This Happens All the Time

Howdy, Friends…
The last post was…May 6? Where did time go? And I would really like to know this: How did the last 22 years pass so quickly? And how did my baby boy suddenly become a man? I know this happens all the time, but how did this happen to ME? I just blinked!

I stand continually amazed that God uses those who are willing to follow Him, any age, any color, any status. That God uses a man or a woman, boy or girl, who chooses to love God with all his heart and follow that narrow path to LIFE.
Several years ago, Sam came to Rick and me before his high school graduation saying that he wanted to attend Bible college instead of going the traditional route of higher education. As much as we tried to dissuade him and guide him into attending at least two years of community college to acquire his basics, my dear stubborn son shook his head and told us “no” (*gasp* Of all the nerve!). Adamantly, he told us, “Mom and Dad, I just truly believe God is telling me to attend CFNI (Christ For the Nations Institute in Dallas) to be a minister.” I know that Sam, even in his teens, really prayed to the Lord, read his Bible (probably more than his school books), and loved God with his whole heart.
So, not wanting to stand in God’s way in Sam’s life, we blessed him and gave our permission. Not that Sam wanted our permission necessarily; I think Sam would have taken off on his own anyway, but it was nice to know that he wanted that blessing from us, which he received.
So, after his graduation last year and this May 7th, Sam was “ordained” as a minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He officially can minister from cradle to grave, how about that! I can’t tell you how honored I feel that God chose one of my babies for His purpose. And now I have a personal minister to preach my funeral – someday – and I know he’ll tell some whoppers on me. Believe me, I deserve them.
Since then, I’ve done some major sleeping and acquired a good rhythm again, getting ready for that last class this summer. I decided to treat myself better in the sleep department. I never really felt the effects of sleep deprivation until lately and have gained some wisdom through a few foggy/groggy experiences, all self-imposed. Sometimes, it takes me a while…
Ohhhhhhh… some good friends and I met yesterday (Saturday) in Jefferson, Texas, for some girl time, and what a time we had! Debbie from ofhispasture and Vickie from sandflatfarm, and Mona from Pekin laughed and shopped, had a boat ride, and shared pies with a stranger, and I can’t wait to share some of our day with you!
Peace and love. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem. God bless Israel. God help America and have mercy on her.

I’m Done!

Stick a fork in me. I’m done with that cotton pickin’ research paper (at 4:21 a.m.)… It’s turned in…my last one EVER, and I’m going to bed. Don’t call me or knock on my door, because I’ll be

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

A Cat and His Prey

It was a beautiful day in NE Texas!  I spent the greatest day by myself on the riding mower with my iPod, grooving to the tunes and singing at the top of my lungs.  The neighbors probably wondered about the howling, but I cared less.

This winter and spring, I kept the bird feeders full and received a handsome reward with the biggest variety of birds I’ve ever had.  In fact, I started pinning them on Pinterest just so I can keep track of them.  This morning, I was so excited to see painted and indigo buntings in my yard.

I zoomed in as much as possible.  It is what it is.  I’m asking for a zoom lens for graduation.

And the first class I’m taking post-graduation is a photography class.

We inherited the cat Kid#5 Mary’s boyfriend gave her.  Why do guys give girls animals?  Little kittens are so cute, but they grow into big cats, cost money, and Mom and Dad end up with them.  Really, I’m glad to have a cat around because of mice and snakes, being on the edge of the woods.  And watching Gray, the cat, stalk the birds is entertaining.  Just so you know, he hasn’t caught one yet.

Oh well.  Gray hops on the base of the bird bath, his kitty-kingly perch.

I love that cat.

And he gives up and returns to the deck to feast on his kitty kibble.  The birds fly down to start the game  again.

Peace and love.  Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.  God bless Israel.  God help America and have mercy on her.

Winding Down the Semester – Already!

Hey, Fellow Blog Groupies!  Those of you who are still coming over…I’m not officially AWOL.  I’m trying to knock out this last big semester before finishing this bucket list item – my BAAS.  I have enough hours to have my masters, but I’m not there yet.  Along with a spring wedding, yard work, family events, moving a kid, and a couple of additional plate lunches for me, the action never stops.  I love this life, and it keeps moving on me…with me…sometimes against me…but always moving…as it does with you, too.

I’m engaged in writing the biggest paper ever written…by me.  It’s turning into a monster.  My instructor gave me free choice of topic, and I chose to write about cultural influences on church music and the direction that church music is taking.   It’s a subject that is very interesting to me since I have a lifetime background in church music and music training.  I’ll complete my paper with the info I have and continue to expand it with more surveys and, hopefully, find someone who will publish it – denominational periodicals, church music magazines, etc.  The information is just too good NOT to share.

In January, I was asked by my church pastors to direct the church music and church choir.  I consider it an honor.  My choir is awesome!  Just awesome people who are so gifted and talented.  They challenge me every week, and I’m already struggling to keep up with them.  They’re race horses!  Coming up this summer:  a music “encounter” (a more exciting word than “workshop,” and it suggests more than just hard work).  Doesn’t a music encounter sound like fun?  I’m trying to come up with a catchy title.  Suggestions?

Things are a-changing!  I need to double up on my vitamins and get back on Couch-to-5K.  Yeah, that didn’t last long, but I can see the great benefits of it.    I may make my body get up and do it, still.  May.  In May.  After May.  Next May.  And may-be not.  I’m pathetic.

Peace and love.  Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.  God bless Israel.  God help America and have mercy on her.

Hello, Queen Debbie?

It’s a funny thing – names.

Cruising internet articles tonight – like I have nothing else to do, like go to bed, or worse yet, study – I read a couple (actually, more than a couple) of light articles.  One grabbed my attention:  “Queen Debbie doesn’t quite have the right ring to it. King Bob just sounds wrong,” was the by-line for the article about what Prince William and Kate Middleton might call their firstborn.  Quite frankly, I like the sound of “Debbie” for their daughter, but “Bob” is just too common.  Don’t you think?

Another article rang a bell for me.  Maybe she’s schizo or wants an alter ego to blame for future failures, but one free thinking mom’s perspective articulated specific reasons she wants to be called “Ms. Eva” instead of “Mom.”

Personally, I never had a problem with my kids – or other kids – calling me Mom.  Since my boys were teenagers, I’ve housed and fed a few boys other than my own, and they still call me “Mom.”  Makes me proud they love me that much.  I also have a few adopted daughters who I happily call my own.   My beloved Amber child sends me cards addressed to “Mom.”  She’s my favorite child.

And most likely, every mother has experienced the crowded store scenario when a child calls out “Mom!” and every mother’s head jerks in the direction of the voice.

One fear I have is what my own grandchildren (someday) will call me.  But you have to know my children to understand what I’m saying.  Recently, my dearly beloved girls and I discussed which parts of their parents they got at birth.  You know the conversation:  I got this bad trait from Dad or I got Mom’s horrible…Seems like these talks always major in the negatives.  I’m then forced to turn the talk to the positives just so they maintain some balance on their perspectives.  But I digress.  So one trait they all get from their dad is nickname-calling.  Everybody - human and animal alike – are assigned nicknames, sometimes multiple nicknames.  For instance, Kid #3 Jeremiah during toddler-hood was nicknamed Rodriguez and Hottee-dot-baby-doll-scooter-bug-hoss-fly-dude.  Don’t even ask.   All my kids have multiple nicknames, and with that assigned burden from their father, they in turn tend to make up ghastly names for everybody they know, like, or don’t like.   Hilarious names.

And that’s why I’m afeared.  When Kid#2 Rich married, our family was automatically blessed with two beautiful young children who I’ve written about in past posts.  Very sweetly, I thought (considering), my children asked Rick and me what we wanted to be called as step-grandparents.  And without another second escaping, the name calling began – MeeMaw and PeePaw.  MaMoo and PaPoo.  GooGoo and PooPoo.  Granny and Grunt.

Do you (if you’re old enough) remember the film “Love Story” where Ali McGraw’s character, Jennifer, called her father by his name, Phil?  When she talked to him on the phone, she said, “I love you, too, Phil.”  I always remembered that.  So, when I finally decided that Granny or GooGoo wouldn’t work for me, I decided I wanted to be called Debra.

Well, the ruckus my children made!  “NO, Mom!  That’s not grandmotherly!”

Rick and I finally settled on Grandad and Grandmom, trying to keep it civil.  So, we write letters or cards to our little cherubs and sign them as such.  However, as you know, some children just can’t grab onto a name and sometime invent their own name for you as to their comfort level.  “Grandad” took.  Now, when they call, Grandad will talk to them, and Madie will say, “Grandad, I need to talk to Aunt Debbie.  Hello, Aunt Debbie…”

So, it’s Grandad and Aunt Debbie.  I don’t know how it will play out when I become a biological grandmother, especially if left to my highly imaginative children.  Only time will tell.

But I kinda like the ring of Queen Debbie.

Peace and love.  Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.  God bless Israel.  God help America and have mercy on her.

It Never Looks Like the Picture!

What do these pictures have in common?

YOU ARE RIGHT!

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

Periodically, I take pictures to the hair cutting place and say, “Do this!”  Yes, this morning I did that.  I also said, “I do not want to walk out of here looking like an old lady!”

……………………………..

Does anyone ever listen to me????

Not that I wanted to look the spitting image of this beautiful woman (an impossibility), but I at least wanted the hair cut.  Do you think that’s what I got?

My half-smile is really a grimace – like what the heck happened?

I just don’t get it.  I think hairdressers just assume they KNOW what a woman wants in spite of the pictures they choose and bring in.  They turn you away from the mirror and *snipsnipsnip*, spin you back around, and say “What do you think?”  You hold the picture up against your face and say, “Wow!  That’s lovely!  Perfect!”  You look in the mirror, then at the picture, and exclaimed again, “Just what I truly wanted!”

And you pay them their asking price and even tip them and leave with this huge fake smile and go home and cry!

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

And call your mother and say, “Come here quick!”  She comes and combs it all out before husband comes in and says, “What happened to your hair?”

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

My daughter says, “Mom, if you want your hair done in a certain style, you have to get a gay guy to do it.”

Why is that?  Why can’t women cut like gay guys?  I guess it’s because we impose our own visions upon our own kind.  I don’t know.

Peace and love.  Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.  God bless Israel.  God help and have mercy on America.

Still Kickin’ Ol’ Skool

Spring Break for this old college chick!  My last Spring Break e-v-e-r!

It was a cacophony of sound.  Blackbirds by the droves surrounded my little cardboard castle this morning.

Rarely have I viewed the flight habits of blackbirds.  Did you know they move in waves?  Their concerted movement was magical and beautifully fluid.

But, boy, are they ever noisy!

But back to Spring Break…

Unfortunately, I won’t be sporting a bikini on some beach this week, as I didn’t last year, either.   :O  I would definitely blind somebody with brilliant reflection off this chalky and super-mature form of a body and give some poor souls nightmares of which they would never recover.  Poor souls.

So, instead, I may help out my pocketbook and become gainfully employed by the weekend.  If that happens, let me tell you what that will look like:  I have not punched a clock in 26 years; I have not been to bed before midnight in 26 years;  I have not worn a dress Monday through Friday in 26 years; I have not worn heals in 26 years; I have not had a weekly manicure ever; I have not had a regular paycheck in 26 years.  Joan Rivers might retire, which wouldn’t be a bad thing at all, and she needs a tune-up and wheel alignment right now.  Maybe by year’s end, I can move into Renovation House.

Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!

Of course, I still have to take College Algebra this summer.  Oh, Lordy, help me.  Is it possible that a 57-year-old professional student can work 40 hours a week AND pass College Algebra this summer and be totally finished with college forever?  Oh, Lord!!!  Help me!!!

It’s almost midnight.

Peace and love.  Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.  God bless Israel.  God help America and have mercy on her.