Boots McBlog

Once upon a time, every Saturday night at 6pm,  my parents would turn the television to the slap-happy, farm-living celebration known as Hee Haw.   As a child, these country bumpkins shenanigans annoyed this small town girl longing to be a city slicker.   As an adult,  I now have fond memories of the show and find myself singing their little ditties often.

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!

Pink hearts and red roses.   Is it any surprise that I’ve always had quite a fondness for valentine’s day.   This year I’ve actually made efforts to dress up the McCottage with the trappings of love.   Garlands of paper hearts strung across mirrors.   Hearts and Eiffle tower dishes on the dining room table. Golden hearts and red ribbons replaced the snowflakes on the snowy branches on my mantle.  I purchased some pink gerbera daisies  and roses to place throughout the house.  Daises and roses –  the symbols of happiness and love.

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)

Sunday night,  ninety one women gathered in a room filled with orange and pink balloons and friendly faces.   I’m not sure any one of them knew this was a moment for which I had been praying for months…years.   The day had arrived.

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/

It may arrive in my post office box or in my email box.  However it gets to me,  I adore seeing those seven little words.

“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)