Boots McBlog

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)

Another month of morning inspirational tweets has come and gone.  With it went 2010.  We usher in 2011 with hopes, dreams and aspirations.   I’ve enjoyed reading back through the month of December’s “McNuggets”.  I like seeing the joy and hope that seem to abound during Christmastime.   As I write this,  my Christmas tree is still on the tabletop across the room.  Sparkles remain on the mantle.   I’m one of those that savors Christmas as long as I can.   (Note – The Wisest of Men arrived quite late to the scene.)  I pray as you read back through this  you’ll allow that spirit of Christmas –  that hope and wonder to permeate your thoughts.   The Grinch figured out that Christmas didn’t come from a store. Christmas actually means much more.   Let’s not pack away the hope  and peace and joy we discovered through the holidays  along with our decorations.   I think that may be the ultimate secret to a Happy New Year!

At first,  I told myself there was no way I was going to post a New year’s resolution blog.   As my blog reader filled up with everyone’s hopes, dreams, goals for 2011, I was even more sure I was not going to go with the bloggy flow.  Nope not me.  I was going to keep my resolutions to myself.    Then today,  as I stared at the blog posts in my queue, I realized the first blog post of 2011  I would publish (tomorrow)  would be about bacon.  yes,  Bacon.    Something about that just didn’t sit right.   I could’t just jump whole hog into the blogging year  and  not acknowledge this shift of time.  This clean slate.  This chance to get it right.    That’s when I remembered a book I read in 2010 -

Don  Miller’s “A million miles in a thousand years”

(Let me digress for a second:    If you haven’t had a chance to read it, definitely put it on your list of things to accomplish this year.  The Angler and I read it together.  Yes – together.  We took turns reading the chapters aloud to each other.  We both loved the story and it was a great way for us to reconnect in a fun, smart way.  For the first time in a quite awhile we stopped long enough to turn off the tv, step away from the computer, tuck our phones away and  hold an intelligent conversation with each other.  We grew hearing each other’s perspective.     If you and your spouse are in need of that – give this little exercise a try this year.  Now back to my story)

In Don’s book,  he introduces the reader to this amazing, intriguing, eccentric character named Bob Goff,  an attorney, professor for Pepperdine University, founder and president of Restore International, and author of the most inspirational Tweets.   (His twitter name is  @bobgoff)    Don began 2010 writing about Bob on his blog.   Here is a snippet of the exert that later appeared in his book:

image by pimienta roja / via flickr

Speaking Something into Nothing by Don Miller / blog post dated 01-03-10  (to read article in full click here)

One of my favorite stories was told to me by my friend Bob Goff. It’s a true story and it’s about a parade.

Bob lives in San Diego, and when his three children were young they were sitting around on New Years Day, bored. And Bob thought it was a crime anybody should be bored on New Years Day. (Let’s face it, unless you are a football fan, there’s not a whole lot to do.)

Bob asked the kids what they could do to honor the fact God gave them a day. And eventually Bob and his wife Maria, and their children, came up with the idea of a parade. So they set out to have a parade on their street. They went house to house telling their neighbors they were going to have a parade. And the neighbors must have indulged the children by saying they would watch. But the Goff’s had a better idea than just a parade people would watch. They decided nobody could watch the parade. They could only be in the parade.

And so a few neighbors joined in. The small parade marched from the end of the street to the Goff house, where they had a small cookout, if I remember correctly.

Now, more than ten years later, the New Years Day Parade is a tradition. Hundreds of people join in (nobody watches, everybody marches) and the day has not been boring since. Not only has it not been boring for the Goff family, it hasn’t been boring for hundreds of neighbors as well.

Each year the parade selects a Grand Marshal. The year Bob told me about the parade, the Grand Marshal was the mailman, who marched in front of the crowd throwing letters into the air. And each year a New-Years Day Queen is selected, sometimes from the local retirement center (the women in the picture below look way too young.) And the Queen gives a speech, and there is an annual Queen’s brunch at the San Diego Yacht Club.

People on Bob’s street know each other better because of the parade. The women in the Queen’s court feel honored, too. And the children grow up thinking New Years Day is a special celebration honoring a day, the miracle of a day.

It strikes me as I retell the story how wonderful it is God gave us time. By that I mean He has made us characters in a grand epic. The epic is meaningful, but there are dark forces trying to convince us it is meaningless, worth nothing, and therefore boring. What I like about Bob’s story is that he and his family decided to fight back.

Bob’s story is one of the more delightful, inspiring stories I’ve heard. He and his family were bored, but they didn’t complain, they spoke something into nothing, created unity where there was separation, created fun where there was boredom.

***

Wow!  I loved that line:

“they didn’t complain, they spoke something into nothing, created unity where there was separation, created fun where there was boredom”

Let that sink in.    Upon reading it over and over, I realized that  statement summarized my 2011 resolutions.   It is my prayer for  what I  hope to accomplish each time we get together here on this blog.   It’s my prayer  when I am out and about, living LIFE.

Another resolution I have for 2011 is to spend less time online.  This means, my blog posts will be even more sporadic because I  plan to LIVE this precious life.   Feel free to scroll down to the bottom of the screen and enter your email address to receive my  new blog posts via email.  This way,  you’ll know when inspiration has struck.   I’m sure I’ll lose a few readers due to my sporadic nature.   I’m going to be ok with that in 2011.   I’m not here to compete for blog of the year.   I am here on this earth to create fun,  build unity and get out of my comfort zone.  I ask you to join me  in life’s journey to  find the beauty all around us  and most of all to grow in God’s grace and strength in 2011.   So there you go – my 2011 resolutions.

oh….and maybe just maybe,  I’ll plan a parade.

Cheers and Happy 2011, Y’all

Today – the winter solstice – we’ll spend more hours in the dark than in the light.  It will be the deepest darkness of winter. Once the sun sets we will wait and wait and wait hours to see the sun again. I don’t really like the dark.  But like everyone else in the northern hemisphere,  I’ll have to wait there until the dawn at 6:45 am tomorrow.

That’s where I’ve found myself in the last year – waiting.  I’m not a good wait-er.   I fidget.  I’ve taken up photography, blogging, co-leading a bible study,  volunteering and launching a ministry.    For most folks,  that’s not waiting.   But for me,  it is.  I have this deep yearning in my soul to do more.   But God still is telling me to wait.   It is the hardest thing I’ve ever done – to sit here with thoughts and ideas and energy and encouragement and creativity waiting for God to allow me to spill out somewhere.  Until he gives me the green light to make a big splash,  I wait.   I’m so thankful,  in my waiting he is a patient parent who allows fidgeting.  I’m thankful for the opportunities above to let my heart’s desires slosh out and make droplets of impact where they can.

I wonder if that is a smidge of how God felt when he was sending his Son to earth?

All those many years before that stable in Bethlehem, did he look upon this darkness – this fallen world and yearn for his ultimate light to be known.   I’ve honestly been thinking alot about  that lately -  how in Him, God had the fullness of thought, idea, energy, encouragement and creativity waiting to be unleashed in the perfect gift of his son, but even he had  – to wait – until the perfect time.

In his waiting,  did God fidget?   Maybe that’s how we got the rainbow or the parting waters of the Red Sea or Solomon’s temple.   All of these miraculous things of beauty and hope and wonder,  were they merely sloshes from his full cup of living water – a taste of what was to come.    Then – when God finally made his big splash, when he unleashed his ultimate creation of light and love –  it was on a quiet night, in a dirty barn.  The world didn’t even see it.  But Mary did.

If I were to rewind the story -  not all of the centuries God waited, but to the few months before that starry night in the barn – there was girl.   Her name was Mary.   Stories and songs and whole prayers have been dedicated to her.   My favorite one is a simple song written by Sara Grove’s called “it’s true”     It’s not a particularly moving song, however,  I weep every time I hear it.   Every. single. time.

I’ve searched the internet for the words her young son reads at the beginning and end of the song.  I couldn’t find them.  In my fidgeting ways, I took it upon myself to decode them word by word as I pushed play, then pause, then rewind over and over again.    I’ve meant to do this for awhile now.   Today was the day.  I woke from a restless night,  my spirit feeling even more wandering than usual.  The waiting game,  while I’ve made peace with it off/on on this year, is getting to me.

That’s when I deciphered these words:

“so mary trusted God more than what her eyes could see”

wow.  This young girl with amazing faith.  Her whole life changed at that instant Gabriel appeared to her.  Her life wasn’t anything like she had planned for herself, yet she reacted with a yielded spirit and an exclamation of joy.   What did God with do with this yielded spirit?   God made  this young girl  - the one willing to trust more than what her eyes could see …  the first one to see the beautiful infant face of God  – with us  –   Emmanuel .

The past couple of weeks, I’ve written about a Gracious Holiday and the GRACE of this season – Gifts, Recipes, Around the house, and Charities.  We wouldn’t even have a reason to celebrate without the “e”  – Emmanuel.    This holiday, I pray we will all strive to be more like Mary, that we will be able to trust God more than what our eyes can see.  I pray especially for those of us waiting.  I pray we can exclaim joy for this season of life and most of all that  we will see his face – Emmanuel  – God with us.

May you all have a very merry, gracious Christmas.

boots

xxoo