Bad Teacher

This isn’t ending the way that I thought it would.

At the start of this year, the emerging patterns I saw were circling ‘round, hovering over the subject of false teachers. I was sure that by the end of this year, I was going to have some new revelation about it all - and that possibly I’d be able to draw up some kind of "do not call" registry.

Instead, I offer a random selection of the 27 other possible titles for this piece:

• 27 Titles
• The Year Of The Blog
• Just What SHOULD A Christian Look Like?
• Every New Beginning
• Some Other Beginning’s End
• I See London. I See France. I See Irony.
• Coincidence? Come On, Really?!
• Stop In The Middle Of Writing This To "Play" My Guitar Even Though I Haven’t Played It In Seven Years But I’m Looking For Any Kind Of Distraction Since I Can’t Seem To Pull This Here Thing Together

　
Do you see the pattern? Do I even need to finish this? Yes, of course I do, but so far I’m still seeing only the circles and not the exit. How’s this gonna end?

It’s been a terribly interesting year for me, learning-wise. There was a controversial book that prompted much examination (and tension in my home as hubby and I worked through it.) Our Bible study has moved from The Sermon On The Mount to the book of Daniel. This, also, prompts serious character reflection. And then there’s the blogging world, where countless Christian disciples with boundless humility and immeasurable talent converge into the new community. This has been a favored learning place for me as I’ve discovered there are more "others like me" than I’d ever realized.

"Others like me" in terms of weird-ness. In terms of sometimes confused, sometimes doubting, sometimes sad. In terms of "practicing my faith doesn’t mean that I’m dead." (Except that it also does mean that. Context, context.) In terms of broken-ness.  In terms of ever-hopeful.

(For the skimmers and the pre’s*, I’m really trying to limit my words and my use of Christianese. Some things can only be said one way. Or understood one way.)

The folks who know me in person know that I really like to talk and that I don’t generally have any trouble finding some words to say. But I do sometimes have to wait really long periods of time before I know just what it is that God wants me to say. To SAY, for real. This here assemblage is the result of such a time.

As I’ve been saddling up this way, arranging my mental notes, I’ve "stumbled" across more and more of somebody else saying what I thought I would be proclaiming here. (Did anyone see that happen just now? How this thing went from a ‘something to say’ to a trumpeted Proclamation?) (Guess I’m just cool like that.)

Truth be told, I nearly gave it up - the lingering inclination, the compelling to SAY. I might never have thought before this last piece of time that I would have to own up to envy. It’s there, however, in the deep reaches. I’ve been reading the real SAYers and it’s left me feeling smallish, incompetent.

I’m not finished. Don’t start turning the wrenches just yet. See, I was told to put down words. And to do it in my own weird way. And it doesn’t matter how many other folks have proclaimed about the same matter. When God says, "Now you listen here, missy," I do my best to listen.

This is sort of a two-parter, or maybe a three, that must somehow become a one-part. Here goes. I’m fixin’ to hit ya with my best shot. (Oh. Did you think I’d already begun?)

As I’ve been making head room for all my new homies (the bloggers, and only I know I call ‘em homies), as I’ve been learning them and their ways, their approaches, the question keeps coming to mind, "What exactly is a Christian supposed to look like? What Exactly?" In terms of how we Christians look to one another. In terms of how we look to the pre’s.

Forget everybody else. What exactly am I supposed to look like? I’ve been trying to see myself from some other vantage point and in contrast/comparison to those from whom I am learning.

Christians in the world are dealing with some serious...stuff. I’m thinking that my best shot at making a point here is to address a few of those. Mind you, this is not an all-inclusive list of struggles and also does not imply that these are the cream of the crap. (Maybe that was going too far but it’s saying something.)

Murder: I have not killed anyone. That is, unless I believe what Jesus said about murder.

Infidelity: I have never been unfaithful to my husband. That is, unless I have ever placed a higher regard on any earthly thing besides him.

Bad language: I said "crap" already so I’m hoping I don’t need to elaborate. Please note that I do not think foul language is cool like that. It is a struggle and a thing from which to move away, not to embrace.

Lying: I aim for honesty but, in truth, there’s probably a lie somewhere on this page. (Please don’t even consider that I might be lying about infidelity. Those words are completely true.**) If I had to pick one out, I’d probably point to the language thing. If I believed what I said, I think I’d work a little harder to stop it.

Pride: You just saw that one in motion.

Rock ‘n Roll music: Practicing my faith doesn’t mean that I’m dead.

Except that it does also mean that. See, struggles are not unique to the Christian population. The approach, the manner, the mechanisms are just different when God is our guide. We all deal with the same ... stuff. And here - here is where the butter meets the bread: we are also all teaching one another. Whether it’s with intention or not, you are teaching me and I am teaching you.

My husband (my second-most-favorite teacher) likes to say that becoming a Christian is not about what you stop doing but about what you start doing. This is the light under which I examine my teacher-ness. Stopping or starting, what do my actions teach you about following Jesus? I pray never to be a bad teacher.

In fact, as this seems finally to be coming to its end, and if I were to be leaving some sort of legacy here, I’d want it simply to be START.

Maria Robinson said, "Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending." I "stumbled" across that today, right in the middle of writing this thing. Coincidence? Come on, Really?!


*pre-Christian, a term I've picked up somewhere and that I, personally, am more comfortable with than non-Christian
**To be absolutely clear, my implication is that infidelity is infidelity regardless of the boundaries to which we confine its definition.  I am not "better" than someone who has struggled with sexual affair(s).  I am equal in terms of struggle.

Nah...

This is my favorite for the year.
It doesn't hurt that it's also one of my least expensive!

What I Wore Twice In One Day...

first, to a 3:00 p.m. country club wedding,




and then, to a 6:00 p.m. church Christmas party.






It's probably my favorite get-up of the year. 

I wish I could wear this to do the grocery shopping!  And that I had a decent picture.    But, of course, we were running late so I was left to do self-portraits.  (My husband is a very meticulous dresser.)  (And never mind the mess you see behind me.  :)

My tights, which you can't see, were new but were a blue light special.

My shoes, which you can't see, were old so they've fully depreciated.

My shirt and dress, both vintage, were thrifted for $1 each.

Altogether, I'd say I dressed for less than $20, jewelry included. 

Per venue, that's less than $10!

And if I wear it to the grocery store, that will be.....

Bling It On!

I hope you get it because it's hard to vogue when a g'baby is tugging on you!

She wanted to see if I could Bling It on the seesaw.

I could not. 

I've decided that it's only because I was wearing a dress.

But because this ensemble only cost me $2.25...


(wait for it...  wait. for. it.)


I can afford to Bling It On Again!

And next time, I'm blinging my spirit fingers.

Oooohhh, scary...

Not because I didn’t brush my hair.

Not because I’m wearing a white blazer
in the middle of October.

Not even because I’m wearing feathers
in spite of my age!



Clearly, now. I ain’t skeered to just put myself all out there and such.  Clearly, right?

From the start of this whole blogging excursion, I’ve had a master plan, a big picture in mind. I’ve wanted to emphasize good stewardship, ministry, gratitude - to place more value on values than on attire.

My Master plan has been to do this for Him.

If I mean what I say, then I have to listen when He speaks.

Sometimes His speaking is in the form of a question.  "How many pairs of black shoes do you need?" 

Just for instance.

One of the voices in my head keeps saying, "You will not laugh. You will not cry. I will teach you." Uh, I don't know, man. Some of the other voices are laughing. And I definitely feel like crying. Because change is hard. And it can be scary.

The scariest of all - at least for me - is to give up the reigns.

What makes it worthwhile, however, is that while the process may be painful at times, in the end I'm left with joy, peace, and gratitude. 

I may not be the American Dream Blogger, but that's okay. This is really about me and God.  And after that, of course, I have all those voices in my head to keep me company!

Think I’m crazy?  I suggest you hold out a bit before making that decision.  After all, I haven't even worn the potty collar yet!

What I DIDN'T Wear Today...

My husband said he liked my ensemble...     
even though I reminded him of John the Baptist.

I believe one of my daughters actually used the word "hideous" but I don't care.  I still like my nice, hairy jumper.

My favorite was when friends at church asked if I was actually wearing the potty collar.




I DIDN'T wear the potty collar.  Today.  But its day is coming soon enough.  It's necessary for me to wear it and, if you know me at all, you know that I'm right about this.

Now I'm assuming you'll be wanting the low down so here it is:  I recently brought home a detached coat collar that must surely have made it here all the way from 1973.  Poor outcast thing needed a new home, a new purpose in life, so I set it down somewhere whilst I thought on it for a bit.  It didn't take very long to determine its purpose (what did Twain say about the second most important day of your existence?!)  That collar's mission was to make my honey into a RRR convert.  Without any coaching or direction whatsoever, here's how my husband re-purposed it:

You see that I have something to prove, right?

Now, just one. more. thing... so that you all might have a little more insight into how I wound up with this hairy, hideous, urban-wilderness-wandering vest - and with Terry - please watch this, one of the all-time greatest scenes from one of the all-time greatest movies, ever:

DIY Truth Project?

"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." John 8:32 (NIV)

Recently, I stumbled across a blog with the words "truth" and "bird" in the title. The page on my screen was beautiful and artistic, the colors and swirls all working together to lull the senses. The words themselves were poignant, alluring. But the truth is ... she had me at "bird."

There was a picture of the author and she was formidable. Yes, that’s what I mean. She was wearing rugged boots and a straw hat with feathers and bits of turquoise in its band. She had hippy hair and strong hands. This chic looked as if she could knock down an oak tree - with her thumb - and then whittle it into enough shoes for her entire village. Whittle it with her teeth, I mean, and while the local wildlife gathered round and together they would sing Kumbayah. That kind of formidable. I want to be just. like. her.

Lucky for me, it seemed, she was offering that very possibility. Were I to join her for an exciting, affordable, easy-to-follow course, why then! I could expect to finish as a brand new girl. I’d fully develop my creativity, tapping into my given giftedness. I would never waste time again because I would capture each day and woo it to be mine. I would make my own paper as well as the thoughtful gifts around which to wrap it. And through this process, my spirit could become free. My soul could be restored.

Uh, pump the brakes please.

There’s a lot of stuff for sale out there. Whether we’re looking to improve our poor time management skills, develop our creativity, or simply garner some self-esteem, the desire to self-improve is not wrong in and of itself. It is critical, however, that we aim for purity in the motivation. And after that, great care should be practiced when choosing our instructors.

How many times did Jesus say, "I tell you the truth..."? Who better to guide me?

"Teach me your ways, O LORD, that I may live according to your truth! Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honor you." Psalm 86:11 (NLT). What purer a motive could there be than to want to honor Jesus Christ in all that I do?

He, alone, has the power to "restore my soul." (Psalm 23:3)

"There are different kinds of spiritual gifts, but the same Spirit is the source of them all." 1 Corinthians 12:4 (NLT). How better to develop my giftedness than to seek the Source?

"Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends." John 15:13 (NKJ). His love wins.

photo source:  24.media.tumblr

And for that reason alone, 
"We escaped like a bird from a hunter’s trap. The trap is broken, and we are free!" Psalm 124:7 (NLT).

The truth is that I’m already free as a bird. Because I’ve accepted His offer. And His is free to all who simply ask.





Dear God, thank You for loving us, for leading us, for freeing us. Thank You for Your words of Truth. I pray that You will purify our hearts and help us to want - more than anything else - to be just. like. Jesus.

It Was Funny Until...

I saw these little doggies.

See, there was this picture in a magazine the other day and even though I oughta know better, I snickered at the woman's boots.  Can you even believe it?!

Within a day or so, however, while at my third favorite place to be, I saw not the same pair, but a pair resembling closely enough that I was taken aback.  And then I was moved a-forward. Toward them.  I bought them.  For $2.



Yes, yes.  I've been meditating on just what that says about me that I could turn on a two-bill for a boot.  And I hope those thoughts work themselves out, show themselves off over at The Bending Tree.

But today is the first day of fall y'all and, for me, that means breakin' out the boots!  I'm celebrating the start of this new season and y'all should do the same...even if your boots are funny lookin'.

Honey Hates My Shoes...

However.

There's this rule that if you're wearing something old (nowadays, fashionably speaking), you must balance it with something new.  So when settling on my vintage Lester Square for The Tog Shop dress (lookey there, a maker reference!), I really had no choice but to balance myself atop my most Jane Jetson-esques.

Supposedly, this particular dress is of the 80s era but it looks 60s to me (as to most everyone who's admired it.)  If I'd worn 60s in my 20s - and I wouldn't have because I wasn't cool like that - but if I had, I'm pretty sure it would have been more Peggy Sue does...(not get it.)  I'm talking bouffant, plastic beads, go-go boots. 



Speaking of go-go boots, I gotta get some of those!  And looking at pictures of Jane Jetson, how many pairs of go-go boots did she have anyway?!  Wait.  This may turn out to be thematic dressing after all!  Maybe I still don't get it.

But I am fairly certain I wouldn't have worn this dress back then regardless of its era.  What's next?  The 90s?  (The actual era of my 20s.)  I don't think so.

But then, who am I kidding?  It's become pretty obvious, even to me...if it's a dollar, I'll probably do it.

Why I'm Not A "Christ-Follower"

This has been on my mind for quite some time but I’ve not felt I should "pipe up" until just recently. What, exactly, has prompted me I cannot say. But it’s unshakable now and there will be no approaching the rest of the day until this is done.

Understand, I do Not take issue with folks who call themselves "Christ-Followers." And I believe I understand why our culture is moving from "Christian" to "Christ-Follower." Can there be more noble a goal than to follow Jesus?

The thing is, though, that being a Christian Does mean to follow Jesus. I’ve always known this on some level whether I’ve practiced it or not. A truly committed Christian life is one through which the Light, Life, and Redemption of Jesus Christ does shine. A truly committed Christian will become a disciple of Jesus, which is to follow in His dust, to rest at His feet, to listen when He speaks, to be changed by what He says. Am I living the life of a 100% committed Christian? No, to be honest, but thank God I’m not yet at the end of the road.

"Christ-Followers" are on the same journey. And will have the same issues despite the name change.

There are some super ignorant and downright evil folks out there who give Christianity a bad name. Plus, there’s this modern movement thing that says "change your look or die." Plenty of reasons I could cross over. But I’m gonna stay and do my best to help hold down the fort y’all. The Calvary is already here.

Again, and I truly mean this with all sincerity, I mean no criticism toward anyone who’s going with "Christ-Follower." I know some of you and I know you’re approaching your discipleship with genuine hearts. This is about the reason that I’m sticking.

I wanted to be sure I had this right before writing so I googled "Christ-Follower." The first thing I found was this video:

Funny, I read the (new) King James, carry my Bible in a case with a handle, have (a couple of) bumper stickers on my truck. I read other Christian material. I believe in morality. I need rules and I struggle not to be ruled by that fact. Are these the things by which my Christianity is defined? Nope.

Conversely, is it the absence of these things that defines "Christ-Follower?" If you think 'yes', then I think you're missing something more critical than the point.

With You Always

(Lent Devotion, 2009)

On the last day that I spent with my dad before the day of his passing, the last thing that I did before leaving him was to wash his feet. I did this at the Spirit’s urging, and with a very humbling sense that this was the most Christ-like way that I could minister to him at this point. I’ll forever cherish this last bit of time I had together with my dad and my Father here on earth.

But I’ve had many struggles since then. The ebbs and flows, the regular distractions of life, have left me often feeling under the bell jar. I can’t always hear, or see, or sense God as clearly as I long to and sometimes I think that my light has burned out. It has been a very personal prison.

And then a very dear friend, not completely knowing the way that God was using her, brought me a very sweet note (and pedicure gift card) and, in it, explained that God cares for me and wants me to have my feet washed. Regardless of what I think I know or sense about my life, God never leaves me. And He has the most loving and creative ways of conveying that message!

If you are struggling, remember this, “For He Himself has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’” Hebrews 13:5

Three Trends I Can't Stop Noting...

1) The odd inclination to wear a skirt over a dress.

2) Skinny leopard-print belts.

3) Classic Missoni zig zag.

But will they amount to anything?

Shirt + Skirt + Belt = $2.25

(Or in other words, yes.)

 

3) Close enough.

2) Kid's belt.

1) My top's not quite a dress but would be if I were just two inches shorter.

Message In A Bell Jar

I've begun here by posting some of my older "stories."  The other day, I stumbled across one that I had completely forgotten writing (which chills me a little.)  After much deliberation, here goes...




"For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light." Ephesians 5:8 (NKJ)

Please believe me when I say that I really, really don’t want to share this, an excerpt from my journal: "I’m afraid my heart is hardened. I am lost. I discern Your messages for me. I am excited by Your word. But I, myself, am helpless and hopeless. I can’t get things right. I know it’s because I don’t want to badly enough."

This entry was written sometime in the past several years, is undated, and is one of my "hidden," cryptic entries. I know that I was feeling it when I was writing it. But in hindsight, I see that it is full of lies.

Why am I sharing this? ... For my own protection and for yours. John 3:20 tells us, "Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed." (NIV) To boil it down, the darkness hates the light.

I’m stepping into the light.

For the majority of my adult life, I’ve believed that there’s an instability to my thought patterns that I must simply accept and with which I must learn to cope. In other words, "I’m crazy. I know it. I try not to show it." But, (while I may still think in "tilt") I’m just beginning to realize how many of us are being incapacitated by our thought lives.

We Are at war. The mind is the battlefield. And because the one offensive weapon noted in the armor of God is His word (Ephesians 6:13-17) , I will now use it to destroy the lie I’ve been telling myself.

Understand. I am not writing this in order to scold or criticize or to claim any sort of supreme authority about this matter. I’m writing it because I know, too painfully, the sorrow and desperation that comes with a darkened mind. My hope is to provide a light on a hill...to possibly light your way home.

Why I Believe In God

Someone asked me recently to objectively consider why I believe in "the god" that I do. This is my response.

Quite a few years back, I was engaged to a military man. My life at the time was a mess. I’d moved to Florida, was putting my small kids through hell, was living with an unstable man. I was a drunk. And I was an agnostic.

I’d been raised to be a Christian, had been saved and baptized as a pre-teen, was in love with the Christian calling. But at the hands of a few ignorant and misled men who twisted the Word to suit their own purposes, I became bitter and turned away. In my youth and naivety, unable to separate the truth from interpretation, I decided that I just didn’t care for "the God of the Christian Bible."

And away I went, no longer acknowledging or considering God’s existence. Years I spent twisted up with drugs, alcohol, bad relationships, etc., etc. That all ended here in Florida after the man to whom I was engaged killed himself, quite violently, in my home, while my kids and I were there. If I hadn’t been a total drunk before, I sure had a reason to be one now. And I took full advantage of that excuse.

Those were very dark days. And on one of those typical hung-over mornings, I started reflecting on how I’d been brought up to believe that we, as humans, are weak and can’t accomplish anything on our own. "We’re supposed to take everything to God," I thought cynically, "and here, I’ve gotten through this whole thing without praying one single time." 

God spoke to me then. It was not audibly, the way He spoke to Moses. But He was in the room. It was as if He sat down on my shoulders and squeezed my eardrums and He said, "you would not have "gotten through" anything were it not for the strength that I have given you."

Wish I could say that was it...that in a snap, I was healed. It didn’t happen that way but that morning was the beginning. I no longer had the luxury of denying a God who’d spoken to me.

So you know that story in John 5:1-9 where the paralyzed guy’s been lying by the healing pool for all those years, waiting for someone to drag him in first so that he can be healed? The first thing Jesus asked him was if he really even wanted to be well. And then He told him to get up and go.

My answer to the question is this: I believe in the LORD because He has spoken to me and has made me well.

I pray that each of you will hear Him when He speaks and that whatever holds you back will be replaced with a soul-deep desire to get up and go.

These Boots Are Made For...

Maybe you say dry footing.  Maybe you say horse stall cleaning. 

I say tropical storm debris wading. 

see.  debris.

As we've dealt with TS Lee this weekend, it made perfect sense to me to break out my ultimate puddle-stompers.  The trouble was...my husband wouldn't stop laughing at me.  Apparently, these boots were made for tickling his ribs.

see. irony.

I gave myself the giggles 

with a wink at irony.

See, those boots 

cost me $2.
The whole deal cost me $5.
So everyone may laugh at me. 
But I'll do it again.

and see.  it really did rain.

How He Loves

(April, 2010)

I have been in a far country. Alone. Disparate. Apart from God. The hows and whys will illuminate themselves in due time, in other stories that I tell. This story will be about my return.

I must tell you more parts than you will think you need to know but every bit is a brush stroke in a much bigger picture. The players, the timing, the stage are all essential elements. And so, for dramatic effect, I will begin by setting the stage.

The church service that I attend is held in our Community Life Center, essentially a gymnasium. This is the format for our service: piped-in music pre-service; congregation sings four or five worship songs led by the live band; prayer; offering, through which the band plays; and then we sing one more song before the message. Sometimes, instead, one of the band members will perform a solo. There is rarely, rarely a deviation from this format.

Here’s the story: The Bargain Box is a thrift shop and a ministry of my church. I have been volunteering there for quite a few years, believing that this is where I’m serving God by serving others. In truth, however, I’ve felt myself shift from passion to obligation here as in so many aspects of my personal, spiritual life. Thank God for the friends I’ve made through this ministry because so many weeks ago, one of those friends gave me a handful of cds. ("So many weeks ago." Fail not to consider the timing as this unfolds.) The collection slid around in my truck’s console for several days before I, without deliberation, inserted one into my cd player. It turned out to be a sermon that I enjoyed enough to listen to for at least a time-and-a-half. Then just as impulsively and just as thoughtlessly, I changed the cd. This one was full of worship music, most that I hadn’t heard before, and all of which stirred me. But there was a particular song that moved my soul to tears.

I started listening to that song over and over again. I started having conversations with people about it. I posted the video to my facebook page. Hearing the song seemed to undo something within me, some reservation that I’d had about trying to find my way back home, perhaps.

Pause here for just a moment. It’s critical for you to understand that catharsis had begun for me. And just days after my "discovery" of this song, as my husband and I were walking into church, I was trying to air some of this out with him, explaining that I was feeling inept as any sort of witness in the world. Having felt a lack of communion with God for so long, I’d nearly forgotten how to express His love toward others. Terry did his best to encourage me but God one-upped him. As we walked into the CLC, my song was playing over the audio system. Pause again.

For the first part of the service I was awe-stricken, wondering if God had actually just spoken to me. It has seemed a very long time and I have lost a lot of confidence. So I started to daydream ... I thought, "If God’s really speaking to me, then the band will sing that song today. Maybe it will even be the offertory song. Wouldn’t that be a dream-come-true?" As you can probably guess, it was not a dream-come-true. But as the service ended and I collected my thoughts, I knew two things: 1)I don’t get to decide how God speaks to me. 2)It would be foolish to deny what actually had happened as we’d walked in that day.

Today, one week later, I was a little later to church than usual so I have no idea what was played before the service started. But our worship time was cut short. We sang maybe two songs. We had the offering. And then the band exited the stage.

Two young people came out - wait! this is different - to read from scripture, Luke 15:11-32, The Parable of the Prodigal Son. (This is the one about the kid that gets his dad’s goods, goes away to squander everything he’s been given, and then returns to grovel. Only his dad welcomes him with open, loving arms.) And then they exited the stage.

And then ... on the big screen appeared a picture of a tree.

And I started to hear a now-familiar tune coming through the audio system.

And then, these words:

"He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane
I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight
of His wind and mercy
When all of a sudden
I am unaware
Of these afflictions
Eclipsed by glory
And I realize just how beautiful You are
And how great Your affections are for me."

You have the story and the scene. You even have the soundtrack. Now step back. Blurry the eyes as if you’re looking at one of those magic pictures. This is what I hope you’ll see: singing and dancing were heard on the day the prodigal son went home. God, Himself, sang me home today.

And now ... the rest of the story.

There Can Only Be One Number One...

...and this wasn't supposed to be it.

My very first post was supposed to be about a jumpsuit.  In case you're thinking that sounds suburban, domestic, boring - hold your horsies for just a second.  I found that hideous thing in a thrift shop and instantly thought, "Jumpsuit, you’re gonna make me famous someday." Because I know that I can turn that monstrosity into hip-nosity. I’ll show you someday. I promise.

But as I started working this whole thing out, coming to the unavoidable, inescapable truth that blogging and I are made for each other...well, I thought I oughta make some things clear right up front.

Recently, I came across someone’s bedroom photo journal. Ohhh, it was pretty and neutral and clean and organized and inspirational and peaceful. Thank goodness for women who can not only manage such things, but who are also willing to share their art and ability with the rest of us.

You just need to know...t’ain’t happenin’ over here. And since - supposedly - a picture is worth the thousand words that you probably wouldn’t read were I to go that route...

Here are a few things that your sense of ocularity may or may not lead you to conclude: I only removed my so-called manicure bag (because it's straight-up ugly) and the bits of my granddaughters' (yes, two) crackers before taking this.  The shirt I'm wearing has an unusual smell (it’s old ... so like aged cheese, maybe?)

But most important is that I brushed my teeth first and that’s how you know I care.