My five year old ears molded around those silly words.   Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers became a sing song.   Followed by, “Tommy Attat-a-mus took two tees, tied them to the top of two tall trees.”   That summer, my dad graduated top of his auctioneer class, and I, his mockingbird daughter, had acquired a lifelong skill – or at least a stupid human trick.

(sweet talker Betty Crocker - through the years)

To this day, I can recite any of the above lyrics at warp speed.   Friends have asked to record it to make it their ring tone for me.   I haven’t obliged.   They particularly get a kick out of my favorite tongue twister to “perform”  – which  I can say in about 6.7 seconds (yeah,  I might have timed myself once or twice.)    Give it a shot and see how you do…

Betty Botter bought some butter,
“But,” she said, “the butter’s bitter;
If I put it in my batter,
It will make my batter bitter;
But a bit of better butter,
That would make my batter better.”

So she bought a bit of butter,
Better than her bitter butter,
And she put it in her batter,
And the batter was not bitter;
So ’twas better Betty Botter
Bought a bit of better butter.

Good ol’ Betty.

Even as I race through her story, I’m thankful she’s the rhyme that sticks with me the most.

I need to be reminded constantly about bitter versus better.

There are times in our lives things don’t go as planned.   I’ve sat across from friends who have told me their grand schemes and dreams to improve their business.  They hit some snags and obstacles.  The business fell apart or stayed exactly the same.   I know folks who in the midst of the rat race received a diagnosis that set them on a totally different life course.   There are parents whose children can’t keep up with the other kids due to disabilities.   There are women who in addition to children and husband and job are finding themselves caring for a parent or sibling.   Families have broken apart because somebody got bored.   Jobs went away.  Savings accounts demolished.   I know good people who did all the hard work and somebody else took all the credit.   What about the girl who finally finds the perfect guy  until he turns out not to be not so perfect.   4000 miles were logged on the treadmill and the scale didn’t move one inch.    The dream job is a nightmare. Somebody smeared another’s reputation …for the fun of it.    You name it, we probably have  been in one of these scenarios.     It’s no wonder we often feel – Disappointed.  Angry.  Confused.  Exhausted.

These feelings are normal reactions.   The problem begins when we let ourselves begin to stew in these feelings.  When we allow our hearts to remain and marinate in that disappointment, anger, confusion, and exhaustion, the result is bitterness.

I look back on a lot of things in my life that didn’t go as planned.  We moved my sophomore year of high school.   I was the new kid.  I didn’t fit.   For years, I blamed that for many of the reasons things didn’t go like the Sweet Valley Book in my head.   I became chubby because food became  my friend.   I didn’t have a boyfriend because I was chubby.   That’s not the truth.  It’s blame and bitterness.    Twenty years later, I am thankful.  I see that God was protecting me.  In those high school years, he protected my heart and set my life on course to live for Him.

A few years ago, I had two jobs back to back that were complete and utter chaos.   They had been billed to me as opportunities for career growth.   I walked away from both experiences exhausted, disillusioned and doubting my abilities.    Initially, I felt I didn’t grow my career.  I wasted my time.  I was a little bitter.  And it showed.

Now, I can see I did learn so much.   I learned what not to do.   I learned to examine every “great” oppportunty”  with a fine tooth comb.  I built a huge network of colleagues and friends in other arenas which led to a job I like.

Whether it is high school or those disappointing gigs, I can honestly say I look back on them now and know they made me better.

I’m striving to be able to say this about all things.   I have a very long way to go.

Often the bitterness creeps in  and the snark makes its way to my tongue.   When I hear critical things people have said about me or I view a situation through my “ what about me?” lens, suddenly a floodgate of vinegar floods around my heart.   The marinating begins.  I feel it.

And I want it to stop.

I don’t want a bitter heart.   I want a better heart.

You’ve probably seen the sign – especially if you are on Pinterest:  “It can make you bitter or it can make you better.”

It’s true.     It’s a choice.

Sometimes those choices can come in an instant.   Sometimes it takes time.

Sometimes it’s an everyday choice of laying the bitterness down at Christ’s feet and walking away.

It just donned on me as I write this…When Christ hung on that cross over 2000 years ago,  the soldiers gave him a rag soaked in vinegar for refreshment.   He turned his head.  He didn’t take the bitterness.  (Matthew 27:34)

We should do the same.

Don’t choose the bitterness.

Be a Betty.

Buy a bit of better butter.   Put it in your bitter batter.

It will make your batter.. and your heart better.

graciously,

Boots

xxoo

But here it is- my heart – broken into a thousand pieces, tears streaming down my cheeks because my Sadie Francis is gone.

My precious, Sadie Francis was a gift.  I was never supposed to have her.   But I’m glad I did.

Five years ago,  a friend called to say her neighbor had puppies to give away.  The mom dog – Annie  was a beautiful Silky Terrier.  She looked just like my Finley.  Frail boned and a silky mane.   My friend curiously wondered -  did I want a puppy.  They were free.   You see,  pretty Annie had escaped a puppy mill.   She was rescued by a warm heart in the Heights.  When her new owner John took her in,  he had no idea she was with child(ren).   Before he knew it,  Annie and her 5 pups had taken over his guest room.

I was in Dallas when I got the call.  Just a few days before the Angler and I celebrated our 8th anniversary.  I had that baby itch at the time.  (Something I’ve never admitted)   Timing wasn’t favorable to pursue children.  So,  I begged the Angler to let me have a puppy as an anniversary gift. He said no.

When I returned from Texas,  I stopped by John’s house and two puppies remained – a rambunctious boy and an anti-social girl.  John had already named her Sadie.   She had black eyes, black lips, and crazy eyelashes.  I scooped her up and she wrapped her front paws around my hand and  her little self around my heart.   All 1.5 pounds of her wanted down immediately – she hated being held.

I brought her home.  Now the score was even.  Two girls  (me and her)  against two boys ( The Angler and Finley-dog).  The boys were not happy.

We spent a few days anguishing over a name for her.  I had always wanted Finley to have a co-hort named Francis.  But “Sadie” seemed to fit her brown eyes.  So, like her adopted momma and any good southern girl – she got a double name.   Sadie Francis.    If you look it up in a baby names book   Sadie means princess.  Francis means free.   She was my free princess.

In time we all grew to love her, even Finley.  She carried a certain joy with her.  She was the kind of dog who smiled. She loved to play – with Finley all the time and with us if we had a laser pointer.  She never ever ever once growled at us.  She loved to bury herself in fresh laundry and soft blankets.  At night, she tunneled under the blankets between me and The Angler.  Then she would sneak to put her head on his pillow.

When emotions ran high or voices grew loud, she’d hide…in the bathtub.  She learned to seek solace in the bathroom from me.

She sat in my lap anytime we watched the Hogs play football on television. She hated those whistles and the excited commentary.

She loved walks over the Big Dam Bridge or through the neighborhood.  She did not like wearing clothes – much to my dismay.  However,  she gladly sported her pink harness and leash  which matched her bright pink tongue.   And she knew her shoes….well, my shoes.   She knew that when I put on my TOMS – there was a good chance she was going for a walk.  She knew me well, I didn’t wear flats without a reason.

Unlike her dog brother or mother who were fine boned and petite,  Sadie Fran was thick and stout – she was a big girl.  We often joked that she was “big boned-ed”  Ah, how she loved her carbs…especially Wheat Thins and cupcakes (just like her momma).

After she proudly destroyed my down duvet

Perhaps the most peculiar thing about Sadie – is that she did not like here picture taken.  The vet once said she was an Austrailian Terrier not a Silky Terrier.  We thought – well, that explains it -she’s Aborigine. She’s afraid we were stealing her soul.  No matter how stealthy I was with my iPhone – she just somehow knew and would dodge any chance of a shot.  Yes,  Sadie Francis was a weirdo that way.

In the High Profile interview I did a few years ago,  I was asked how The Angler would describe me.  My answer: “ He’d say I’m a lot like our dog Sadie Francis – smart, spunky, and hard to handle”

Sadie Badger don't care

I’d still answer that question the same way today.   Indeed, Sadie was always curious – opening cabinets, turning pages of magazines left on the floor, or rooting behind furniture.    She was always ready to play, yet never wanted to be held.  She was always by our side, but affection was given on her own terms.  (just like her momma) Her affections came when she would put her head on my feet when she was sleeping or how she would sit beside me when I was sad.  She would lick tears occasionally.  She’d sneak a morning kiss right on the smacker while I slept.  And when I needed a listening ear,  she’d tilt her head as if she were really listening.    She was our comforter when we all said goodbye to Finley a year ago.   She was a trooper.  Never missed a beat.  She stepped right up and assumed the role of lead dog in the house and in our hearts.

The unexpected news that our sweet 4 year old dog had lymphoma hit us hard a few weeks ago.   We had no idea how quickly it would ravage her little body.    The Angler and I made a vow to not let her suffer.   Her breathing became more labored over the last few days.  And today – the vet confirmed – it was time.

The last few hours I spent with her, we walked the bridge, ate chips and cheese dip, and  split a chocolate cupcake.  Because we all know chocolate is bad for dogs, we never let her have chocolate.  Today, I figured she couldn’t leave this world without trying it at least once.  Every carb-o-holic knows that.  She loved it — licked all the icing off my fingers.  Her last day was a good day of love and comfort.  The way I think it should be for all of us.

Totally mesmerized by the lights reflected off the disco ball

The McCottage is empty of the sound of paws tonight.   In the 12 years we’ve been here,  this is a first.  We’ve never been dog-less.  We used to be the weird couple with dogs.   Now, we’re just the weird couple.

The weird couple who will miss her so very much.

The Angler and I are both struggling to justify our feelings of loss in a world with much bigger hurts around us.   We know we’ve made the right decision to let her go. It’s just one of those days, it really stinks being a grown up.   We’ve been saying our prayers- hoping it doesn’t seem selfish to ask comfort for our hearts as we adjust to quiet days ahead of us.  We’re thankful God entrusted a piece of his creation to us – a piece that taught us how we should love – unconditionally.

my pretty girl in her pink leash

Do I think we’ll see her again in heaven?  I definitely think so.    Some theologians may want to argue scripture, but my former pastor once said when asked the “do dogs go to  heaven?” question,

“heaven is always more, and never less.”

I believe that.   I believe it with all my heart.

I also believe there is no such thing as a free dog.  It always costs you a piece of your heart…

but it’s so very worth it.

our little family

Actually the lesson started years before in my college Physics class. There was this girl with long dark curls, skin like Snow White and ruby red lips.  She’d slinked into her front row seat wearing her Chi Omega Sweatshirt.    I hated her.  She set the curve on every test – A curve that would often leave me and the rest of us barely hanging on with a passable grade.

We spent half a semester – her setting the curves on the test and me wondering why of all classes this beautiful, test-acing genius had to be in MY class. Then, as God would have it, not only did this Hoot Owl have the nerve to ruin my GPA, she showed up on Easter… in my hometown church… in my Sunday School class. I couldn’t get away from this girl.   I was forced to finally introduce myself.

Turns out she wasn’t only smart and pretty,   she was nice.

The next week, my phone rang .  It was her.  She invited me to a party to watch the Final Four Basketball games at one of my friend’s houses.    She was friends with my friends?    How did I not know this girl?   And more importantly, why did she invite me to watch Basketball?  Basketball?!   In my head, I knew this friendship wasn’t going to work.   To be friendly and social, I said yes.

That night we traded war stories of our college paths.  We talked about music, about clothes, about our faith.    She was a tomboy.   I was a girly girl.   But,  That night we discovered we were sisters in Christ.   More than that – we had each found a kindred spirit,  a friend.

Over the next 6 years,  Katherine would teach me more than physics.

She taught me to…

Laugh.   And not just laugh but to laugh. out. loud.  Not a quiet ladylike laugh.   NO, a real honest to goodness  laugh.  A laugh so loud it makes everyone in the room turn to look at you.   A laugh until you think you might pee your pants kind of laugh.

Pray. She was a prayer warrior.  In those days before emails and texts,  it wasn’t uncommon to get a voice message from her praying for me or  to find letters in the mail with verses  she thought I needed .   She was in communion with the spirit and it showed in her discernment.   She always knew the right thing to say.

Say I love you.   It’s silly, but the girl loved her bubblegum.   One of the only fights we ever had was after a 7 day road trip halfway across the country together and the girl was going through great bubble at an incredible rate.   On day 7 retuning home, we were both on edge.  The more anxious she got the more she’d chew.  The more she’d chew the more my nerves wore raw at that smacking sound.  I couldn’t take it, and a few hours from home I lost all composure and yelled, “JUST STOP IT!!”   We were silent the rest of the trip.    By the time I drove in her driveway,  I was done.  We were over.

Days passed, she called and acted like nothing happened.   I finally said, “You’re not mad at me?”    She replied, “Mad?  Sisters yell each other like that all the time.  We’re ok.”   That night as we were getting off the phone, I apologized again and said, “I love you”.

I love you.   I don’t know where it came from.   It was foreign for those words to come out of my mouth.  I had never taken the initiative to say that to anyone – except my parents,   much less a friend.     In hindsight, I’m so glad I said it.  I did love her.  She was the closest thing to a sister I had ever known.    From then on, we ended our conversations saying, “I love you, dear friend”

There’s a million other things she taught me,  but of all of them the most life transforming one is this…

Be bold. Imagine two small town girls take Manhattan.   I don’t know how we packed so much life into 2.5 days, but we did.   We shopped, dined with the stars (Jerry Seinfield!) at Balthazar, took in a Broadway show of Les Mis, sipped Champagne in Soho, and spent the day getting beautiful at Frederik Fekkai.

Ooo la la.  Frederik Fekkai was the highlight our trip.   We were whisked into the salon and introduced to our masseuses, followed by our “hair designers” …our FAAAHB-U- LOUS hair designers.  Now, remember we were small town Arkies in the big city in the late 90s.   Katherine’s hair guru was smitten with her from the moment they met.  They were laughing and giggling.  From time to time, I could her loud guffaw across the salon.   Then, I heard her say something that made me want to crawl under the building.  “So, are you a Christian?   Do you believe in Jesus Christ?”

Are you kidding me?    Here we were in New York City at an upscale salon.  I was dying of embarrassment.  I’m talking to my guy about proper blow-out, roll brush technique.   Meanwhile she has engaged her hair designer in a lively discussion about salvation.    I just knew he couldn’t get her out of his chair fast enough.

I was wrong.  We left that afternoon with his phone number and invitation to attend an Oscar’s Watch Party at Candace Bushnell’s apartment.  He wanted to show off his Arkansas friends.  He said there was just something different about us.   We were over the moon flattered.   We declined the invitation; we had a plane to catch.   She didn’t lead him to Christ that day, but I know she boldly planted that seed.    She planted those seeds wherever she went.

She was Bold, Passionate.  Unashamed.   Full of life.  That was Katherine.

On December 20, 2001 the phone call came…THE phone call.  This young woman,  so full of life,  was gone.  Katherine – the bold, beautiful, passionate genius was gone.  I type it and still can’t believe it.   She died a little after 7pm of natural causes.   She laid down for a nap after feeding her newborn son and woke up dancing in front of the Throne of God.    While she danced before the Lord, I was crumpled on the floor.  I quit breathing for a really long time.  I learned that night, week, month, year what it means to wail, to need the spirit to intercede.

On December 23, 2001, we gathered together to celebrate Katherine’s life.   It was a beautiful service and it was a celebration.  Her passion, her joy, her love of the LORD was reflected.   It was the first time in days, I smiled.

The Pastor mentioned in his eulogy that God gives each of us a particular mission in life.  When we are done with that mission, he calls us home.   He wondered aloud, “I wonder who or what Katherine’s final mission was?”

If you knew me ten years and met me today,  it’s quite likely I’m a completely different person.    I’m not sure what her last mission was, but I can tell you I was part of her mission.   She changed my life.

It took her passing and deep reflection of our friendship to teach me to laugh more,  to not take myself so seriously,   to be someone who  prays  for and encourages others,   to be the one to say, “I love you” first,   and to live my life and faith boldly, unashamed, and  with passion.

Ten years later,  I can  look back on a tremendous, heart scarring loss and know God  has always been and  is doing something infinitely great. That  is grace.

Yes, God does great things in strange ways.   No other time of year is that evident than Christmas.   He loves us so very much he sent his very own son to be born in a dirty barn in Bethlehem, to live among people, to die on a cross, and to resurrect from the grave to save us from sin… to bring us to him.

Isn’t that Amazing?   Isn’t that grace?      That God loves us so much he sent his son to bring us to Him

And even more amazing… sometimes, he sends us a life changing best friend, too.

“You think this is just another day in your life?

It’s not just another day.

It’s the ONE day that is given to you – today.

It’s given to YOU.

It’s a gift.

And the only appropriate response is…

gratefulness.”

If it’s a day set aside for Thanksgiving or an average ordinary day,  may we learn to always arrive with cupped hands and grateful heart for what God gives us.

Happy Thanksgiving, Y’all.

boots

xxoo

Sounds a lot like the journey my career has taken the last few years.

Back in January, I actually made rare post about baseball. I was getting the urge to get back in the career game. Then, late this summer, after many prayers and lots of God given discernment, a most fitting opportunity arrived.

On Oct 3rd, I donned a business dress and heels and went back to the 8-5 world . I couldn’t be more thrilled. My teammates are awesome, encouraging…and NICE. (Seriously, once you work with an extreme meanie, “nice” becomes very important on the list of job wants). The new gig is allowing me to put my strategic thinking brain, my non profit experience, and my healthcare background to use in one spot.

While the new hours make it a little more difficult to blog on a regular basis, I plan to continue my posts as feasible. I’m already drafting the next Gracious Leadership post. I’ve got a fun post brewing for this week’s Favorite Things Friday. You may have noticed, I’ve been trying to start the week off with a motivational quote.

As a bonus, I’ve been busy making my new space conducive to creative thinking and I’ll be blogging my DIY projects, along with the final “reveal” of the McOffice in the next few weeks.

My sweet friends, thank you for continuing to swing by this ol blog and for all the many cheers you’ve given me during the nearly 2 years I’ve been sitting down to write. You are a precious gift.

Good things are happening on the McBlog and even better things are happening in real life.

I’m sticking my catcher’s mitt out and hoping I don’t miss a single thing to be thankful for.

gratefully yours,

boots

xxoo

(source: pinterest)

Mine is still waging a little bit of a war.  It’s been weighing on my heart this wee how hard we are on ourselves, how we attack our own precious beings even before our days begin.

When I was *really* young,  there was a hair care commercial with a beautiful British model with a lush brunette mane.  She tossed her locks over her shoulder and with her full pouty lips  – when pouty lips were purely God given-  she stared deep at the camera and said, “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

Even as a child,  this sounded so incredibly vain.   “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”   Really?  Who says that?   What is “beauty”, anyway?

Beauty is defined as:

“having qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to hear, see, or think about”

“excellent of its kind”

“wonderful”

Any typical morning,  I rise with my baby fine,  previously straightened hair matted into a wavy chaos.  I stumble groggy to the bathroom.  Usually there are sheet marks across my cheeks.   There, I strip of my nightgown and step onto my nemesis – the scale.   ( After 4 yrs undergrad, 2 years grad school, 1 internship and 10 years of clinical practice in Nutrition,  I know this is not ideal.  I still do it)    When I say “step”,  it is really a series of steps on and off.  On and off.  Hoping this dance will somehow miraculously morph weight and body size in the process. The number flashed back at me is powerful.   If I let it, it can often ruin a day that hasn’t even begun.   From there I hop in and out of the shower, and then I stare into the mirror.   At which point,  I begin to examine lines that didn’t exist a few years ago juxtaposed against pimples that weren’t there yesterday.  (Being thirty-something is fun that way)   I see curves, I’d rather not see.   I see round, where I want to see sleek.   Not once,  have I stared in that mirror and said,  “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful”

I’ve had  beautiful friends who have stood in front of mirrors  -nothing but skin and bones, not an inch to pinch who could not begin to see their own loveliness.    I’ve counseled gorgeous women who have hidden their wounded, pretty hearts under hundreds of extra pounds.   I’ve sat across from well coiffed, manicured,  designer laden fashionistas  with every “wind blown” curl in perfect place.   None of these women ever looked deeply at me and said,  “Don’t hate me because I”m beautiful”.   Sadly, they were…ARE…be-a-u-ti-ful.     What  I heard instead  was a laundry list of flaws  – “not thin enough”, “muscular enough”, “curvy enough”, “young enough”.    Discussion ensued  of a new diet,  a new procedure,  a new product, a new exercise,  that maybe,  just may be finally…enough.  Alas, it falls short.

Want some good news?  Did you know every single one of us is beautiful?  Right now…not years ago,  or when the pounds come off or when you buy that dress or use that lip gloss.    Right now.  Whether you are a believer in Christ or not, God made each of us in his image – his own beautiful image.   I will paraphrase what Author Gabe Lyons, expresses in his wonderful book,  The Next Generation Christian.  He writes that each of us were created to reflect God’s beauty.  He expounds,  it takes the sum of all of us to match God’s infinite glory.

Wow.  Each of us has been coded with the holiest of beauty inside of us.   Then to top it off, God also coded us with a craving for beauty.   The sun, the stars, spring flowers, music were creations of beauty to communicate God’s existence to us – to help us find Him.

“Since the creation of the world, invisible realities, God’s eternal power and divinity have become visible, recognized through the things He has made.” (Rom. 1:20).

I’m convinced even a frilly dress and high heeled shoes are bits of beauty that were fashioned to point us to Him and His ultimate beauty.    He must have known, we would never look at the wonder of ourselves and  realize his existance.

Yet, the God of all creation looks at us and thinks … I mean… He knows we are beautiful.  When we are living Spirit led lives,  he looks beyond our surface with satisfaction and great pleasure.  He finds us wonderful.   (Now, glance back up at that definition of beauty)

Who are we to argue?  Should I dare stand in that mirror and say, “But, God,  did you see this wrinkle here in my brow?”

Or should you quip,  “Did you see that my pants are a little tight?”

When we point out our flaws to others or look in our mirrors in disgust,  I bet His heart breaks a little.   His voice whispers,   “Why do you hate on yourself like that?   I fearfully and wonderfully made you.   How lovely are you, my dwelling place.  Get it?   Don’t hate yourself…because you. are. beautiful”

So, sweet friends, since we made our first steps last week with doing away with our self sabotage,  here’s our challenge this week.   Wake up.  Stumble to the bathroom,  look yourself in the mirror,  toss your hair,  pout your lips,  and before you can utter the laundry list of flaws – stop yourself  and say, ‘Don’t hate me….because I’m beautiful”

Because you are,  and I’m not the only one who thinks so.

It’s amazing how many times the words of “gloom, despair”  have fallen from my lips.   My favorite tune is the “gossip song”.   The Hee Haw Honeys would gather on their front porch or in the cornfield and claim they “weren’t ones to go around spreading rumors” and then they would commence to sharing the dirt.  The song ends,   “You better be sure and listen close the first time”

( Aside: Believe it or not,  the embedded video is the only one I could find online.  Forgive the poor quality.  Hopefully, you’ll get the drift)

While I try to make it a habit not to air my dirty laundry or share the uglier sides of life here on this blog, today I’ve had ENOUGH.  I must vent.  It has come to my attention that someone has been going around town spreading some awful rumors about me.  This lady has been heard telling people I’m not quite the girl I used to be.   She’s told people I don’t quite have it all together.   She’s told people my house is getting organized but remains a mess.   She’s happily told people I’ve started running and finished a marathon relay….barely.     She’s belittled my ability to head up any project I’ve been assigned.   She’s questioned my fashion sense.  She says I have cockamamie dreams.   She’s even gone as far to tell people that I have a closet full of beautiful clothes which I can no longer wear because I’ve gained weight.   She told a room full of people I am fat!!!!

Oh.  My.  Goodness!!! Those are fighting words.   How in the world can I just sit here and take this?  She’s talking trash about me everywhere.   It’s got to stop NOW.

The thing is, this trash talking, rumor spreading, gossiping woman who tells it  far more than one time is…me.    I’m the guilty party.

How many times has a person tried to compliment me only that I dismiss their kindness or encouragement?   How many times do I put myself down airing my negatives before anyone has the chance to make a nice remark at all about me?      How many times have you found yourself doing the very same thing?

If there was a woman going around town saying these horrible things about us, we wouldn’t take it.  I know I wouldn’t take it.   I’d fight back.  I’d straighten my spine,  lift  my chin,  say a few bible verses,  and remind myself:   “I am better than her words”.   Lord help her if she happened to cross my path,  I might even tell her how the “cow at the cabbage” in my best Julia Sugarbaker tone.    Yet, we go around and openly talk smack about our very own selves.  I’m am blessed to spend time with women who are smart, wonderful, beautiful women.  I’m dismayed how easily and openly we all put ourselves down and tell horrible tales about our shortcomings over and over again.

The go-to bible verse for gossip and criticism  is Ephesians 4:29

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”

Wham!   Today, that phrase  “unwholesome talk”, hit me right in my heart.   When I put myself down,   when I refuse the compliment, when I air my insecurities,  my talk is not wholesome nor is it building up anyone listening – especially me.

I’m not condoning we swing completely the opposite direction and  become egomaniacs singing our very own praises every chance we get.  The fear of that is what I think drives us to putting ourselves down in the first place.  Let’s get real.    Just because we don’t want to say something great about ourselves, doesn’t mean we must give a voice to our self -perceived negatives.

I’m fighting this gossip girl back.  She’s not going to say awful things about me in public anymore.   If you’ve found yourself in this same cornfield,  I encourage you to do the same.   When  I get done with this chick,   she is only going to say things which are good and kind and lovely.   Fair warning,  I mean it.  She better listen close the first time.

Saaaaalute!

As I stared at those Gerbera daisies I couldn’t help but think of a game I used to play as a little girl skipping through the yard,  I would stop and pick a daisy or a black eyed susan.   I’d close my eyes and think of a cute little boy.  One by one,  I’d pick off the petals of the flowers.  “He loves me.  He loves me not.  He loves me.   He loves me not.”    The game would continue until all the petals were strewn across the sidewalk.  If fate were kind, I’d choose a bloom with an odd number of petals to ensure “he loves me”  and off I’d skip happily down the lane.  Now,  if I ended with the “he loves me not”  you know what I’d do?   Well, I’d pick me another flower until I got the results I wanted.

It was a simple girlish game.  But it’s a game I continued to play.   When I started dating, the petals would fall away in my mind,  “he loves me.  he loves me not.”    When I met a new  friend, “she loves me,  she loves me not”.   When I took a new job, or a new commitment,  or a new project   “they love me.  they love me not”.     As I’ve grown older, you’d think the petal picking would’ve stopped.  There’s a wedding band on my finger and still there are days I ponder “he loves me.  he loves me not”.  I’ve accomplished some big things and still … “they love me.  they love me not”.   There have been times, I’ve felt abandoned and destined to spend life in a field of even petaled love-me-nots.

At such moments,  I’ve found myself just praying to God. “just tell me,  YOU love me”

As soon as the prayer leaves my lips,  I realize God gave his Son -  the Rose of Sharon for me.  (Solomon 2:1,  John 3:16)    That every single petal that falls away from him says ‘he loves me”   Every. single.  one.

He loves me.   He loves me.  He loves me.

I find strength in that. I find a glimmer of hope. I find the power to try again.

I don’t know where you are today.  I don’t know if you will have a million blooms land on your doorstep next week on Valentine’s day.  Maybe you’ve never received a flower -  ever.    Maybe you struggle with insecurity or perfection.  Maybe you lack a meaningful connection with anyone around you.  Maybe you think you are completely unlovable.   Maybe you’ve done some things that make you think you don’t deserve love.    Maybe you have everything you’ve every longed for and still don’t have the love you want.   Maybe you think you’ve lost the only love you’ve ever known.   Maybe,  I just need to remind myself.   Whatever it is,  I feel compelled to write this today just so you know and I know, God’s love is a love  that doesn’t lose.  It is a love that hopes all things.  Believes all thing.  A love which never fails.  (1 Corinthians 13)   It is a love greater than all the flower petals on the earth.  There are no love-me-nots in Christ.  I am loved …and you are loved.

He loves you.   He loves you.   He loves you.

(a song for you below)

I told you a few months ago,  I would keep you up to date from time to time.   I’m talking about MOxIE  -  the mentoring project I am launching with my friend and mentor,  Ann.

Nine months since my blog post,  God has put incredible people in my path to give  direction in the organization of this ministry.  He has given my co-leader and me, the right hands and feet to get the word out and do the work.  (notice, we have an official logo!)   Most of all,  God sent us women who PRAY like crazy.   Now,  ninety one women await to be matched with a mentoring / moxie partner.  My amazing committee will meet tomorrow night to ask the Holy Spirit to guide us in making the matches and  introducing new friends through this project.       Next Sunday we  are planning a fun event to “reveal” each participants partner and we’ll provide tips and “training”….if we can call it training.   This program is an interesting mix of organizing relationships but allowing their organic roots to take hold.  The MOxIE project will last  a mere 5 months and then we’ll evaluate.   I have to say the energy, excitment, and encouragement have been good for my soul.

Please keep this project and the women involved in your prayers.   I look forward to many more fun updates to let you know about our progress.

Grace & Peace,

Boots

If you would like more information about MOxIE,  email us at moxiefellowship@gmail.com or see more here:   http://fellowshipsageworks.com/grow/mentoring/