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/

“You are cordially invited to a Party!”

A party.

Looking at the invitation I begin to ponder about the theme.   What food will be served – cake or cookies?   Will there be balloons or flowers?  I run through the list of people who may attend.  Then the most pressing question:  what will I wear?

I know I’m not alone when I say I love a good party – especially if it’s a pretty party.   I appreciate the time and effort it takes to pull off a most spectacular event with attention to every detail.  There was a time I tried to host such events.  Given the smallest reason to celebrate,  I wouldn’t hesitate to throw a bash together – the menu, the music, the flowers.   My budgets were never grand, but I poured everything I had into these.  I did my best to be the hostess with the mostest.    I love looking back at these pictures from years gone by…

A Chinese New Year Celebration

A Garden Baby Shower

A Valentine’s Chocolate Bar

A Girls Night Out Birthday Party

These are the party pics I’m proud to show you.

I’ve hosted far many more parties where cameras were not welcome.  Why?  Well, because these were NOT the prettiest of parties.   Ladies,  I’m talking about the infamous  pity parties.     When it comes to these,  I dare say  this is the event where I am “the hostess with the mostest”

Since my teen years,  when pity parties became the norm,  my sweet southern momma delivered her ladylike advice to banish any gloom.

Step one:    Have a cookie.   (we’re southern.  butter and sugar help)

Step two:    Splash some cold water on your face.

Step three:   “Fix” yourself up

Over the years,  she still dishes this advice and I still heed it.   Except today,  I take it the next level.  Instead of a splash of cold water, I take a LONG, hot bath.   When it is a  particularly  woe-is-me, no good, horrible, doozie of a day  — I really fix myself.   Yes, ma’am.  If I’m going to have a party,  I better be dressed for it.   I walk right into my closet.  I pull out my most glamourous cocktail dress.   Put it on.  Step into a fun pair of strappy heels.  I twirl around the room singing a few rounds of “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to”   Then I turn on some Sinatra or Etta James.   I saunter to my great room where -  I plop down and eat a cupcake.

The thing about pity parties is they are awfully self centered.   The conversation is completely one sided and negative.  Despite the yummy food,  the pretty dress, and the great tunes,  a pity party rarely makes me feel any better.

Lately,  I’ve decided to extend an invitation to my private party.  I’ve asked God to show up. (Isaiah 41:10)    He’s the perfect party guest.   He’s always on time.  He always listens.  He tells me I’m beautiful. (Psalm 45:11)  Most of all,  he doesn’t care that the house is mess.    I’ve learned a proper hostess will turn her thoughts to her guests.  She will anticipate the guest’s needs.  I try to do this as I spend time with Him.  You know what I’ve found?    I don’t think so much about myself.  I don’t focus on my little problems. He points to a little bird out the window and her outfit of feathers. Then looks at my dress.  I get the hint.  He’s gonna take care of me.   (Matt  6:26)  Then, He points to people in my life who could use encouragement.  ( 1 Thessalonians 5:11)  People who are throwing their own pity parties.  He reminds me that the all that bad stuff CAN work for good.  He tells me my messes are there to share not to despair.   He takes my party of pity and he makes it pretty.

If you are feeling awfully blue today  ( and January does that to a lot of people), take my momma’s advice.  Splash water on your face.   Fix yourself up.  Put on your prettiest dress.

Then send an invitation to God.   He’ll show up.  on time.  The conversation may be awkward at first.   Don’t do all the talking.  Perhaps you should ask him where he can use you and your “stuff”.   Then listen for his answer.  Before you know it, your pity party will be a pretty party.   And best of all,  there won’t be any dishes to clean up.

Here’s to pretty girls, pretty parties, and a mighty God.

Cheers, Y’all.

I like to win.  I like to win BIG.    At work.  At play.  At fashion.

There,  I said it.    It’s not easy to admit…especially to myself.

I have a group of women I lunch with often who are inspirational professional types.  We recently met and talked holidays, recipes and careers.  When I mentioned that I might want to go back to work,  lunch became a brainstorming session of all the things I should/ could do.  As they pitched their ideas,  I swatted them down as quickly as I could.   As we were leaving the restaurant, one of the girls pulled me aside and said,  “You like home runs.   You are used to getting home runs.  But, you don’t get a home run every time at the plate.   Sometimes,  you gotta just get on base”

My first thought was – “Did she really just use a baseball analogy with me?”    The next more haunting thought, the thought that just won’t let me be, ”Is she right?  Is it really ok to just get on base”

( For you baseball fans out there,  please bear with me on this post.  Everything I know about baseball I learned from the movie Field of Dreams.  For those of you less sporty ones, I’ll throw you a fashion curveball,  I promise )

A couple of years ago,  after a fabulous season of home runs,   I got up to the plate.   The fastball came racing towards me,  I swung with all my might.  WHAM!   It hit me in the gut.  If I’m correct,  that’s not a strike.  That is a walk.   It took me quite a while to figure out the difference.  Next time up at bat,  the pitcher stunk.   I’m not trying to lay blame.  But seriously, not one ball made it over the plate.  Baseball fans know -  four balls equals a walk.  Both times,  I made it on base.  Neither were home runs.  To me, those walks felt like  complete strike outs.

Since then,  I’ve spent some time on the bench and I dare say now I’m in the bullpen.    I feel the time getting closer – the time to step up to the plate.  My stomach is filled with those familiar butterflies.  I want that job that matches all the gifts and talents, and personality traits I’ve cataloged and evaluated about myself in my time off.   I want the perfect job – the one that doesn’t feel like a job.    I want a home run.   (Um,  did I just use a sports analogy with myself??)

I have a history of applying this “home run” mentality to everything in life…especially fashion.   I want to have the perfect outfit.   I admit,  there have been times I have walked into a room and wanted to “win” the fashion show of  school, work or church.    This has been a definite area of growth for me over the last year.   I’ve learned I don’t have to wear “the best” for most things in life.  I just have to be dressed.

It’s not an easy lesson to embrace.   Just when I think I’ve mastered it,  something happens.   The Angler and I are scheduled to attend a black tie event this weekend.  I told myself “ You just need ‘a’ dress – not ‘THE’ dress”.    I ordered a simple black gown.   Nothing remarkable.

As the date of the event began to draw closer,  my insecurities got the best of me.   I’ve gained a little weight and it is driving me bonkers.  The head games began.  “If you get “THE” dress,  no one will notice those extra pounds.  They won’t ask what have you been up to this year… besides eating cupcakes”      So -  off I went to purchase a designer gown.   I found it.  It was black with ruffles and ruffles and ruffles.  The price tag….let’s just say it’s one of those I would deem an “investment piece”.     I brought it home (on approval) to try on with my fab ruffled shoes and spanx (definitely needed the spanx).   I hung it in the closet right next to the black, unremarkable gown.

Then I felt the Holy Spirit moving my heart  ( funny how He always speaks to me in my closet),   I felt him say – “You don’t always have to be the belle of the ball.  Sometimes, you just need to go to the ball”

(Yes,  the Holy Spirit uses fashion analogies with me.  He knows I’m not sporty.)  I knew this revelation wasn’t just about the fashion crisis at hand.  It applied to life.

I looked at the ruffled confection.  I looked at the black sheath.  Both would provide elegant coverage at the event.   I don’t have to be the belle.  To think any eyes will be upon me is downright ridiculous.  Truthfully, it is someone else’s night to shine.   I packed up the designer gown and returned it.

Saturday night,  I’ll wear the simple dress.  The unremarkable black dress isn’t a homerun in my book, but it get’s me to the ball.

I think I’m getting the lesson.  Whether it’s baseball, ballgowns,  or my career  ….maybe it is time I step out of the bullpen / the closet / the creative sabbatical  and take a swing.   Maybe,  it is ok to just get on base.

let’s play ball.

( In other words,  if you so happen to  hear of  or have an opportunity that may be a good fit for me,   let me know.  my resume is updated and ready for distribution)