Does Dieting Ever Get Easier?

I dislike diets.  I know, I know, "diet" just means what we eat.  But you know what I'm talking about.  These things other people do that work for them and not me.  Probably because I'm undisciplined and I bow to my taste-buds, but still.  Boo for skinny people!!  And yet, I keep trying them.  Remember the Slim Fast craze in the early 90s?  I know it's still sold and used and making people thin, but in the early 90s, it was in everyone's pantry/fridge.  Well, I tried it.  (I wasn't even fat.  That's how much of a fad it was.)  I remember bringing my little chocolate shake in a glass jar (with lid) to school and putting it into my locker to keep for lunch.

About 3rd Period, we get an announcement over the loudspeaker.  "Surprise inspection.  Drug dogs on campus.  Would the following people come to the office please."  KIM ROSS !!!!!  Yep.  The drug dogs had alerted them to my awful Slim Fast.  Nice.  And that's about how I've seen diet plans since.  A waste of time and money and a reason to be embarrassed if anyone found out I was doing it.
Recently, I was diagnosed with Lupus.  Lupus is no fun but it's manageable. (No, it's not just you... I skipped into a new subject with little or no segue.)  The number one symptom of Lupus is fatigue.  Not I've-had-a-long-day-think-I'll-go-to-bed-early fatigue.  Think more like I-have-twins-who-have-kept-me-up-7-nights-in-a-row-and-I've-maxed-out-my dosage-of-Nyquil kind of tired.  Can be frustrating but still, not the worst thing.  Does anyone know what your first prescription is when discovering you have Lupus?  Prednisone, which is a steroid.  What's a side effect of steroids?  Energy!  It's wonderful!

So, while on the Prednisone, I was able to look at my life in a new way.  And my body.  I'd really let myself go.  More accurately, I'd let more of myself move in to stay.  Gross.  And what's that I'm learning about?  Arbonne.  (Please do not glaze over.  This is not a sales pitch.)  I used some of the product, loved it, bought into it, and am now living it.  Love the stuff.  Okay, like most of the other product lines out there, Arbonne has a Nutrition program.  I'm selling this stuff now so I figured I'd better try it out.

Well, another major side effect of steroids is hunger.  I'm hungry all the time.  I can literally have my mouth full of food and be thinking, "I wonder what we have to eat."  Also, I'm a big fan of food... but specifically holiday food.  Starting a Nutrition program during the holidays while taking Prednisone was perhaps not the smartest thing I've ever done.  But I did it.

Last week was my first week on the new diet.  Vanilla protein shake in the morning (made with almond milk).  Yum!  Chocolate protein shake for lunch (you can swap 'em around or whatever, this is just my preference) made with dark chocolate almond milk.  Double-yum.  Detox herbal tea.  Nice salad or something for dinner.  Groovy.  This is fun.  And easy.  And tasty.  I'm hungry because of the steroid, but I'm not hating life.

Then comes Thursday.  Thursday evening was Harding's staff/faculty Christmas party.  What makes this party unique from a lot of holiday parties is this one is used to showcase Aramark's new cuisine.  It's basically a gourmet tasting party.  Two gigantic rooms are filled with food to try (one room for desserts all by themselves).  You stand in line from one table to the next and eat as you go.  It can take awhile, but the food is unbelievable.  Usually, I don't stand in line.  I just haven't been able to.  So Mark and the kids stand in line and bring me stuff.

This year, I was feeling so good that I wanted to stand in line all by myself (like a big girl).  I decided to throw the diet away for this one night because it's once a year and I love it.  You know what I ate?  Spinach Artichoke Dip, Pork Loin Verde, African Lamb Stew, Etouffee, Shrimp Cocktails, New York Strip in Brown Sauce, Turkey and Dressing in Sweet-Potato-Cheese Sauce, and Breaded Chicken in Sweet-n-Sour Sauce.  And four glasses of lemonade.  That's all.  (And not just one helping... for some of it, I ate several helpings.)

Oh, wait, that wasn't all.  After the party, I went to a friend's house because she was having a Pampered Chef Party.  Are you familiar with those?  You eat.  I can't even remember the name of what we had but it was an apple, cinnamon, bread thingy.  Talk about blowing your diet.

Friday, I got back on the wagon full-speed.  Saturday, not so much.  I wasn't feeling well physically and so I gave in to the hunger-hunger I feel incessantly.  I can't even tell you what I ate but I know spaghetti with cheese was involved.  Then yesterday I had two grilled cheese sandwiches.

I've not neglected the protein shakes (I've just done them AND my own thing).  But guess what.  I've lost 5 pounds.  WHAT?!  This Nutrition program gets an A+.  I'm back in full swing!  Protein shake for breakfast...here I go!  I've learned that I can be healthy and make healthy choices and still enjoy the holiday here and there.  This is a new freedom and I'm loving it!

Whatever your diet of choice is, go ahead and start it...don't wait until the holidays are over!

Failure. Bring it.

This is one of those days where I need to remind myself of some things. I need to remember that some of the very great success-stories in history began with very great failures. I need to remember that it's okay to keep plowing ahead when everything in my path is resistant. I just need a "win one for the Gipper" moment. So, here it is.


1.Einstein was four years old before he could speak and seven before he could read.

2.Isaac Newton did poorly in grade school.

3.When Thomas Edison was a boy, his teachers told him he was too stupid to learn anything.

4.F.W.Woolworth got a job in a dry goods store when he was 21. But his employers would not let him wait on a customer because he "Didn't have enough sense."

5.A newspaper editor fired Walt Disney because he had "No good ideas"

6.Caruso's music teacher told him "You can't sing, you have no voice at all."

7.Leo Tolstoy flunked out of college.

8.Verner Von Braun flunked 9th grade algebra

. 9.Admiral Richard E. Byrd had been retired from the navy, as, "Unfit for service" Until he flew over both poles.

10.Louis Pasteur was rated as mediocre in chemistry when he attended the Royal College

11.Abraham Lincoln entered The Black Hawk War as a captain and came out a private

12.Fred Waring was once rejected from high school chorus.

13.Winston Churchill failed the sixth grade.


There. I feel better.

Top 10 Lies

I know we all know that television isn't real.  Even "reality" t.v. isn't completely real.  Magazine pictures aren't completely real.  Movies, plots, scenery, costumes, etc... we all realize on some level that there is a line between fantasy and reality.  But seeing the fantasy over and over and over helps us blur the line.  We begin seeing fantasy as a possible reality.  Something others are living but not us.  We start wanting to be and do and have what never existed to begin with.

There are a plethora of these fantasies bombarding our senses daily.  I would just like to un-blur the lines of what I consider to be the Top 10.  These, in my opinion, are the most damaging...and the ones most readily believed.

10.  The #10 Lie we are spoon-fed and lap up is that rude is funny.  Sarcasm, wit, clever one-liners... I enjoy them as much as anyone else.  In fact, the wittier the film/show, the more I like it.  But it's because it's scripted and the receiver of the rude-but-funny one-liner doesn't crumple or punch or retaliate.  It's because, when the teenager rolls their eyes, it's at the exact right moment and the parent responds for humor more than for reality.  Talking about someone behind their back, snarky comments, witty words that make fun, picking on the little guy, bad-mouthing the authority... these things can be hilarious in the "right" setting with just the right facial expressions.  It gets a laugh every time.  But in reality, I would hope my kids NEVER talk like that.  It's disrespectful and rude.  In reality, rude is not funny.

9.  The #9 Lie is that smoking is cool.  Now, I realize most of us know this isn't the case.  Our generation and more-so the one coming up after us is acutely aware of the dangers of smoking.  However, when we watch a film, we see the "bad boy" smoking a cigarette and it just makes him look sexier.  It's a symbol of rebellion.  It completes the "street-cred" outfit.  No matter how far we've come, Baby, smoking is still depicted as a cool kid's thang.  Especially in any foreign flick.

8.  The #8 Lie is right up there with smoking.  Drinking alcohol.  Now, hear me.  I'm not saying that drinking alcohol is a fantasy.  I am saying that, on television and in movies, drinking a glass of wine has become classy.  It's what people who have "arrived" drink together to celebrate or relax or simply to go with their classy meal.  This is fine.  Except when it's not.  Not everyone is able to live in that reality.  Some of us have the disease of alcoholism running rampant in our genetic veins and must stay away from alcohol.  So we watch these classy, successful, beautiful people drinking their expensive wine and we start to feel like, if we were classy and successful and beautiful, we could do it too...meaning, because we cannot drink alcohol, we will never reach that elite status.  Poppycock.

7.  The #7 Lie is a doozy.  I almost rated this higher but didn't because there are things more detrimental,  Sex.  Sex is a beautiful, wonderful gift from God that is meant to be shared between husband and wife.  I'm not preaching.  I'm being rational and speaking from the heart of a mama who doesn't want her children hurt.  On film, sex seems so right.  Two people who love each other must express that love in some way and sex seems completely appropriate.  In real life, sex never washes off.  Once you have sex with someone, you can never take it back.  I can only speak for the female gender but I'm pretty sure it applies to woman and man alike... there's no such thing as casual sex.  Casual sex is a symptom of something damaged.  You are afraid to commit, you are looking for love, you do not think highly of yourself, you are trying to be something you are not.  You will still carry the experience with you forever.  Unless you continue.... then you become numb.  That will be detrimental to any lasting relationship you find.  Sex on film is...well...sexy.  Film doesn't cover all the bases.

6.  The #6 Lie we are so ready to believe is that money makes us happy.  Now, again, like with smoking, I know we all know this isn't true.  We see movie after movie after movie about the rich guy losing...poor guy winning.  Great.  And then we see a commercial telling us we MUST have this latest item.  Advertisements rely on the fact that nothing will ever be enough.  Advertisements bank on convincing us that contentment is in fact the fantasy and that buying is the reality.  This, my friends, has gotten America in the pickle it's in today.  (Not just that but...)  Money, purchases, things, stuff, products, materials... we need none of it.  None.

We're half-way there.

5.  The #5 Lie is that only skinny is beautiful.  When did that happen?  Skinny is fine if that's how God made you.  Fat is only not fine when it's unhealthy.  But beauty?  That comes in so many shapes and forms and colors and sizes and sounds.  Beauty is all heart.  I'm pretty sure no one knows how big someone's heart is, physically speaking.  On film, even when a show is ABOUT fat not being beautiful, the heroin is "done-up"....perfect skin, hair, clothes, etc... It's physical appearance that matters, or so the lie goes.

4.  The #4 Lie running around out there is that religion is boring.  This one is a no-brainer.  If you have faith, then you know faith itself is the biggest adventure of all.  You want an adrenaline rush?  Trust God more than you trust yourself.  Let God be your seatbelt.  It's crazy and chaotic and so not boring.

3.  The #3 Lie being shoved down society's throat is about divorce.  The lie tells us that divorce can be casual and healthy and friendly and will only truly affect the two going through it. Now, I do not believe divorce is wrong.  But I also don't buy into that lie.  I believe it's sad and hurtful and hard.  On film, people divorce because they "fell out of love" or "were just better as friends" or maybe they just got tired of each other.  They get divorced because they "had different dreams/goals/visions" or they both "changed so much" or maybe they just realized there was more fun to be had out there without being tethered to the old ball-n-chain.  Divorce should be an absolute last resort.  We are allowing our kids to grow up believing that divorce can be casual and friendly and even the "better" option.  It hurts for generations.  It must happen some times.  I know that.  But it is never casual.  It is never something that is done on a whim.  And it doesn't correct mistakes.

2.  The #2 Lie that I've seen over and over is "Love at First Sight".  This does not exist.  Unless you're speaking of the love we have for all mankind and that exists without sight.  When you look across the crowded room and lock eyes with that perfect person, what you are experiencing is physical attraction.  Possibly a magnetic connection.  Maybe you recognize on a metaphysical plane a likeness with this other person.  It is not love...yet.  Love must be grown.  It must be nurtured and cared for and committed to.  It is a decision far more than it is an emotion.  The emotion comes from making the decision to love someone.  Love will not always feel warm and fuzzy.  Love does not happen in a split second.

And the number one lie?

1.  The #1 Lie...the biggie...the one that I find myself correcting over and over and over with my own children is this.  Love and acceptance are the same thing.  NO THEY ARE NOT!!  I will always love my children.  Always.  Always.  Always.  If they murder someone, I will love them.  I will not, however, help them bury the body.  I will visit them in prison.  Because I love them.  Love means NOT accepting anything less that what is best for those we in fact do love.  If love and acceptance were the same thing, I wouldn't have cause to discipline.  Talk to me however you feel like.  I love you so it's okay.  Bully the other kids at school.  I love you so go ahead.  Stay out all night with that strange group of kids.  I love you so it's okay.  In the movies, love means saying, "I'm sorry I judged you.  I love you just as you are."  And that's the ideal, isn't it.  This is so clever because there's so much good and right about those two sentences.  We are NOT to judge.  Ever.  Love always.  I can love deeply.  I can love someone who has beat his wife.  Truly.  But accept that lifestyle for her?  No, sir.  Love doesn't mean everything's okay.  It means, I'll be right beside you even when things are not okay.

And that's my Tuesday rant.  Live the reality!!  :)

The Skinny on Products

Most of you know I've recently begun selling the high-end health products of a wonderful Swedish company called Arbonne.  I started this business with two goals in mind.  Number one, get healthy.  I have been diagnosed, mis-diagnosed, re-diagnosed, and simply dismissed from many medical facilities.  I've gone from feeling okay to feeling miserable fairly quickly this year.  As I sit awaiting the results from a third Lupus test, I am not simply letting my health-status stagnate.  Much prayer has gone into my well-being.  When I pray for specifics things, I often keep my eyes open for a clue to the Path.  I learned about Arbonne through a friend and it looked interesting.  I didn't immediately know that this was my answered prayer.

I was impressed by their commitment to healthy ingredients.  No artificials.  No preservatives.  No soy, no gluten, and...this was the deal-maker...no dairy!  My brilliant mother, who would've been burned at the stake in another century for her naturalist ways, always taught us the perils of dairy.  We are the only mammal who continues to drink milk after being weaned from the breast.  The whey in milk is a huge allergen...most people don't realize their body is reacting toward it because we've just gotten used to phlegm and bloating.  Yes, I said phlegm.  Mucus.  Guess what...dairy products multiply the mucus inside of you immediately upon ingestion.  Gross.  Notice next time you have dairy.

But, like all other good Americans, I bought into the idea that milk is a necessary product... bones, skin, and all that.  So wrong.  Most every "health" product on the shelves includes milk products.  And I used to consider this a good thing!  I forgot what my mother taught us and I actually sought ways to incorporate dairy into my daily meals.  And I kept getting fatter.  Not to mention the feeling-crummy thing.  So, when I found that this company doesn't put dairy into their nutrition products and, in fact, adamantly preaches against dairy, I paid attention.

I learned that the reason the sizes of the products are small is because they do not use preservatives.  Even in the skin care line?  I mean, that's a little bottle of eye cream there.  Well, would you rather have your skin-care products mixed with formaldehyde or made with bat poo?  If the ethyl alcohol hasn't dried out your skin and burned your pores, then, just buckle up. It will happen.

Did you know that most chapsticks on the market have a drying ingredient in them so that you will have to continue using the product?  What about your anti-aging stuff?  What chemicals are you putting on your face in order to hide wrinkles?  I was overwhelmed when I looked at my own shelves at home.  The ingredients on some of my stuff made me sick to my stomach.  I had to Google most of the ingredients because, not only could I not pronounce them, I didn't know what they were.  They all come with side-affects (side-effects?).  Most are synthetic.  When a product professes to be "all natural", please investigate what their definition of natural is!

I mentioned that Arbonne is a Swedish company.  That alone is good enough for me.  Why?  Because Europe has banned over 12,000 products from the shelves.  12 Thousand ingredients are not allowed in products that are being sold.  How many has America banned?  10.  10 whole products.  And formaldehyde isn't one of them. Neither is arsenic.

So, I'm in.  I'm not preaching to you or trying to sell you...I just thought I'd journal my journey.  I started the nutrition program today.  Had a protein shake (vanilla) this morning (and just because it's called a "shake" doesn't mean it has milk).  I ate brown rice cooked with two eggs for lunch.  I'll confess that this was not as tasty as I was hoping, but fat's not as pretty as I'd hoped either.  I'm hoping to make a veggie stew for tomorrow that will be much tastier!

Here's to a thinner and healthier New Year!!  When the ball drops at midnight on January 1, 2015, I'll be yelling, "Happy New Me!"  :)

P.S.  For those of you wondering what that 2nd goal is.... I hope to bring in some much-needed income for my family.  So...if you want to order some great product....  :)

The New Me

Fibromyalgia.  How many of you know what this is?  How many of you doubt that it is a "real" diagnosis?  How many of you know someone with it?  How many of you have it?

I have it.  The symptoms are crazy.  They mimic so many other illnesses.  When someone says they have Fibromyalgia, what do you imagine?  How do you picture a day in their life?  I used to picture a day laying on the couch reading, eating, watching t.v.  I used to think of it as the "tired" disease.  In fact, I blurred it with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  (How many of you believe that one's a fake too?)

Seems there's a lot of opinions on this Fibromyalgia stuff.  It's an easy target for the opinionated because science hasn't set clear boundaries in defining it yet.  How exciting for me.  I'm on the "ground floor" of this disease.  I'm a pioneer.  There are doctors who do not believe in it; doctors who prescribe medicine for it; and doctors who are honest about it.  I finally found that last breed.

But before we get into the treatment, lets get back to the diagnosis.  How in the world do you diagnose something that has no scientific definition?  It's an ambiguous little feller.  But maybe diagnosing is also too far ahead to begin.

Symptoms.  If you Google Fibromyalgia, you will get about 1,800,00 results, give or take.  For something that no one knows very much about, there's a lot of information out there.  You can find a list of symptoms, treatments, cures, etc... You can find chat rooms, forums, those for, those against, etc... You will read about causes.  You will get a brain-full of natural remedies.  So how do you know what's what?

Talk to someone who has it.

Oh.  That's me!  The most common symptom is fatigue.  But if that were the only symptom, we'd all have Fibromyalgia.  That's the thing.  All the symptoms are "common" to other ailments.  But, as one doctor explained to me, if you take all the symptoms and put them together as a jig-saw puzzle, sometimes you can clearly see a pattern.  It's hit-n-miss right now in the medical world, which why a lot of people think this is a "catch-all" diagnosis.  "Hmm...well...we don't really know what you have so we're going to stamp you Fibromyalgia and call it a day."

I thought that too.

Which is why, when the first doctor mentioned it, I groaned and thought, "Here we go.  You don't have a clue what's wrong with me and you're tired of looking so you're giving me a pity-diagnosis and sending me on my way."

Back to the symptoms.  How many of you are familiar with Rheumatoid Arthritis?  Migraines?  Irritable Bowel Syndrome?  The flu?  Depression?  Anxiety?  Carpal Tunnel?  Inflammation?  Iritis/Uveitis?  Lupus?  Vertigo?  Insomnia?  Skin Irritation?  Lyme?  Welcome to Fibromyalgia?

This is why it is so hard to diagnose and it's sometimes thought to be something else.  There is no scientific test for it.  There is a way to "feel" for it, however.  There are certain nerve points near joints that will be much more tender than in other places.  If you're being examined for Fibromyalgia, your doctor will press all over and, if you have it, there will be moments you want to come off that table and punch him in the nose.  (I literally raised my voice at the doc and said, "What are you DOING?!"  to which he responded, "Oh, you didn't sign up for the deluxe massage?"  Great man.)

I am discovering myself all over again.  What are my limits?  What are my strengths?  When do I push forward, and when do I stop?  The doctor said to lower my stress-level.  HA!  Oh, those doctors really have a great sense of humor.  Good thing I do too.  Did you know that there are things you CAN do with Fibromyalgia?  You can smile...laugh...play...read...exercise...pray...sing...and enjoy life to the best of your ability.  You are not a pariah and certainly do not have to become a shut-in.  There are absolutely days when I don't get out of bed.  Sometimes I make it to the couch and that's it.  And that's okay.  Those are great reading days.

My advice to those who are on this journey with me, don't be hard on yourself.  Your central nervous system is already doing that for you.  My advice to those who have a loved-one with Fibromyalgia, let them set the pace.  Believe them.  Love them.

We'll wrap for now.  My finger-joints are yelling at me.  Time for a warm drink and an episode of "Miss Fischer's Murder Mysteries".

Welcome to my new world, Everyone.

Spit-Up, Sex, and Other Stay-At-Home Mama Stuff

I saw a random article about how there is a rise in stay-at-home moms recently.  I was so excited!  I make no apologies for my belief that moms staying at home with their children during crucial years is the best way to raise healthy, successful families.  A rise!  That's great!  So, I searched for more articles.  All I found were statistics telling me that the only reason there is a rise in mothers choosing to stay home with their children is because of poverty, can't find a job, going back to school (so they can have a job), disabilities, and other reasons why they wish they could work outside the home but can't.  Talk about crestfallen!

What happened to taking pride in the home?  I don't mean the kind of pride that goes before the fall.  I mean the kind where you have self-respect for knowing you are doing your best for our family.  Before your feathers are completely ruffled, let me also say that I respect working mothers.  I know that in today's economy, two paychecks can go a long way toward raising children in a positive environment.  Just because I'm for moms staying home doesn't mean I'm against moms working.

How can this be, you ask?  I am against moms resenting their lots in life.  I have to stay home.  I have to work.  The family can feel this.  You've all heard the saying if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!  This is so true.  The children can sense your anxiety, anger, bitterness, depression, etc.  The younger the child, the more likely he/she will blame themselves for your unhappiness.  It's important that you find a way to own your role.  If staying home with your children makes you feel like you're not pulling your weight, you're wasting your degree, you're not really working, etc, then instead of finding another role for yourself, simply change your way of thinking and become the best stay-at-home mom you can be.

Where I am not against working mothers, it isn't where my passion is.  I want to open the eyes of all the mothers out there who have chosen to stay home, and perhaps give them the validation they've been craving.

I am here to encourage you.  You are doing a great work by staying home with your children.  They may not thank you for it, but you will see the rewards as they grow.  When a parent stays home to take care of kids and house, the home becomes a safe haven.  Sometimes we mothers feel like just another fixture on the wall that everyone takes for granted.  Everyone just assumes supper will be ready when they come to the table.  Everyone simply expects clean underwear in their drawer, enough snacks in the cabinet, clean dishes. And, although you may smell like spit-up, can't remember your last shower, and fell asleep at the dinner table, let's be honest.  Your husband simply expects you to be "in the mood" when you come to bed.

What if this wasn't the case?  What if everyone in the house had to fend for themselves?  Would your children rush through the door after school, talking, smiling, and looking forward to their afternoon if they had to forage and make their own snacks, wash the dishes, make supper, and do the laundry?  Would your husband leave the office at 5:01 and hurry home with a smile on his face if he knew that there was no supper waiting on the table for him?  That, no matter how tired he was, he'd have to wash, dry, and iron tomorrow's work clothes?

Sometimes this way of life is just the way it goes.  I was very sick early in my marriage and there were times when Mark and the kids did have to "take over" the housework.  They did it willingly and lovingly, but I always felt an undercurrent of stress wafting from them.  I also saw how tired they became; how more arguments broke out, less meals took place around the table, how much less my husband smiled.  They did not realize this.  They were doing their best to take up the slack.  When I was recovered and began to pick up my old responsibilities again, there was a noticeable shift in attitude throughout the house.  It's as if everyone sighed with relief all at once.  Again, they didn't seem to notice this.  But I did.  I may be invisible some of the time and taken for granted.  But I'm necessary.  Moms are necessary.

This is only one of many blogs to come on this subject.  I welcome your input.  Remember today to look at your role as one of importance and own it!

Save Yourselves

Top Ten Reasons To Finish College While Still Young Instead Of Coming Back At 40:

10.  Odds are you won't be older than your professor....your advisor....all the kids in your class.

9.  Your distractions can be summed up by your social life instead of by housework and kids.

8.  Your jokes will be understood by your classmates instead of you having to explain things like what "Wang Chung" is or who Alex P. Keaton is.

7.  You won't be frustrated or annoyed by stupid questions from your classmates....because they probably won't seem stupid.  (i.e., "So, how many questions will there be and how many can I miss and still pass?")

6.  Your body-chemicals are still functioning normally and walking across a campus in the heat and humidity in order to get to your next class on time doesn't leave you heaving and sweating profusely by the time you enter the classroom.

5.  You will understand all technology without batting an eye....instead of having to enlist the help of your 8-year-old to navigate the school website.

4.  Bad grades roll off your back instead of plaguing you into the night.

3.  Your thoughts range as far as the next hour instead of having to plan and organize a month in advance so your kids have meals, your husband has clean clothes, the house isn't disgusting and you have five minutes here and there to work on school-work.

2.  Your dreams are still in their first phase...instead of the third phase, which is "Okay, I'm never going to be that so I need to concentrate on this."

1.  The number one reason you should stay in college while you're young instead of trying to muddle through as a middle-aged adult is this... You're able to start over multiple times, change your major, try different things, without the loud ticking of a clock in your head.  You have forever ahead of you.  Everything is possible.

No Right Answers

In light of the recent passing of celebrity Robin Williams, I felt the need to rehash some of the old frustrations regarding misconceptions about depression.  Robin Williams was a depressed individual.  I don't know his heart; nor do I know for sure the details of his death.  I know that he is reported to have been an alcoholic and used to abuse cocaine.

I also know he was hilarious.  His gift for comedic presence was beyond most I've ever witnessed and I always looked forward to whatever was going to come out of his mouth next.  God gave him a unique gift that Williams used to lighten the moods of the depressed around the world.  If you never laughed with Robin Williams, then you truly missed greatness.

But he was depressed.  As a person suffering clinical depression myself, I didn't blink at this.  However, I know for many, there was a reaction of, "What did he have to be depressed about?  He had everything!  A family, more money than he even knew what to do with, talent, fame..."  This is what I want you to hear.  If you read no further or blank out for the rest of this message, hear this.  Depression is not about what you do or do not have.  Buying the right house, receiving the right paycheck, marrying the right person....none of these things matter regarding depression.

If your spouse was diagnosed with diabetes, would you say, "Why do you have diabetes?  What could you possibly be lacking in your life?  What do you want...a new house?  A new life?"  No.  You'd get the proper insulin or prescription necessary and help your spouse deal with it.  If your mother was diagnosed with cancer, would you respond with, "Why would you choose to have cancer?  There are so many reasons not to have it!"  Nope.  Again, you'd see it as a battle to fight against.

Depression is not the fault of the one who has it.  Sometimes there are chemical remedies that help.  Therapy, support groups, books, music...tons of help out there.  But nothing that I've found or researched actually takes it away.  God can.  God can completely deliver a person of any affliction.  I do not pretend to know God's plan or why He does or does not cure this person as opposed to that person.  His plan is perfect and we are to simply know that sometimes we do not get to know.

Back to depression.  It exists.  It is real.  And it is something that will plague a person in the most unexpected situations.  It is not the same as being in a bad mood.  Grieving, sadness, discouragement, disappointment, loss, rejection, devastation, etc...  These are emotional phases.  These are things people can go through.  They are awful and must be dealt with.  They can lead to depression.  But they are not depression.  Why?  Because there is a reason behind each of the emotions/situations listed above.  For depression, there doesn't have to be any known rhyme or reason; sometimes it's not possible to look back and pinpoint an exact moment when depression set in.

I mentioned that I am depressed.  Right this very minute, I'm feeling pretty great.  My boys are playing the wii; my daughter is enjoying one of the last mornings of summer to sleep in; my husband just left for work; and I just had a conversation with my bathroom scales about what numbers need to show up.  Good day.  However, there have been days where all I want to do is crawl back under the covers and cry and sleep.  It can be a day where my children are singing, my husband is cooking and cleaning, the sun is shining, there's nothing but fun on the calendar.  And I am feeling the weight of depression heavily on my heart.

My husband used to ask me, "What do you think is wrong?  Did you have nightmares?  Are you upset about something?"  Now he knows.  There's no answer.  So now he says, "I'm sorry, Honey.  No worries.  You sleep.  Tell me if you want me to hold you while you have a good cry.  You're not disappointing anyone or letting anyone down.  No one is upset with.  We love you.  I'll pray the 'black cloud' (as I call it) leaves quickly."  THIS is the right answer.

Depression can be debilitating.  At the risk of sounding like a public service announcement or the voice at the end of an After School Special, if you or someone you know is sad a lot with no obvious reason, get help!  It's out there.  In fact, look beside you next time you're at church, at the store, on a bus, taking a walk... you'd be surprised who else out there is dealing with the same thing.

The Sick Girl

Laying on the examination table yesterday waiting to be told when I could stop holding my breath, I was deep in thought.  While the technician was x-raying my sacrum, I thought about all the people in the world going through the same thing, only alone.  See, even though I had to hold my arm a certain way and lay in an uncomfortable position that caused some pain and I had a thin sheet over my legs because my jeans were around my ankles....Mark and the kids were out in the waiting room.  They would be smiling and encouraging when I was finished here.  Mark had already promised to take us all out for lunch.  Almost like a fun summer day with just a little trip to the hospital thrown in.


When I'd checked in at the front I told Andrea, the woman at the helm, that I noticed she'd gotten some sun since I'd seen her last.  She smiled and updated me on her summertime fun with her son and then checked me in.  I got to go back and do the whole admissions process with Sheila.  Not only do I know Sheila from church, she's walked me through this admissions process more than once.  I love her smile and aim to see it every time I sit in her cubicle.  Yesterday she said, "I'm praying for you, Kim, but I'm not worried.  When you lose your sense of humor, THEN I'll worry!"  And that's what started me thinking about how blessed I am.


The morning had started as normally as those recently before it.  For the past several weeks, I've had numerous and varying symptoms that, put together, have baffled who I've come to call my "Dream Team".  I have always wanted to be a mysterious woman....didn't quite picture it this way however.  Let me just name some of the symptoms.  You'll see why, alone, they are not alarming...not even worth more than Tylenol or maybe a Z-Pack.  But put together, they are something of an enigma. 


Fever (spikes to 102 during the night; medicine at its max brings it down to 99.8)
Joint pain
General flu-like feeling
Loss of appetite (although I never seem to luck into the "weight loss" symptom!)
Headache
Dizziness
Chest pain (not shortness of breath or heart-related...more like muscle aches)
Forgetfulness (more than the normal "what did I come into this room for?")
Abdominal pain
Back pain
.........Did I mention I was bitten by a tick?


All test results for tick-fever, lyme, etc, were negative.  They even re-checked.  We treated it anyway.  Doxycycline (after the Z-Pack).  Symptoms persisted.  In fact, I remember one day a few weeks ago...I had gone in to the doctor's office to hear the results of the latest blood tests and CT scans.  While I was there, my wonder-nurse Lisa took my temp (routine).  Next thing I know, she's wrapping a blanket around me and giving me a big pill to swallow.  Guess my fever had spiked.  Again.


While waiting for test results, I was also waiting to feel better.  I was told to call immediately if I experienced new symptoms.  I thought surely I should be experiencing fewer symptoms!


We waded through the miry pit of four possible diagnoses before realizing this was bigger than the average "don't feel good" virus.  I lost track of what all we tested for.  It was interesting at first and I paid close attention.  But the appointments started going the same....like we hadn't gotten it right yet and needed to have several takes.  Lisa.....fever.....blood pressure low....accelerated heart rate.... PA Mendy...very thorough....lots of questions that I can only answer "kinda"......PA Nicole...worked in Rheumatology for five years and knows her stuff.....lots of questions that I could honestly answer "I don't know".......taking blood and trying not to stick where I've already been stuck and trying to navigate around the I-look-like-a-junkie bruises....new antibiotic (third one so far)....have we x-rayed this?.....have we tried MRI?....websites.....sitting with my "Dream Team" and Googling my symptoms.....visit the hospital...new tests.....


It can get discouraging.  Especially when new symptoms are fantastical.  I hear myself talking with the "Dream Team" and think, "Are they buying this?  This doesn't sound real at ALL!"  But they always buy it.  They test and prove it.  It's almost as if they are convincing me of my own illness.  Oh, you're probably wondering what kind of symptoms could cause me to doubt my own health-status.....one example is cold thigh.  Go ahead, Google it.  For I-don't-know-how-long, I've had this patch on my upper right thigh that's cold like I've just had an icepack on it.  Weird.  I didn't hide this, it just never occurred to me that it was an actual symptom.  Frankly, I chalked it up to being overweight.  Maybe poor circulation due to fatness.  You know?  Nope...real symptom. 


Another one just came up this past week.  It was yet one more thing I hadn't associated with the realm of symptoms.  I had become obsessed with cleaning my eyeglasses.  They were so scratched and dirty and I couldn't imagine what the film was that covered both lenses.  Then, for no reason I could think of, my eyes became dramatically bloodshot.  Not a little bloodshot.  Full on I-just-swam-for-thirty-hours-smoked-some-weed-and-haven't-slept-for-two-weeks bloodshot.  I called the doctor the next morning.  Of course, they wanted me to come right in.


Turns out there's no film on my eyeglasses.  I was sent to my eye doctor, post haste, and he examined me up close and personal.  Get this... there are so many white blood cells directly behind my corneas right now that I'm seeing them.  I see as if I'm looking through thick fog, smoke, or frosted glass.  Google Temporal Arteritis.  See what you think.


Anyway, back on that exam table, waiting for Jane to tell me I could breathe, I just realized that, even if I didn't have Mark and the kids physically with me, I'm still not alone.  Even if I didn't have Andrea-at-the-front-desk, Sheila-in-admissions, the "Dream Team", Linda-my-friend-working-with-my-other-friend-the-eye-doctor, and all of those who are there every time with a smile and a needle stick....I'm still not alone.


No matter how this turns out (and I know it will be perfect and wonderful), I must always be careful to remember how important it is to smile and keep that sense of humor.  I must always try to serve others even while I'm being served.  I must always remember I am never alone.


Oh....wow....better call the doctor.  I feel a new symptom....

Gold Medalist Mama

Athletes who train for the Olympics are insanely disciplined.  They are focused on one goal and do not deviate from striving toward it.  They maintain a strict regimen and enjoy very few luxuries along the way.  One of the many differences between an Olympic athlete and a Non-Olympic athlete is who they are representing.  They are not representing themselves, a team, or an advertising sponsor as much as they are representing their home country.  This is a huge burden as well as a huge honor.  They are under scrutiny all of the time; their time is not their own.  They must endure impossible expectations and they do it publicly.

As mothers, we are often called to a higher standard of living because our lives are no longer our own either.  We now hold tiny trusts in our arms.  We represent hearts that have been entrusted to us.  We must endure ups and downs in such a way as to remember that we are now living examples of the future for our children.  We are the first female in their lives and will set the pace for their view of mothers, wives, women.

There's no clocking out at the end of the day.  Motherhood requires a lifetime commitment.  We're all in.  Motherhood also requires help.  Olympians not only have physical trainers and nutritionists to make sure they remain in top condition, but they have mental health professionals on stand-by.  Being an Olympian is mentally taxing.  Not only must the athlete stay focused and primed for performance all the time while living in a world of those taking breaks, vacations, adventures, but they must also be willing to choose their sport over relationships.

As a mother, we make the decision to be our children's guide before being their friend.  We must also be willing to get rid of negative relationships that, while might be tolerable for a woman on her own, would be a bad mix with children.

This comparison is more intense than Ninja Mama and Super Mama.  It sounds like being a mother is no fun.  On the contrary.  Fun is part of the deal.  Olympians love their work.  Passion is just as important as commitment...in fact, it's the driving force.  And mamas absolutely must be passionate about loving their littles.

Commitment, discipline, sacrifice, passion.... Welcome to motherhood.  Now get up there and get your well-earned gold medal!

Super Mama

I love Super Heroes.  Super Man, Batman, Wonder Woman, Spider Man, Captain America, all of them.  They are iconic for those of us who love justice.  They also remind me of mamas.

Most super heroes begin their journey into heroism very roughly...  made fun of in school, bitten by a creature, abandoned, orphaned, abused, forgotten, etc...  They hit the crucial moment of decision, will they become bitter, self-destructive victims?  Or will they rise above tragedy and make their lives about serving others...anonymously?

Super Heroes are followed, adored, and often very misunderstood.  In fact, super heroes are often very lonely beings.  When they are "themselves" and not heroed up, super heroes are regular people with regular jobs. Even though it would not do for Green Lantern to pout, or for Black Canary to whine; although seeing Aqua Man disappointed or watching Robin's heart get broken is unheard of; as regular people, they suffer regular emotions. But they do not give in to them.  They make it their business to notice injustice and then quietly, they do something about it.  They sacrifice their own hopes, dreams, and desires in order to create a better world.

They cry alone and they do not accept praise graciously.  They take on worries, concerns, and seemingly insurmountable burdens.  When it comes to doing good, there is no question, there is no rest.  Their happiness is only as strong as the happiness of those they love.

It is not far fetched at all to say that Mamas are Super Heroes.  It's a bird!  It's a plane!  No!!  It's your Mama!

Ninja Mama

This begins a short series of blogs during which I will attempt to create a visual of what mamas all over the world truly aspire to. What comes to mind when you think about Ninjas?  Wearing all black?  Sneaking around?  Secretive?  What does any of that have to do with being a mama?!

Allow me to explain.

Very little is known about the origin of Ninjas.  They are thought to have began as early as the 6th Century.  But nothing is recorded until the 15th Century when Ninjas became organized and began training specifically for their missions.  Even during the 15th Century and later, the doings of Ninjas is vague.  Much is attributed to legend and myth.  In fact, in one of the more popular historical records, Ninjas were "known" to walk on water, become invisible, and perform magic.  Also, the fact that they existed does not mean that these records include their names.  Ninjas are, by definition, secret agents.

They are not to be confused with Samurais.  Samurais were soldiers that held to rules of honor and duty.  Ninjas held to no code except staying anonymous.  They did whatever it took to accomplish their mission.  And above all, they were not seen accomplishing it.  Never was their motivation praise, fame, respect, gratitude, or reward.  They had a job, they did it, and they moved on to the next job.  Quietly.  There was no mission they would not undertake.  They stayed focused.  Once a Ninja, always a Ninja.

Also, just because they were quiet didn't mean they worked alone.  In fact, a common tactic of Ninjas required one to carry another on his back to complete the mission.  They often helped each other, quietly, with roles understood, neither more important than the other.

Does this sound at all familiar?  As mamas, we will do whatever it takes to accomplish our mission.  Keep our children safe; equip them to fight evil; teach them how to be the best them they can be in a fallen world.  We will clean up poop, cook crazy meals, work into the night, sing until we are hoarse, sit as still as stone, read and read and read until the book falls apart, wake up at the slightest noise, get to the emergency room in nothing but a t-shirt and slippers in milliseconds, sew on patches, kiss boo-boos, dig out boogers, work for camp-money, sell cookies, endure sleepovers, and so on and so on.

Not for thanks.  Not for credit.  Not for reward.  In fact, if that was our motivation, we would be disappointed five minutes into the role of motherhood.  Mamas must be skilled in the gifts of covert, sneaky, and secretive.  Mamas must have mad driving skills and an inner GPS.  Mamas must have energy all the time.  And, Mamas hold to no code of conduct when it comes to protecting our littles.

Once a Mama, always a Mama.  To Ninja Mamas everywhere, keep on keeping on!

I'm Not Her BFF

I will never be friends with my daughter.  This makes me sad.  It also makes me determined.  We are given "jobs" to do, responsibilities, by God and parenting is one of them.  I have failed many times in the past (and will in the future, I'm sure) by not giving this assignment the energy and effort it calls for.  Being given a responsibility is serious.  Being given a responsibility by God is a calling, an honor, and to be undertaken with grave effort.  We are to do everything as to the Lord.  Parenting is just a step further.  (In my opinion)

Maggie is eleven.  It's a fun age.  We are beginning to share interests.  She gets my jokes.  She's pretty funny with her own jokes.  She is able to take on more responsibility and be a true help around the house.  It's fun hanging out with her.  But I'm not her friend.

I am not saying we don't laugh together and act silly and share confidences.  We do.  And it's wonderful.  What I'm saying is that I have a higher calling where Maggie concerned.  I must be forever vigilant with her soul.  I don't know how long I have with her.  I may be called Home tomorrow.  I must do everything I can to ensure that she is fully equipped to fight the Evil One.  I must do all I can to teach her that Jesus is the answer to every question.

In practical terms, I must also teach her to survive on this planet without me.  Cooking, cleaning, managing her money and her time.  Choosing friends, buying clothes, deciding on a career.

I will never control her.  She must make all of these decisions one day without me.  But how I guide her in the decisions today will ultimately determine her wisdom in making choices later.  That's why I will never be her friend.  I will not say, "Whatever you want, Dear."

Every moment is a teaching moment.  Relax and enjoy her sweetness?  Absolutely.  Laugh and enjoy her silliness?  Of course!  Call her out when she's wrong, instruct her when she's confused, never let her get away with disobedience?  Imperative.

But what if she's mad at me?  I hate that.  I hate knowing she's disappointed, hurt, mad, sad.  And yet, what is the alternative?  It's just going to be rough-going at times.  I am the grown-up here.  And I'm not motivated by trying to get her to like me.  In fact, I know very well that there will be stretches of time when she doesn't like me at all.  And that must simply be enough validation for me to know I'm doing it right.

I'll never be her BFF.  But she'll never doubt my love for her.  She's my favorite Maggie in the world.  I am prouder of her every day.  Laughter, arguments, illness, disappointments, grief, joys, triumphs..... I want to share every minute with her.  And I want to be worthy of the gift that is Maggie Pruitt.  One day she'll be a gift to the world.  Daughters are precious.  Mothers are necessary.  It will not ever be "balanced".  She will never love me the way I love her.  She will never thank me or truly appreciate any sacrifice I make.  I must not be motivated by the desire for recognition.  God sees.  God knows.  And that is more that enough.

We'll talk about the role of fatherhood and sons in a later post.  :)                        

Mother's Day Schmother's Day

I'm out for the summer!!  So I get to blog again!!  Yay!

So, yesterday was Mother's Day.  Growing up, I always got very excited about this holiday.  I got to make crafts and cards for the woman who was my world.  As I got a little older I understood that this was a day of honor and respect for this hard-working, much-deserving lady who had taught me all I knew of being good.  I felt a lot of pride about showing her how much I appreciated her.  When I became a mom, I looked forward to it in a new light altogether.  This time it would be about ME!!  Sure, I'd call my mom and all, but I would now be the one putting her feet up and getting all the showers of attention.

I don't know what happened to this holiday between honoring my mother and becoming a mother myself, but it definitely was not as I'd pictured it.  My children made things for me.  Things I'd have to keep forever, but which had no purpose at all.  I got to sit and listen to off-key songs my children made up for me.  And they cooked for me.  I mean....good grief.  I had to eat every bite of the breakfast in bed (no item of which was even related to a breakfast food).  Then I got to clean up their mess from making it.

I got to go out to lunch and order whatever I wanted!  And then share it with all the children because of course they no longer wanted what they had ordered.  And so it went....for years.

I came to dread the holiday.  No matter what I knew from experience, I would always let hope build inside of me and be sorely disappointed when I did not wake up to roses and a clean house and a personal masseuse and gift cards to everywhere....*sigh*

Yesterday, my eleventh Mother's Day as a mother, I climbed, gasped for air, took no breaks, and climbed some more until finally I got all the way over myself.

I have three children who look at me with untainted trust and love.  I get to see the world adore these precious beings and know they are mine.

Yes, I will take a bath right now in the bath salts you made for me, even though it's scented with ginger and I hate ginger and will secretly gag as I sit in a bathtub of ginger and then go to bed smelling like ginger and probably have nightmares of being baked and painted and then running from a fox.

Yes, I will sit very still and let you massage my feet though it feels as though you plan to rub the skin right off and then put cold lotion on, the amount of which could soften the skin of a third-world country until you decide that I've been "pampered" enough and move on, leaving me to slip and slide to the nearest towel.

Yes, I will gladly hear the piano piece you so lovingly composed for me everyday within my hearing as you yelled, "Mama, don't listen right now!" and then continued to play the same bars over and over and over until I was sure the piano could play it for me all by itself.

Yes, I will love you.  Forever.  I will celebrate Mother's Day in whatever fashion you present it to me because this day is not about being a mother.  It's about being YOUR mother.  And I will never deserve that.

Loving Stronger

Yesterday at church, I was humbled beyond anything I'd ever imagined.  A young man came forward and confessed to having cheated on his wife.  He was not alone at the front of the church.  His father and mother sat on the front row, tearfully supporting his willingness to confess.  Close friends and church elders filled the front rows to also lend support and encouragement.  But that wasn't what brought me to my knees.

In the very front pew sat his wife.  His young, beautiful, super-mom, sweet-spirited, church-serving wife.  She sat in that pew, crying, and loving her husband.

For most of my life, I've considered adultery the "big" sin.  I mean, yes, there's murder.  That one's pretty big.  But it's not something I really think I or my close loved ones will struggle with.  Adultery, however, is everywhere.  It's random.  It's shocking.  It hits marriages that have been strong as a rock for years.  It's scared me.  

Once, when Mark and I were praying together, he said, "Let us never be tempted to have an affair..."  After the "amen" I jumped on that.  "Are you tempted?  Are you praying that because you're tempted?   Are you thinking of having an affair?  Are you HAVING an affair?!  IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE?"  It's a wonder I didn't drive him to having one just by my obsessive fear of it happening.  His response was calm, of course.  "No, Sweetheart.  I just don't ever want either of us to even think about it.  It's a prayer of protection.  Prevention.  That's all."

When I was very young, I remember a couple in our small church having marital struggles.  I remember them getting a divorce, which was not as common and still a bit shocking back in those days.  I remember asking what had happened and my mother said, "He betrayed their marriage."  He had had an affair.  In the years that passed, the same thing happened in other marriages.  One spouse would cheat and the other would dissolve the marriage.  And I fully supported this.  

In fact, I didn't realize it at the time, but inside me was a growing hate for cheaters.  I felt a burning anger every time I heard of someone having extra-marital relations and I found myself, as time wore on, championing the "true" spouse and all but helping them throw the "offender's" bags out the door.  

The fear of being cheated on was proven true in several of my dating relationships.  I don't know if I was just cheat-on-able or what, but I can only think of one guy who didn't cheat on me.  Other than that, I was able to feed my self-righteousness more fodder for anger against "The Cheater"!  

Yesterday's display of strength and commitment was not the first that I'd witnessed.  A couple in this same congregation years ago went through something similar and I remember being awed by the fact that a divorce was not forthcoming.  Again when I witnessed this family's undeniable faith and love yesterday I was moved.

My paradigm began to shift.  My conscience broke.  I have been the offender.  I have made myself a judge.  I, who usually love all and all alike, realized there was one sin in this world that I had withheld my forgiveness from.  Adultery.  I was just as wrong as the one confessing yesterday.  And so I realized that if he could bring this to Light and make his sins known, I should do the same.

I know longer believe that cheating in a relationship is a "scoundrel-offense."  It's a mistake.  It's a big mistake that hurts many and brings damaging consequences.  But it's a mistake.  We all make mistakes.  We all make big, embarrassing, regret-consuming mistakes.  And we ALL fall under God's grace.  His grace is sufficient.  

I'm sorry for my attitude in the past.  I want to do better.  I want to love stronger.

Third Time's the Charm

I'm back in school.  Most of you know this and have been very supportive and encouraging.  Thank you.  One of my classes is Algebra.  We won't talk about that.  Another class is Kinesiology.  Or Wellness.  Or Health.  You know, that basic gen/ed class where you have to fill in the blanks about the cardiovascular system and take your heart rate and all that.  I hate it.  This is my third time to take it.

The first time was my first semester as a college student way back in the 1900s.  I was lazy and ended up dropping the class before I could fail it.  The second time was just two semesters after that.  I was so far into a depression at that time that I dropped the class...only to learn that I never officially dropped it.  Turns out I just quit going.  Yeah, those weren't my best years.

Anyway, so here's the charm and I started strong!  I love my teacher (which, let's face it, adds a lot toward motivation to go).  Coach Clay Beason at Harding University is a fantastic person and I highly recommend him if you have the choice of teachers.  He's funny, sincere, compassionate, Spiritual, and he knows his stuff.  (He's also in good shape.  I loathe taking health advice from some overweight idiot.)

So, I am all gung-ho the first four weeks of class.  I mean, I have done the work and turned it in early.  I sit at the front of the class.  I am a note-taking machine.  I've GOT this.

Until the 3-minute-step-test.  How many of you know what that is?  Yes, those of you turning pale and starting to shake...you know what I'm talking about.  For the rest of you, it's where you must step up/step down on a foot-high step (bottom bleacher usually) for three minutes.  You must keep pace with the wonderful BEEP that seems to get faster, but in reality stays the same rhythm (you just get slower).  After three minutes, you take your heart-rate and write it down and you're done with class for the day.  What could be easier?  And Coach Beason doesn't grade you on whether you do a great job.  He grades you on the fact that you showed up and are giving it a go.  Great, right?

Rewind a bit.

I'm not the healthiest person.  Y'all know that and I won't go into all the yucky details.  Like how I take three pills every morning and have to drink taurine in order to move around; and how I have to nap during the day if I'm supposed to do anything after 5:00 in the evening; and how I take 4 pills and two hormones every night (plus melatonin); and I usually go to bed by 8:00 because the joints are aching and my muscles are jelly; oh, and how, because of essential tremor, I shake all the time, making me look like a 90-year-old.  Nausea, low-grade temp, inflamed lower back, headaches...this is my norm.  So, I thought taking this class would be GREAT because I'd learn a lot about physical wellness and maybe something would help me feel better!

Oh, and nosebleeds.  I sometimes don't have one for days.  I sometimes have five in one day.  They're lovely.

Now, back to the 3-minute-step-test.  I had a major nosebleed just before class started.  Now, the difference between a nosebleed and a "major" nosebleed is this.  Nosebleeds require lots of tissue and a trash can near by.  Major nosebleeds mean I have to hang my head over the toilet because tissue doesn't cover it and I'm going to throw-up blood at the same time.  So, there.  Beautiful.

After the nosebleed, I didn't have time to eat anything and was almost late to class.  We started our step-test.  The bleachers look so funny when they swim around and then come up to meet me.  I almost passed out just 90 seconds in.  I remember seeing Coach pulling a trash can up to me (said something about me looking white) and Sarah McGaha (another gem in the gym) saying something about getting security to go find my husband.

I faked some focus and told them I'd be fine.  But I wasn't.  Not for awhile.  I was so frustrated.  When my vision cleared and the nausea passed, I drove home.  I sent an email to Coach Beason and told him there was no way I could come close to meeting all the physical requirements for this class.  We were later going to have to do sit-ups, push-ups, run a mile, etc...  It's not a simple case of me being out of shape (although I'm more out of shape than a deflated beach ball), it's about my body not being up to snuff period.

Remember how I said Coach Clay Beason is awesome?  He is.  He is awesome.  He visited with me and concluded that I can take the class online from home.  FROM HOME!!  :)  Yay!!

I am still meeting the physical requirements, but I have all semester to build up to them.  It's not going to be near the monster I thought it would be.  Sometimes, things really do work out.  Including me!  Sometimes I work out!  Ha!

Now....about Algebra..... *sigh*

Have You Considered My Servant Job?

How many of us have compared ourselves to Job, that Godly man from the Old Testament who is attacked by Satan and favored by God?  When calamity hits, we remember how God was pleased with Job and so He allowed Satan to try and sway his faith, but Job did not waver.  We tell ourselves that we too are being tested and that we too will stand strong.

Well, let me ask you something.  Those of you who have lost jobs, lost homes, lost loved ones, lost your own child, you do need to stand strong and not lose your faith; however, before comparing yourself to Job, think about his loss.  He lost ALL of his possessions, servants, and livelihood.  This was seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred donkeys.  We're not talking about a few acres and and some cattle.  His lost was more than devastating.  And before he could digest the news of this loss, he was told he had lost his children.  Not a child.  His seven sons and three daughters.  At one time.  Before he could completely mourn these great tragedies, his body was struck with boils.

Do you know what boils are?  They are sores under the skin that fester like blisters.  Have you ever had blisters?  They hurt.  Have you ever had them over every inch of your body so that you couldn't lay down, sit down, walk, or stand without being in severe pain?  That was Job.  Job was so desperate and suffering that he broke pottery and used the jagged pieces to scrape his blistered skin.  !!!  Wow!

Even in your greatest trials, have you had friends to comfort you?  Job didn't.  He had "friends" who didn't believe him.  They didn't comfort him or try to help.  They didn't bring food to his home and pray with/for him or put his name in the church bulletin to be recognized as one in need.  They didn't offer condolences or a listening ear.  They didn't offer to lend him their homes or their livelihoods.  They preached to/at him.  Even his wife was bitter and did not support him.

So, next time you are sad and going through devastation and someone says, "You're like Job," just thank God that you in fact are NOT like Job.  Your mourning during your loss is good and right and I am not intending to take away from your grief.  I am, however, trying to remind you that, even in our greatest suffering, we are still not experiencing loss the likes of which God's favored servant Job experienced.

Chapter 2 (Part 3)

Again, I know it's messy.  This is like the rough-rough-rough draft that you write while cleaning house and taking care of kids.  Hope it makes sense.

Brady picked another wildflower and started plucking off more petals.  She was way past playing the he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not game.  She knew he loved her.  She'd be more honest asking if she loved him.  She did, didn't she?  Love.  What was love?  Brady took in her surroundings and sighed blissfully at the beauty.  A village in the English countryside; so picturesque and perfect.  Green hills, some with sheep grazing; clusters of trees and clearings full of flowers.  It was absolutely a dream.  She mentally gave herself a pat on the back for choosing such a place for her wedding.

                Her wedding.  She'd felt sure of everything last night until...  She pushed the thought back and forced herself to conjure up a pretend Philip sitting beside her.  What would he say to her right now?  "Brady, we've been so worried about you."  She felt a little knot forming in her stomach.  Why did it bother her to think Philip was worried?  Isn't that what she'd wanted?  But, she felt nervous and...what was that other, foreign feeling?  Guilt!  She felt guilty for running out on her own wedding!  Why?  It was her wedding, after all.  And Philip's, said her conscience.  She knew she'd been foolish to run away, but he'd brought it on himself, right? 

                What would Fiona do, she asked herself for the hundredth time.  She mentally conjured up Fiona but literally waved her hand in front of her to dispel the image as soon as she'd pictured it because of the scowl on her imaginary Fiona's face.  She knew Fiona would be furious at her.  Fiona never ran away.  Fiona the strong; Fiona the honest; Fiona the better-than-everyone.  She wasn't jealous.  Brady knew she was more beautiful and had more popularity than her younger sister.  But for some reason, she'd seen Philip, on more than one occasion, looking at Fiona with an expression akin to worship.  Why didn't he worship Brady?!

                He told Brady he loved her.  And she believed him.  Of course he did.  But he didn't adore her.  Marrying someone who didn't adore her seemed like she was settling.  But she wanted Philip!  Didn't he realize how lucky he was?  Again, the question what would Fiona do popped into her mind.  She knew.  Fiona would pray.

                Brady had prayed on and off throughout her life but didn't see that it did any good.  She made her own blessings.  She believed in God and was faithful in her church attendance.  Her faith surely couldn't be questioned.  But God had made her beautiful and smart and talented, so surely He wanted her to use her gifts however she deemed best for her.  Right?  And what was best for right now?

                Brady thought back to her first date with Philip.  He'd come to the door of her apartment and, when she'd answered, he'd handed her a bouquet of flowers.  She'd literally laughed in his face and said she hadn't realized he was so old fashioned.  Instead of frowning and apologizing, like she'd half-expected him to do, he'd smiled and said, "Well, I am.  Do you have a vase for these?"  That had intrigued her.  A man with self-confidence.  It was almost a challenge.  After several months of dating she'd found herself wanting to please him.  She'd wanted his praise; something he only gave for certain things she did.  He wasn't generous with compliments about her appearance; a first for Brady.

                At first she'd been frustrated.  Didn't he realize the time and effort she put into her physical appearance?  There were beauty regimens, long-researched and put to use in order to maintain her perfect skin, glossy blonde hair, gleaming teeth, and super-model-thin figure!  He did occasionally tell her she looked nice.  Nice?  Her mother looked nice.  Fiona looked nice.  She was stunning!  But when he did praise her, she felt it to her very soul.  The first time had been when she'd helped the little girl in the shopping mall. 

                Philip and Brady had been shopping for Brady a new scarf when this young girl, about seven years old, had walked up to them.  She'd been crying and had looked Brady right in the eye.  One thing Brady Kenton could not ignore was a needy child.  The girl had become separated from mother and Brady and Philip had spent the next half-hour searching for her.  They'd found her and Brady was overwhelmed with the gratitude the distraught mother had bestowed upon her.  But even more exhilarating had been Philip's words.  "That was a very good thing you did for them.  I'm proud of you."

                The memory of the mother and daughter made her stomach knot up again.  Was anyone that concerned about her right now?  Would there be tears of rejoicing when she was found?  Somehow she doubted it.  No one ever really worried about her.  That's why she had to put so much energy into worrying about herself.  

Chapter 2 (part 2)

This is VERY rough...lower your expectations.  :)

This time it was he who smiled.  In a clear, British accent he asked, "Crud?  That's all you have to say after scaring a man half to death?"

                Fiona noticed his smile was not menacing.  He had straight, white teeth.  Surely someone with straight teeth was nice, right?  Why did she think that?  He certainly looked as if he could be dangerous.  He was unshaven and had a faded scar running beside his right eye.  Fiona caught herself thinking that he was quite attractive, then immediately felt guilty, as if she'd just been unfaithful to Philip.  His eyes seem to be laughing at her.  She couldn't make herself feel afraid of this man who held a gun.  She didn't return his smile but calmly said, "I'm looking for my sister.  Have you seen a woman?  Possibly in a wedding dress?"

                His smile remained but no longer reached his eyes as the stranger answered, "I have.  She's not here."

                "You have?!  When?  Was she okay?  Did she say anything?"  Fiona was surprised at her own mixture of relief and dread.  She hadn't realized how concerned she truly was for Brady's safety.

                The man held out his hand, the one without the gun, and said, "I'm Oliver."

                Fiona stared at his hand and then back at Oliver's face.  She felt anger surge up within her. "I'm not here to make your acquaintance!  I'm looking for my sister!"  What was wrong with this guy?  He's sitting in a dark corner of some shack in the woods but wants to shake hands and make friends?  Maybe she should in fact be very afraid of this man.  Had he harmed her sister?  Was he one of those psychos who killed women and buried them in his backyard?  In her exhausted mind, she had the thought that British men weren't psychopaths.  What was wrong with her?  Straight teeth?  British?  None of this made a difference; this man, whose muscles looked to be lethal weapons enough, was holding a gun and looking at her as if she was the very last person in the world he wanted to see.  And then he smiled again.  Stupid straight teeth.

                What's wrong with me, Oliver thought.  This green-eyed witch had barged in on him at a most dangerous moment and here he was, greeting her as if he was hosting a party.  Oliver lowered his hand and said, "I'm sorry.  Of course.  The American woman.  Yes.  Well, she was here and now she isn't.  I don't know where she's gone."

                Fiona took a deep breath.  Was he slow-witted or was he being deliberately obtuse?  She couldn't explain the logic of it but she just knew he wasn't a killer.  She knew she could trust him.  And she didn't have time to analyze it right now.  "What shape was she in when you saw her?  When did you see her?  Tell me something!" 

                Oliver noticed how the girl was shaking.  Woman, he mentally corrected himself.  She wasn't the young girl he'd originally thought when he'd first turned on the light.  She wasn't afraid.  She was fiercely angry.  Well, that was nothing to him.  He'd just as soon she be on her way so he could attend to the business he'd come here to do in the first place.

                He turned away from her and said, "She was here a few hours ago and she seemed in perfect health.  She asked to stay here for awhile and I refused her.  She became angry and stomped away in the direction of the Hollow.  That's all I know so I hope you too will kindly be on your way."

                Kindly be on my way?  Fiona didn't think much could make her angrier but those words sent her over the edge.  "HELP ME FIND MY SISTER, YOU IDIOT!  WHERE'S THE HOLLOW?!  HOW DO I GET THERE?"  She raked her fingers through her now unkempt hair.  She wanted to pull all of his hair out but forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down instead.

                He turned back to her and gave her a very confused look.  "I do apologize.  I hadn't realized you were actually concerned for her.  She seemed to be on some kind of playful errand in a game of hide-and-seek and I simply thought you were her finder.  Is she on the run then?  Wedding jitters and all that?"

                "Yes," Fiona said forcefully.  "Wedding jitters and all that!  Now where's this Hollow?"

                "Oh, yes," he said.  He reached around her and opened the door again.  His scent lingered near her and she felt an unexplainable urge to touch him.  To run her finger along that scar.  She didn't, of course, and wondered where in the world that impulse had even come from.  He gestured toward the open door and said, "I'll lead the way, shall I?"

                What was he doing?  Oliver Cast shouldn't care one whit whether or not these two American sisters found each other.  He certainly didn't have time to help them.  There was only one thing he wanted to do today and that was to kill the man that had ruined his life.  But, since he knew where the man was and had nothing but time, he guessed it wouldn't hurt to at least see to it that these two bothersome women were out of his way.

Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Since my mother told me to post more today, here's the first part of Chapter Two. :)

                Fiona knocked again.  The old door looked like it couldn't take much more knocking before falling in.  She tried the rusty doorknob and found it to be unlocked.  She walked into the musty room and let her eyes adjust to the darkness.  A shadow moved in the far corner.  A rat?  Fiona instinctively reached for her phone to use as a flashlight but remembered too late that she was still wearing her bridesmaid's gown.  Without pockets.  She didn't have anything on her at all.  Not a light and certainly not a weapon, should she need one.  She'd give anything to take back the promise she'd made Philip.  "I'll search every corner of the woods while you're searching the village."  Why?  Why hadn't she opted to search the village?  And why did Philip so readily agree to let her wander about alone in a strange area?

                Fiona was angry.  She was angry at Brady for catching Philip.  She was angry at Philip for being caught.  She was angry at Brady for convincing Philip to hold their wedding in this middle-of-nowhere English village just because she'd read about it in some book.  She drew upon her anger to cover her fear and stepped forward into the semi-darkness.  Whatever was moving in the corner stopped for a moment and then began moving again but this time slower.  It was rising.  Somewhere in Fiona's brain she registered that the creature was human.  There was a strange human rising and coming toward her., and she couldn't make herself breath, much less run.  "Oh, God!  Help!"  She silently prayed the urgent prayer of the panicked and then stood, waiting for the worst.

                The stranger came closer.  He raised his arm in the air and Fiona clenched her eyes shut.  "Make it quick, Lord, please," she begged silently.  She heard a click.  She waited.  Nothing.  Slowly, she opened her eyes.  It was bright.  He'd been reaching for the chain above and turned the light on.  That's all.  No danger.  She almost laughed out loud, but caught herself as the light hit a gleam off the pistol in his left hand.  "Crud," she said.

Fiction For Friends

Well, here's something.  This is a fluffy, romantic, silly story that I play with when I have writer's block from writing my real project. Please disregard typos and grammatical errors. Because this is my brain-candy piece, I don't bother with combing through it obsessively.  Enjoy....this is the first chapter.  Also, I'll be taking ideas for titles!

                She shouldn't have said it.  She shouldn't have said anything.  But she had.  And now she had to follow through.  What had been her motivation?  Impressing Philip or finding Brady?  A morning of questions, a burned-down barn, and now the bride was missing.  Well, she'd turn up.  She always had been a diva.  Brady Kenton would never stay missing long enough to actually worry people.  She'd show up at just the right time, giving everyone a thrill of relief, and assuring herself of at least a month's worth of attention.  And in the meantime, it was up to Fiona to pick up the pieces.  Fiona Kenton, sister to the diva,  was fed up.  As soon as Philip had shown up at the church that morning, Fiona had known something wasn't right.

                She'd left Brady at the inn knowing she wouldn't be missed amongst the oohing and aahing over her dress and hair and jewels and tried to beat everyone to the church that morning in hopes of some peace and quiet before the big event.  Philip had shown up only moments after her.  He'd found her sitting quietly in one of the middle church pews, head bowed, hands folded.  He'd stood silently still until he saw that she'd finished her prayer and then he quietly asked, "Everything alright?"

                Fiona had jumped slightly.  She'd been so caught up in her prayer and her thoughts that she'd almost forgotten her surroundings.  She'd looked up into Philip's beautiful blue eyes and said, "Yes.  Everything's wonderful.  Just praying for the happy couple."  Lie.  Lie.  Lie.  Well, she had been praying for them...to never get married.  To realize they were totally wrong for each other.  To part friends and encourage each other to move on.  To awaken to the reality that it was she, Fiona, who belonged with Philip Arber.  Philip Arber, handsome, successful, tender --

                "Fi, are you okay?  You look a little...dazed."  Philip had stepped closer and laid the back of his hand on Fiona's forehead.

                She jumped again.  To feel his touch.  To see the concern for her in his eyes.  She'd almost allowed a sigh of pleasure to escape her lips.  She'd shaken herself back to the moment at hand.  Philip's wedding .  Philip's and Brady's wedding.  She had backed away a little and said, "I'm just excited for the both of you.  Where's Brady?  Didn't she ride with you to the church?"  It had been just like her sister to insist on doing away with silly traditions like the groom not seeing the bride before the wedding.  They had planned to ride to the church together but Philip had arrived alone.

                Philip had looked questioningly at Fiona and asked, "She's not already here?  She left a note saying she came to the church early with you!"

                That was when Fiona's stomach had done a dive.  For the next three hours, as people arrived at the church, search parties were formed, phone calls were made, and the panicked chaos of a missing bride ensued.  Fiona had asked Philip to accompany her to the barn where they'd planned to hold the reception in hopes of finding Brady there.  When the two had gotten there, they found the place engulfed in flames.  Philip had completely broken down.  Fiona had called the authorities and after a thorough dousing and professional search, she had been assured there'd been no one inside the barn.  Wherever Brady was, it hadn't been in the church nor the barn.  And while everyone else was beside themselves with worry, Fiona could feel nothing but anger.

Interested?

If I were to be working on a piece of fiction, how many of you would want to read it?  Would you buy it?  I mean, do you read fiction?  Would you want me to blog the chapters?  I'm just throwing this out there.  I'm kind-of in a funk and writing fiction usually gets me right out.  So, I thought if I DID write something, maybe there's someone out there who'd like to peruse it.  :)

Short Sermon. :)

How many of you went to bed last night (Saturday) with the commitment of going to church?  How many of you followed through with it this morning?  If you did, GREAT JOB!!  If you didn't, THERE'S STILL TIME!!  And while you wait for the next church time to roll around, don't beat yourself up.  God is not as hard on you as you are on yourself!  And just because you missed service this morning doesn't make you a bad Christian.
Now, let's talk about how many you've missed.  Two Sundays?  Twenty?  Couple of years since you've been in a church pew?  Guess what...still not too late.  Go.  Just make yourself go ten times in a row (if at all possible) and then tell me how you feel.  Go ahead...start this evening!
You are LOVED!!

Resolving Resolution Relapse

Do you love making New Year's Resolutions?  Do you dread it?  Do you even do it?  I used to love it.  Then I dreaded it.  Then I considered not even doing it.  But then I realized something.  I'm the boss of it.  I'm the one deciding what the resolutions are so why can't I also decide when they take place?  Here's what I have discovered about myself.  When I begin making my list of resolutions, I get carried away.  I begin to even organizing resolution themes and sub-resolutions.  For example, "Get Organized"...well, that begs detail so I then list sub-resolutions under this resolution theme: "Bedroom, Shed, Drawers, Cabinets, etc..."  You see where this is going.  Overwhelming to say the least.  Overwhelming...stressful...impossible!  Before January 2nd, I'm already a failure.  Great way to start the year, yes?  Ugh!

So, I have tried the past few years to relax and stay general; "Lose Weight, Keep House Clean, More Family Time, Read Bible More, etc..."  But even this gets to be too much.  If I'm not a master at all of the above by the middle of February, I consider it all undo-able and give up.  (Y'all know I'm an extremist)  So how is it possible to have resolutions without setting myself up for disappointment?  How do I keep resolutions healthy and thriving throughout the year?

This year, I'm trying something new.  This is probably not a new idea to many of you.  I'm a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to self-improvement so I fully expect you to have a "duh!" reaction to my exciting revelation.  But here it is.  I first will make my list of resolutions.  I even allow myself to go crazy with it.  Don't stop at ten...or twenty...just write until I've mapped out the path to perfection.  Then, I prioritize.  If I could only achieve twenty-four of these things this year, what should those twenty-four be?  Then I prioritize again.  What, of the twenty-four, should be the first two?

I concentrate on only those two resolutions for the month of January.  February, I add two more.  March, two more.  See?  See how I'm taking baby-steps instead of demanding so much from myself right off the bat?  Is this how resolutions are being done around the world?  Am I the only one just now realizing the genius of this month-by-month concept?  Well, I don't mind.  I'm just excited to have stumbled onto the idea at all.  So, this month, January, the first of the twelve of 2014, I'm working on two resolutions: Spiritual and Health improvement.  I've only allowed two steps per resolution (Attend church every possible chance I get and read my Bible every day; Exercise at LEAST three times a week and make better food-choices).  That's it.  Reckon I can handle that?  We'll see.

At least I'm still feeling excited instead of stressed out already.  January is supposed to be a time of fresh renewal.  It is the "Monday" of the New Year.  It is that day we all begin anew.  I pray all of you press on with your self-improving and see yourselves as victors rather than failures.  We are in this New Year together.  Let's do this!