 5.2 children all gathered around the island and the size 4 mother is in the process of making freshly squeezed lemonade from the trees she grows out back in her luscious fruit and vegetable garden where she bottles and sells her very own unique lemonade that paid for her mansion on the 25 acre farm where her husband is a lawyer and on weekends he hobby's as a cattleman and they breed and sell blue ribbon cows that sell for $10,000.00 a head and he is known by all of his colleagues as "Marlboro Man" as he is quite handsome and tough and gritty and very hands on with the children and is supportive of his wife's business adventure. Whew! I'm tired. I do not measure up!

    I look around my home and see crooked books on my bookshelves, things stacked in the floor, and dog hair rolling down the hall like tumbling tumbleweeds. What a big letdown. If I could somehow take photos of my house, photoshop them to perfection, blow them up and we could just step in and out of the still shots like Bert, the children, and Mary Poppins did with the sidewalk chalk 'drawerings' (what the British call art). I don't know, but that seems almost as obtainable as a house and yard that is in a state of immaculate perfection at all times.

     When I review my symptoms after exposure to the greener grass on the other side of magazine & TV's fence, I know that I know that I know that I've been had...I have fallen for the old "comparing myself amongst others" routine which I know is not wise to do. It's like the bug that can't help itself...it's drawn into the light that zaps it. I shut a magazine feeling the zap of 'you madam are not one of the elite'.

     Understand that it's not the magazines fault, the feelings I have when I close it's brightly colored of the current season's delicious eye candy and meticulously staged covers. No...it is mine...it is mine. To allow what I see to cause me to feel out of league with the rest of the homeowners of the world whom I know, ALL have magazine worthy homes and gardens. Don't you?

     This dream to have a picture-perfection home has caused me to stand still and make note that there will ALWAYS be someone else out there smarter, richer, thinner, more educated, more gifted, more organized, and seemingly to have it all. But when the photo shoot is over and the camera crews and stagers go home, what is real life really like for the flavor of the month? The beaming smiles dim, dust floats through the air and settles on the coffee table and the kids put their dirty hands on the freshly painted door trim that they had painted just for the photo shoot. Yeah...I know life is real and it rots.

     So why stand stand here and look at someone else's greener grass when I have my own green grass to tend to...even if it is over the septic tank. Immaculate perfection is so overrated.

"We're not putting ourselves in a league with those who boast that they're our superiors. We shouldn't dare do that. But in all this comparing and grading and competing, they quite miss the point." II Corinthians 10:12 MB

Susan's Books Went Up Like That!

     My sisters proclaim that I am the official storyteller of our family, or story re-teller I should say, I am not telling fibs but recounting our family history. I guess I have the ability to remember the details that they don't. When we get together for holidays, and the likes, we usually end up reliving one more time, a memory from our childhood. We loved our childhood.

     What's really weird is I can remember as far back as being in my baby bed and reaching through the slats to play with the phone beside my parents bed (my bed was in their room). I also remember having my diaper changed on the bed in one of my sister's rooms and I vividly remember the reason I was crying was because I didn't like the dirty diaper and it made me mad to have it on. So yeah, I remember details.

     One such detail was the day I saw my sister, Susan, get hit by a car. She was eight years old at that time so that meant that I was four years old. I remember watching her out the window of our home, going down our driveway on Colon Road. The house is no longer there, it was moved to another location because progress and Highway 280 was coming through where it stood. She was walking her way to school at Pinecrest Elementary when out of nowhere comes a car and hits her right in front of our house and right in front of my four year old eyes! Do you know what I did? I ran myself to my babysitter/housekeeper and declared to her, "Susan's books went up, like that!" as I did arm motions to reenact the upward explosion of her books. Not once did I mention her being hit by the car. In fact, my babysitter went back to scrubbing the bathtub, counting it as 4-year-old babble. It wasn't until a policeman knocked on the door was she made aware of Susan's accident. She was put into the hospital with a brain concussion, nothing else major. Wow! Her life had been spared. It has been torn down since, but the crosswalk that went over Highway 280 for walkers and cyclist to cross the highway in safety was built because of that very accident. FYI!

     Have you ever been caught up in life where you see what's happening, but when it's processed, your focus seems to be on the 'leaves on the tree' instead of the 'root of the tree'? In other words, you saw only the result of a situation and not what caused the thing to happen in the first place? Over and over you look at the things that keep messing your life up or throws you off your groove or keep getting you down, whatever you want to call it, it's nothing but a diversion. Life says...Hey look this, look at that, look at them, look at those...to get you distracted from the REAL bare truth.

     Let me ask you something? If I had marched into the bathroom where my babysitter was and said, "Susan has been hit by a car!" Would I have been judging her? Well of course not! I would have been simply stating an observation. If I had declared, "Susan is going to die because she has been hit by a car!" That would have been a judgment call because I didn't have the right to say that, that would have been my opinion. Later, while Susan was in the hospital mending...if I said to others, "Susan just did all of that for attention, she wants everyone to feel sorry for her and bring her gifts." Would I have been judging her? Yes, I would have because I was stating my opinion on her motive for getting hit by the car.

      In the day we live, the decree "don't judge me!" pops off lips everywhere. It's a warning from those who spout it to those who are onlookers to "back off and zip your lips". What most don't quite see is the huge difference between making a true observation and slamming the judges gavel down when it comes to situations that play out in people's lives.

     In my time, I have stood in life's windows and have observed people get hit by cars OVER AND OVER again and say to them, "you have been hit by a car" and they turn and walk right out into another street and it happens again. Things are said by them like...it's my job...it's my mate...it's my past...it's that church...it's that person, in reality they are saying...it's THAT leaf and THAT leaf and THAT leaf...never looking at the root, never looking at what hit them or why they were hit in the first place.

    So that is what people are calling judging, when a person makes an observation. I'm observing many getting hit by cars and they don't want me to state the obvious! They don't want anyone to say, "your sin has hit you and here is the results...your sin has repayed you...it has dealt you a great blow and your books are going up, like that!" Those are simple observations, not judging your motive for being hit. I don't pretend to know why you do what you, when you do it, or how you do it, that would be speculation. Speculation IS for me to zip my lip and keep my thoughts to myself.

     Why do you keep getting hit again and again and again? That's easy...you keep doing the deed. Your refusal to stop yourself will keep giving you the same blow time and again. Leaves on the tree tell you what kind of tree it is so if you'd accumulate some leaves you'll be able to identify what principle you keep violating, because you see, the judgment you keep getting is actually been activated by you. You are the one that keeps indictments coming after you. The gavel keeps coming down and only you can stop any and all of it.

     Here's a litmus test: A situation happens to you and you think or say...Why does this keep happening to me? it's time to look at the obvious and get out of the road so you won't get hit anymore! Paul of the Bible knows this for sure, he's even quoted as saying "Wretched man that I am!" He got hit, too.

   So...from this point forward...if I simply state that your books went up like that, remember, I'm just stating what I see, not slamming a gavel down and declaring what you'll reap, that's for the REAL Judge. Honorable Jesus Christ the Righteous, Judge of the living and of the dead.

Pardon Me, Would You Give Me Six Weeks of Your Life?

     I've just spent six weeks in the hospital. Not as a patient, but, along with my family and I, providing around the clock care for my mother, who by the way, only went in for a cracked wrist.

     We have experienced what I would call a 'tragedy of errors' cause it sho wern't a comedy. The unnamed hospital did their utmost to aid her in every way but could not stop the onset of double pneumonia, a staff infection, blood clots passing through her heart and ending in her lungs on two separate occasions, at which she had no pulse or blood pressure which resulted in a stint in ICU for a week. Those were very close calls. But the medicating that they WERE in charge of was the thing that really almost did her in.

     We had absolutely no idea how sensitive to medication/drugs/narcotics/chemicals that she actually was until she was administered the first dose of anything. I won't use the names of any of the meds. but I will say they swung from pain killers to anti-anxiety medicine to sleep aids to OTC's that are quite common to use for allergic reactions. She had catatonic reactions to each and everything they gave her. Who knew?

     Our days melted into nights that were long and sleepless. And when I say sleepless that means without any sleep of any kind and no shutting of the eyes, at all. The first pill that was given her to help her to rest, sent her into a 3-1/2  day, non-stop, hallucination trip where we tended to children that weren't in the corner, hung invisible things up, and squished bugs on the ceiling with our feet. She insisted that I help her do these things with her. No one could leave her side for a moment, she snatched her splint off along with everything else she was attached to, repeatedly. Because of her strength and flexibility, she would swing her legs over the bed rails and try to get out of bed. She would bolt straight up in bed and say, "Help me". This plea was repeated every few minutes throughout the entire hospital stay. Her pleading haunted me.

     During this time we let her doctor go and brought another on board. His new meds. sent her into a 2 1/2 day of the same thing. We went days on end with no sleep, staying on watch, all for one purpose and one purpose only. To keep our mother alive. We stood in the gap for her.

     We wrote everything in a notebook, we logged anything and everything that was done to her or needed to be done for her. We asked questions, insisted on action to be taken in certain areas, we made request upon requests and demands upon demands. We had our sights on getting her out alive AND have her comfortable while she was having to be there.

     We went to extremely great lengths to save our mother. I have shared only a smidgen of what actually took place over the six weeks she was there. During that time I truly began to understand and ponder on what being an advocate truly meant. We were her advocates. We fought for her very life. And then I saw it...I remembered that WE also had an advocate. It was not the hospital administration, the nurses or the doctors. It was Jesus.

     When we were spiritually sick and dying from the cause and effects of sin, Jesus, with everything He had inside of Him, fought for us. He went through severe deprivation and sacrifice to see to it that we were cared for and comforted. That everything that we would need would be provided. He fought for our very lives. He stood by us never to walk away and leave us unprotected. We were worth it to Him. He gave His very life to save our lives. It was an exchange that only an advocate could make.

     Upon emerging from this unforgettable experience, I now truly appreciate this aspect of my Savior's willingness to rescue me from death. While I was dying, He sought me out and became my go-between Man. I never knew the depths of this mighty act until I became an advocate myself. I guess that's where the saying comes from, '"Oh....I see!", said the blind man.' 

"My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any one sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous." I John 2:1

An Arrow in God's Hand

     Yes, that's what you are. You have been in His quiver, His holding place, for this time of releasing. You've waited for this moment to arrive. It is now here.

     God is The Master Archer. This day, He has selected you and has said, "It's your time, are you ready?" Slow and steady He places you on the string of the bow.

     Your parents are the bow. He has used them to prepare you for life and here it is, this very moment. He  holds the bow in His hands, with a strong, powerful grip, preparing them too...for letting go of you is just as hard for them even though they've known this day was coming.

     The Archer raises His arms with bow and arrow firmly in place, squints one eye to zone in on the target for a precise and calculated shot. He's focused totally on the target with accuracy as His goal.

     The target is your destiny. With steady aim, The Archer releases you full speed through space and time and to a place that seems so far away, yet so close. But it's yours to hit. It's your mark. With no one else's name upon it, your purpose will come closer and reveal itself as the target looms large in front of you.

      And there you are, dead center of the bullseye. Your intended place. Archer and bow afar watching you be what you were created to be, an arrow in the Hand of God.
  
   My prayer is that you don't stray to the right or the left but straight on to the center of your purpose.
 
     "He hath bent His bow and set me as a mark for the arrow. He hath caused the arrows of His quiver to enter into my reins." Lamentations 3:12-13    

This Is Going To Hurt Me More Than It Does You

     That's a big, fat, hairy lie....was the thought I'd have every time my mother said this to me right before she spanked me. How could she even possibly think that this is hurting her worse? 

      My mother and I had the usual mother/child rituals. Punishment was one of them. After I had tempted, tested, and tried my mother to the nth degree. And after she had told my sister and I for the 100th time to stop torturing one another, she would then head out the back door. When we heard the screen door slam shut, we knew it was all over but the crying. Sitting right beside our back porch was a switch bush. How convenient.

      I have since, as a mother, come to understand the statement, "this is going to hurt me more than it does you." How many times my heart has ached because I had to enforce a punishment. As mothers, we pour our entire lives into our children only to watch them ebb and flow from brilliancy to stupidity in the same hour. Which in turn causes me to ask, "Where did you come from?" Even though I know, I still need to ask...it helps me to decipher whether they are animal, vegetable, or mineral.

     Then I am prompted to ask questions like, "Who raised you?" and ultimately, "Where have the aliens taken my real children?" Then out of exasperation, I concede that I am terrible at this 'mother' thing and if it hadn't been for me, my kids might have been more perfect. Epic fail.

      Yes, all mommies question themselves and their abilities to guide their children from babyhood to independencehood. To prepare our kids for Decision Making 101 and Real Life Sciences is very unnerving and tedious. Do we even know what we are doing?

     I have since learned a long time ago, that, no, on my own, I have absolutely no idea how to get dressed in the morning much less prepare and launch a child into their future. But I know the One that came up with all this novel idea of child-rearing and such.

     Think of God as an archer. In His quiver are many arrows, which are your children. In His hand is a bow, which is the mother and father. He draws an arrow from His quiver, He brings His arms up, bow in one hand, arrow in the other. He places the arrow with the bow, aims the arrow at the target and using the assistance of the bow (parents) He shoots the arrow (child) into their future as they hit their mark, their target, their destiny, they are firmly in their place that they were sent.

     I know my random stupidity has hurt God. And though I believe that God does NOT give you cancer and causes you to have car wrecks to teach you something, no more than I would stand my child out in a busy highway to teach them that traffic is dangerous, I know that my dimwittedness has caused the pendulum of repercussions to swing my way. You see, He has law and He has an order and divine physics are in motion for us all to hit our marks. As precise as the Archer is, we, His children can completely and stupidly get in the way for Him to stand and shoot us to our destiny. Thus, hurting Him more than it hurts us.

       Wouldn't it hurt you, mother, to stand and watch your own child do the same? Because you know the pendulum is swinging and you'll have to stand there and let the cause take effect. God loves you so much that He will stand there and let you do what you've made up in your mind to do and will also love you through the direct hit you take because of the results of your decision. Isn't that what we have to do as mommies?

     Moms, take a lesson from your own children. Remember and recount how it feels when your baby rejects your aiming and direction, and all you're trying to do is be the bow in the Archer's mighty hand. It feels the same to God when we reject His aiming and purpose for our lives. This Mother's Day why not take a little target practice with your kids.
     
  

My Space

     Do you remember the scene in Dirty Dancing where Johnny tells Baby, "This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine.", as he forms the boundaries of space between their frames for her first dance lesson? Dancers are a group of individuals that are very territorial when it comes to our "space". Whether it's a vast space or a tight one, we all mark ours on stage or in classroom.

     Space is a valuable possession to a dancer, it's in our space that we take lines and angles and call them moves, and we permeate through our spaces to express the moves. Silently. It's our place. Our realm. Our space.

     This notion is not just practiced by dancers, I've seen this in church pew all the way to friendships. We all know somebody that got ruffled because someone sat in their pew or someone horned in and took a friend away. I think we all have infringement issues. I think we all have it branded in our genetic codes to be mindful of our spaces.

     Two-year-olds know the word "mine" fairly early in their learning to communicate stage. The deed to my house is very specific as to where my property starts and stops. God even zoned off areas for the Twelve Tribes of Israel to live to be their inheritance. Allotted space is clearly understood between humans as well as the animal kingdom.

     I know which is my house, my car, my clothes, my children, my husband, my money. You know yours. I don't dance in your space and you don't dance in my space. Simply understood, right? Yet, we as Christians are very ignorant of our spaces and the immense deception when it comes to the enemy of our territory. He is a 'space invader' in the truest sense of the word.


     Adam and Eve had their space invaded. We're talking authority here. Their realm of authority. Eden was their given realm of authority. When Sly Snake slithered into their space they had complete rights to say, "This is my dance space, and not yours. Out!" But they didn't do it, they got caught up in thoughts thinking God was withholding them from being like Him. This was majorly not even so. So began the plan to get our space back to us, legally. Enter Jesus.

    
     Easter is the hallmark celebration for those of us that call ourselves Christ-i-ans. If not for Easter, there is no need for our faith at all. Easter was the complete fulfillment of the plan to get our space back. Eden was supposed to expand to cover the earth (read The Eden Atmosphere, July 26, 2010). Because of the completed work of Jesus, Eden has now been placed inside of us instead of being a physical location.


     That's MY space. Mr. Slick is not welcome into it. He usually does not try the garden gate, he creatively camouflages himself in my realm and tries to make me think it's me thinking those thoughts. That it's me that wants to be angry or resentful. That it is my personality to get aggravated or frustrated. Or that it's just natural for me to get into fear and worry, anxiety and stress. After all, all of that is just common to humans. The only thing that we should be having in common is we should all stand squarely in our space and tell the snake in camo that he is to exit our jurisdiction. There is no...mi casa su casa.

     Anything that pertains to you, is your jurisdiction. Think of it. Name it. It's your arena. This is the birthright you've had purchased for you, thanks to the event of Easter. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. As Jesus was about to ascend into Heaven, He very clearly gave us back our rightful ownership. The devil may be the ruler of this world's system, but the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof. My space is the fullness thereof.
     

Peeves That I Pet

     Don't get me started...don't even get me started. Okay...I've started. I have the peeves. As I have gotten older they have become more overt. This is a polite way to say I am more articulate in expressing my deep dislike of certain situations and happenings that grate me like 40-60 grit sandpaper.
   
     Well? Doesn't it bother you when someone sits on your made-up bed? Or how about when someone knows how to drive but doesn't understand how blinkers work or what a turning lane is for...or Mr. Impatient pulls out in front of you to only then drive like a fossil-head (my pet name for this style of driving).

     Here's another...using your stuff and then not return it to where they borrowed it from. Someone tells you what time to meet them and they are later than late with no explanation or invites you to dinner at their house at 6:00 and they haven't pulled any food out to cook...aaaaahhhhh!!!!! Or people that, the only thing you can depend on is their undependable- ness.

     Here's the monumental one for this peever: having things that serve a purpose and it does not work, function, or provide its service. Nothing can cause me to orbit the earth's atmosphere any more than this! When I get a product out to use it, I want it to do what is was designed to do, right at that very moment. I do not want it to stop up, freeze up, blow up, choke up, or give up. Is having the vacuum cleaner do its job 10 minutes before the guy comes to look at your ceiling because it leaked just after a new roof had just been installed too much to ask? Is it? Is it too much to ask that the new roof work? The garage door remote work, even with new batteries? The copier work, even with new ink cartridges? People work, even with strong bodies and bright minds?

     Please don't misinterpret my peeves for being hard to please, picky, and expect perfection from everyone. I think I am more frustrated because I'm not. I take and flow and give and for-give and take some more and flow some more and give some more and for-give some more and then....then...the Queen is no longer amused.

     There are days that I totally feel God's pain when He has able-bodied children that offer no help to further His cause one iota. Look how strong and brilliant we are, made like Him and yet don't function in the capacity we were created to. The depth of our ability to love, the length of our need to serve, the height of our special gifts and talents...all used for our own daily needs and for our own gratification.

     Just like my vacuum cleaner...created to suck up and remove all the debris, filth, undesirable, unneeded, useless junk from the places we live and walk in, we have like purposes to do the same for others, provide a service that benefits and enhances their lives.

     Jesus rebuked a fig tree for not fulfilling its call to produce fruit, food, nourishment to Him and his travelers. It was posing as a place to be fed but offered nothing to eat. It was not living its reason for being. I can't hide behind grace and say, "Jesus knows my heart" or "God understands how uncomfortable I get doing things I don't like". Grace is given to me so I CAN DO the thing He wants from me. Jesus noted that it would be by our fruit that we will be known. He recognized it to be a fig tree I'm sure because of its shape, size, and leaves but the thing that was important enough to document was the fact that it did not serve its purpose. It was taking up space and gave nothing in return (except for a small amount of oxygen).

     Don't ever be caught living, breathing, taking up space and offer nothing to the world around you. To feed, to nourish, to love, encourage, to give, to offer and provide THAT is our purpose. The scriptures say that David "served his generation and then slept with his fathers". Don't be like an empty building on the street corner that looks like a business is there, even has a sign out front but when you try to go in and use their service you find it is out of business and no longer provides what you needed. If you go to the cleaners, you expect cleaned clothes, when at the the gas pumps you expect gas, when at school you expect a place to learn. The same is true for God's created children, He expects us to function in the perfection that we were created to function and does not desire any malfunction in us whatsoever. I would suppose if God had a peeve this would be it, too. Like Father, like daughter!

    

Oops, I Did It Again

     Why do I do the things I hate and don't do the things I should do...like stop myself? Argh! How can toilet paper make me act so unbecomingly? A simple observation of '12 rolls are now down to 2 in five days time' and before I know it, oops, Miss Petty appears.

     I hate it when she shows up. I don't like her. She'll take a simple statement that could address the problem like, "Hey everybody, slow down on the T.P. usage, k?" and turn it into a detailed dissertation of facts, statistics, and evidence.

     "Large amounts of this stuff will stop up the septic tank. Remember the septic tank? The one we just had to have cleaned and new field lines put in last year? Did  I mention stopping up the septic tank? Twelve rolls minus 10 rolls in five days equals 2 rolls a day! No behind needs this much paper!! Are you making turbans with it? Is someone playing "mummy"? Does someone have a toilet paper eating disorder we should know about?"

     She digs the cardboard tubes from the bathroom wastebasket and puts them on all her fingers to emphasize the amount used, AGAIN, and then away she goes with, "Will I have be the toilet paper monitor? We might have to have a library check-out system for this paper! Seriously, really, 6 squares for number one and, maybe...possibly, 18 squares for number two."

     Ole' Petty probably would be finished at this point but members of the defense actually deny using the paper which makes her all the more accusatory. "You people" is a favorite term she uses to call the defense when their make-believe statement and their common sense run away with dish and the spoon. "Well, somebody has used it! The cats? The dog? Did they roll the 'Bama Wear' in Childersburg?"

     Abruptly, I gain control and tell Pettypooper to "zippeth thy lippeth". "This is getting nowhere and accomplishing nothing." She was wanting repentant confessions that simply were not going to come. Her cry of "Repent, all ye who wasteth the paper uselessly!" was met with, "We shant".

     I'm the one left with the twangs of why do I do that? How does it slip out like that? When are you going to learn to handle things differently? Don't you see her coming? Dang. The thing I hate, I do. From what I've heard, there are others that suffer from 'wretched man' disease where the symptoms are easy to see. The symptoms are: you do the opposite of what you should do and then guilt comes, like coffee with your dessert.

     Who is able to deliver me from Miss Petty and her sidekick, Guilt? Well, since it's the Inventor of toilet paper and septic tanks Himself, I figure He can. He's the One that's even made me aware of her showing up and that she is not like His personality or His character, at all. And He's the One that forgives me when I let her rip and then let guilt rip me. He's also the One that shows me that there is a way to completely stop them from having it their way. 'I' repent for participating with them and show them the bathroom door! Out!

     As long as I live and breathe, there will be different kinds of "oops, I did it again" situations. Just like the other day, when Princess Short and Snippy showed up.....

This Year I Will Get Back in Whack

     You know it when you're out of whack. Everything is out of order from your laundry to your spine. It's not obvious to others, but you see the lack of whack literally in every part of your life. Right?! No? .....I keep forgetting that I am the only whacked species of my kind. I have to remind myself that everyone else on this planets' lives and homes look like magazine covers.

     I could be on the cover of Disorder Weekly or Fashionably Disarrayed. But there are no such magazines, are there? "Why is that?", I ask...I answer myself..."Because no one wants to see my chaos". If I were a hoarder, somebody would want to see that, but I'm not a hoarder, or a piler, or a stacker, or a collector of stuff. I'm actually a minimalist. Less is quite more, to me.

     So what's all this talk about a disheveled life? It's my perception. It's how I view my surroundings. Here is the best comparison I can use: it's like the anorexic saying they are fat and obviously they are not. So it is with me, no one can convince me that the contents of my house is not growing in shape and size exponentially right now even as I blog.

     Okay! I put a lot of emphasis on neatness. But if you looked closely you would not see neatness AT ALL. There are unpainted shutters and unpainted toenails. There are unassigned items that need an assignment. There are socks without their mates, drawers with useless doodads. Videos not put on DVD's, undeveloped disposable cameras waiting at least 4 years to be developed because we've had our digital camera for 4 years. I agonize because I am not organized!!

     Who told me I needed to agonize? Well...um...hmmm...me? Right Jeanna, ME! Me told me that I needed to agonize over my lack of whack. Eureka! I've discovered something very crucial. I listen to me way to much. I put a lot of undue pressure on me. Unnecessary laws...this has to be this way...I need this done by...I don't feel I've accomplished a lot today...the garage needs an intervention. 

     My goal for 2011 is simple and minimal, like me. Find the whack, lure it to my house and put it to work. By the end of this year you just might see me on the cover of  In Whack...And Loving It!

It's All In The Shoes

     It's Nutcracker season! I have on my Alabama Ballet Nutcracker sweatshirt as I sit and write. I have seen a bazillion performances of all kinds of the Nutcracker. I've even have had some of my own students in professional company performances. Makes mama proud!
     Each dance company has their own take on the story of Clara and her night of Christmas magic, but the same theme is repeated no matter how the story is told. Clara is given a special gift (the Nutcracker) and there is an enemy (the Mouse King and his cohort) that tries to take it from her.
     The problem is solved very early in the ballet, in fact it is solved even before intermission and Clara goes on to experience a wonderfully, beautiful time of fantasy and the dance. Do you remember how she stops her menacing enemy that threatens to take away her prized possession?  She threw her shoes at her enemy. Off goes the problem from wince he came.
     I had a similar situation happen to me about 15 years ago. Hold on to your religious shoes. I had been going through a time of really pressing in to go further with my relationship with God. I had gotten very desperate for more of Him. I had some "prized possessions" that I knew God had given me and I needed to move from where I was to where I needed to be in order to use them.
     So, I'm at a revival. I had been attending it all week long. It was the last night of the revival and I felt I had not gotten what I wanted. My enemy, whom I am terribly ignorant of at times, was tussling with me not to go beyond where I was. It was during the altar call, I was standing up front near the side of the church. I knew what God wanted me to do but the voice of fear had me scared to obey God, that should of been a good indication to make me push on through, BUT...me and my mind mumbled, and muttered, and spit, and sputtered, and rocked and reeled. It was odd what God had told me to do.
     My mind said, "This is so dumb", "You'll look ridiculous, "No one has ever done anything like this before...in a church", "You'll be escorted out", "What has this got to do with getting closer with God", I asked. Here's what happened. I felt impressed to slip my shoes off and place them on the floor next to my feet, yes...in church. I told you it was odd. The second I got my first shoe in my hand God said, "Throw it." My brain had a meltdown, you could see it coming out of my ears. I knew in that very instant that if I didn't do it right then that I was going to put myself in the very center of my enemy's perfect place for me and THAT was not an option. So....I reared back and with stupid all over me, I threw my shoe clean to the back of the church and the second one followed shortly afterwards. I have not been the same since that day.
     All I can say is the veil that had kept He and I separate was torn in two that night. My enemy scampered off and I fell deeply in love with my God and His Word. Does God always ask you to do such dramatic things, no, no He doesn't. Drastic times take drastic measures. Everyone has their own "story". This just happens to be mine. This is the way mine is told. You have yours. The common story line is this: you can have your enemy out of the picture way before intermission and you can go on and have a wonderfully, beautiful, unabandoned, unfettered relationship with your God. It just may be the shoes holding you back.
   

Razzle Dazzle 'Em

     I just saw an article in a well-known and vastly-read magazine. It suggested that I needed to dazzle my family for the holidays. Being a dancer/performer I've always thought of the Thanksgiving through New Year's season as a part of a performance, just on a smaller stage.

     The moment Halloween is over, my days, for decades has consisted of rehearsals, costumes, Christmas parades, Christmas shows, Christmas scenery, field trips with students to see 'The Nutcracker', going to see my own students in 'The Nutcracker', decorating studios and home, week long parties at the studio, parties at my house, Christmas pageants at my church, all written, directed, and choreographed by me. In between all of that, family trips to Gatlinburg, Christmas shopping, hosting both sides of the family in my home for feast and festivities, all the while attending my own children's school programs and extra curricular activities. Dazzle is what I do.

     Everything I have ever done, or put my hand to was to bring joy and pleasure to anyone and everyone. My concept was to not ask anyone to do anything but to show up. I wanted the experience to be where you walked in to the theater, my home, the church, or the parade and you just sit down and experience the whole holiday magic without any effort or work. I felt as if I was presenting you with a gift.

     A labor of love is what I call it, insanity is what my husband calls it. Do you know how many 50' floats we have made scenery for, larger than life scenery, I might add. In the rain, in the freezing, in the wind, and the children just show up and step onto it and they are the stars and they go home? Or the full productions of lights, music, dance, and song. They perform and thrill and get their rewards of hand claps and flowers and go home with their admiring families. We clean up and go on to the next dazzle.

     My theme song has been: "Give 'em the old razzle dazzle, razzle dazzle 'em. Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it and the reaction will be passionate" - from Chicago. I'm in a place now where I'm ready for someone else to dazzle me. A very dear friend bought tickets for us to see the 'Rockettes Christmas Spectacular' for my birthday and then she took me out to eat. It all felt very strange for I have not always had the occasion to be the recipient of the dazzle. But, I did gobble it all up, dinner and show.

     No one has to tell me I'm performance driven, um duh. God and I are working on that. The area He has me working on during this season of my life is the, 'Let-Someone-Else-Dazzle-'Em-For-A-While' exercise. I have squirmed. He has let me. The dazzle has been dimming. I have mourned. He has let me. My identity is being tampered with. He's guiding me through the transition. I'm afraid of what will be or not be left of me when the exercise is over. He knows it's for the best.

     Do I need to dazzle my family this Christmas season or anyone else for that matter? No, I don't. Do I want to dazzle them? Yes, I do. Will I be allowed to? Yes, of course, "All things are lawful for me, but all things are not profitable. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be mastered by anything" I Corinthians 6:12. Hard lessons for a performer to learn.

     So, this season, I have laid performing down. I have agreed to lose myself, so I can become me. I'm turning off the spotlight, packing away the glitz, not attempting to put on the ritz. I'm going to enjoy this season with one thing in mind, Jesus. Not to perform a reenactment of His birth with dancing angels, but to just enjoy Him. If it weren't for His arrival, there would be no pageantry performances all across the world. Off the stage...I'm gonna let God do what He does so well, I'm gonna let Him 'razzle dazzle 'em'. How brilliant is that? Yes, He is.