Music...

The power of music.


Its ability to stir a heart.


Its capacity to elevate to another level.


Its skillful art of propelling one into worship.



THIS song:

The Real Thing(s)

When I was little, I had a stuffed doggie that I adored. It was a little pink poodle, and his name was, um, Pink Poodle. (Ya can't take off too many points for lack of creativity - I was three or four!) Pink Poodle frequently accompanied me to imaginary destinations and sometimes even to real ones. The ONE place he ALWAYS had to be at night was in bed, right.next.to.me. Couldn't go to sleep without him. Wouldn't even try.

One tragic evening, that all changed forever. Mom tucked us in (P.P. and me) and off we went to dreamland. At some point during the night, I got sick. Really sick. Almost THIS sick. Please pardon my lack of fragile flower-ness here, but I threw up all over Pink Poodle and myself.

My momma pulled me out of bed, peeled my pajamas off, and gave me a warm bath. I cried through the whole thing. I remember it like it happened yesterday. Of course the bedding had been changed by the time she put me back in bed, and of course, Pink Poodle had been removed from the scene. His poor little body had been placed in a paper bag and put out with the trash.

When I realized he was missing, I had a meltdown. Not the poor-little-sick-child-doesn't-feel-well meltdown. The YOU-BETTER-GET-MY-PINK-POODLE-BACK-OR-I'LL-MAKE-THE-REST-OF-YOUR-NATURAL-LIFE-A-LIVING-HELL meltdown. I'm dainty that way.

Out of great compassion Because she knew her child very well (and thus knew that threat was R.E.A.L.), my momma retrieved P.P. from the trash and attempted to clean him up. Although she gave it a valiant effort, there was no way to clean him up except to put him...


in


the


washing


machine.


Note to moms everywhere: Do NOT put your child's most favorite stuffed animal in the washing machine. It will not survive.

Alas, Pink Poodle's demise was sure.

And I was inconsolable.

I needed Pink Poodle back. A massive man dog hunt ensued for a new Pink Poodle. (Now I know that I am not the only little girl ever to lose her pink doggie, and I also know each victim finds the loss unfathomable, which sends every adult she knows scrambling for another pink dog just like the lost one.) I digress.

Pink Poodle's twin was not to be found. I had to settle for this little guy.
I was NOT happy as one might imagine, but apparently, from the looks of this pup, I overcame my prejudice and learned to love him, too.

I hadn't seen him in years and years. I found him in the foot locker. He appears to have been well loved at some point. However, I don't remember that I ever named him. He's NOT a poodle, but he is was pink. Perhaps I didn't name him because I figured it would be easier to lose him if he didn't have a name. You know... like farmers never name their pigs or cows because it makes it too hard come slaughter time. Any way, this pink dog served his purpose. He was my friend and companion for a long time.



Now that I'm all grown up, I don't need a little stuffed pink dog any more.


'Cuz I have THIS dog:He's the real thing.


And I don't need some lame guy to play Mr. RightNow, because I have THIS guy:
He's the real thing.




And I don't need to place my trust in chariots or horses because I have Him:
And He's the Real Thing.

Slicing Pretty Strawberries

Over at Rocks In My Dryer, it's Works For Me
Wednesday! I always love finding great new ideas and ways of making life simpler. It's also fun to check out other blogs through the links. Learn sumthin' new ever' day!








Ever notice how restaurants always have those beautiful thinly and evenly sliced strawberries? They look so much prettier as garnishes on desserts or just on a buffet than the chunky, uneven slices I end up with when using my knife. I finally learned how to get pretty and EASY strawberry slices at home.

Once the berries have been washed and the stem and leaves removed, they are ready to go. Using an egg slicer, place a strawberry in the slicer, and close the "lid." Voila! Perfectly sliced strawberries every.single.time. (Do make sure the egg slicer is the heavier duty type; some of the inexpensive plastic ones will break doing this.)

I've wowed guests with my "professional looking" slices. So quick! So easy!

P.S. "Foot locker" post below. Keep readin'!

Foot Locker Findings

My mom and dad have been doing some "spring cleaning."

Since Christmas.

Let me explain.

On Christmas morning, Ma and Pa were to come by our house (they only live a mile away) and pick us up so we could all motor over to my sister's house for the day. Sister lives a half hour to 45 minutes away, so it makes sense to ride together and save.some.gas.

Early that morning, the phone rang. Caller ID said (and yes, I mean SAID 'cuz our CID talks) the call was coming from the home of my parental units. I answered with a cheerful "Merry Christmas!" only to hear my dad say, "Hello there. It's Paw." (That's what his grandkids call him.) I could hear the frustration in his voice. He said, "We're going to be a little late. We've had a little problem."

Problem? On Christmas morning?

The bottom of the hot water heater had given way some time during the night, and a gazillion gallons of water had poured onto the floor... for several hours. Water was everywhere. I asked him if they needed us to help, and he said no. I told Studly Man what had happened. We looked at each other and knew what we had to do. We got dressed and went over any way.

Water was e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e.

The water heater resides in a closet in a hallway that is situated between the formal dining room and a fourth bedroom that had become the "warehouse" for all kinds of junk stuff. Some of it was mine. Okay, a lot of it was mine. Some was my sister's. (Yes, we've both been gone from home for years, but hey, why hurry?) A lot of it was Mom and Dad's.

The dining room furniture was sitting in water. The sunken living room that flows (Oooo... sorry) from the formal dining room had literally become a pool that splashed when you walked in it. The fourth bedroom and its closet were soaked.

In a word, it was wet overwhelming.

After unloading all the china and all the crystal from the hutch onto the dining room table that had been relocated to the middle of the kitchen floor, we started moving the other furniture out. And then we started moving boxes out of the fourth bedroom. And moving boxes out of the fourth bedroom. And moving boxes out of the fourth bedroom. And.... you get the point. Everything was wet.


After calling the insurance people (the whole family is in Good Hands, doncha know) and figuring out the next move, we finally got cleaned up and went over to Sister's to salvage something of our day of celebration. We did decide that even though we'd spent the morning sloshing around and moving furniture, that was a GREAT way to spend Christmas day as compared to the one we'd had three years before when we spent it in a hospital room with Daddy after he'd had a series of TIAs (mini-strokes). That was seven weeks after he'd had quintuple bypass surgery. Yeah. We'll take moving soggy furniture over that ANY day!

To make a long story longer, in the weeks that followed, it was discovered that the water heater problem was perhaps a blessing in disguise. Isn't God funny that way? What seemed like a disaster (and it did seem like it at the time) turned out to be the very thing that exposed some other problems that needed attention.


Several months later, wall board has been repaired and replaced, fresh painting has been done, new carpet has been installed throughout the house, brick planters in front of the house have been replaced with beautifully landscaped beds, and even the garage has been cleaned out and organized. Oh, and there's a new hot water heater, too.

After a ton of work getting the house reassembled, Ma and Pa decided to go through years of accumulated stuff - theirs, both of their mothers', my sister's and mine. Now one can imagine this process would take a while. What most can't imagine is how my little ole' daddy would go through it. If it didn't go straight to a dumpster somewhere, it got scanned, cataloged, repacked, or all of the above. Clearly having a photographic record of such things is imperative.

One of the things unearthed was an old foot locker of Dad's that had been adopted by me when I was in junior high. It became my treasure chest. I hadn't see it or its contents in at least two decades.

Dad scanned most of the pictures and scrapbook type stuff that was in there. I haven't stopped laughing at what I saw. The stuff I saved!!

Well... look...


Here's a felt horse glued on some wallpaper that was glued on a piece of cardboard. I'm guessing I glued this together, no doubt with the guidance of some talented and/or artsy adult.
My hand prints with the requisite poem. I was probably four or five.
A half-eaten picture of my sister and me in front of a birch tree in our front yard in Virginia. (I'm the one on the right, and I think I'm probably about five.) I'm positive my momma made our little outfits. She's quite the seamstress.

While there are many more "treasures" to explore in future blog posts, these were some of the few that made me giggle. And while it was fun to stroll down Memory Lane, there were actually very few things in the foot locker that I'll keep. Oh, sure I'll keep the photos and certificates. But the greeting cards from my first love? The program of a play another beau starred in? Newspaper clippings about people I barely remember? Nah. Those are going to the great garbage can in the sky.

I'm going to treasure my real treasures - my sweet momma and daddy who hung on to all my stuff, waded through deep waters (literally and figuratively) with me and taught me how to place value on what really matters most, the loving home they raised us in, and the spiritual heritage and legacy they've given me.

"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal; for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." Matthew 6:19-21

That right there? That's pure gold.

"I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free. "

Can't you just hear Lee Greenwood singing?

I am proud to be an American. Our country is not perfect. Far from it. But it IS the greatest country on this planet. No other country recognizes the freedoms we so often take for granted. And few countries were founded on Judao-Christian principles.

I love the Fourth of July. I love the pomp and circumstance and the fireworks and the playing of our National Anthem. I love the whole process of what it means to be patriotic. And I really love it when someone else's expression of patriotism sends chills down my spine.

Like this:




If you are grateful for the blessing and privilege of living in the most amazing country on earth, take the time to find a veteran who fought for her freedom and personally thank him or her. Then pause and thank our great God for all that we enjoy.

Happy Fourth, ya'll.

From Grumbling to Grateful

I've been grumbling. A lot.


I don't like to grumble.


I don't like to be around people who grumble.


God tells us not to grumble, and especially not to grumble against Him.


Why am I am grumbling? Why can't I be content?


Philippians 1:14-15 says, "Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world."

1 Timothy 6:6 says, "But godliness is actually a means of great gain when accompanied by contentment."

Why am I grumbling?

My life is full. I sat down to create a compare/contrast list of things I've grumbled about over the last few months. Astonshing.

My doctor hasn't yet been able to regulate my thyroid medication, and I'm really, really tired all.the.time. which makes me a tired, grouchy grumbler. I live in a day and age where simple daily medication is available and can, in fact, take care of the problem. My current medical challenge is extrememly minor in the grand scheme of things, and it certainly pales in comparison to the struggles of others I know and pray for regularly.

My office sees a whole lot of folks who have a "sense of entitlement" and treat others rudely and presumptuously. This gets really old, ya'll. I have a job that is keeping a roof over our heads, AND I have an opportunity to influence others in a positive manner.

I don't always choose to try to influence others in a positive manner, and I know I should, which makes me feel guilty. I'm doing better, and I do have the power because Jesus lives in me.

My housekeeper keeps breaking things in my house. I have the wherewithall to HAVE a housekeeper, and the things she has broken are just... THINGS.

There are some difficult issues being dealt with among my family. I have a family that loves me and loves each other and works together to build and maintain wonderful relationships, something many people I know cannot say.

It is h.o.t. in Texas. I don't like to be hot. Seriously. My home, my office, and my car have air conditioning. I'm thankful for air conditioning.

Studly Man hasn't been employed in 15+ months. My job has paid the bills.

Studly Man hasn't been employed in 15+ months. He has an exciting new project that we believe is about to be incoming producing AND puts him in front of even more prison wardens who may issue new invitations for us to minister to incarcerated youth.

Studly Man hasn't been employed in 15+ months. My husband is at home - with me - and not given to defeat.

The budget has been tight, and we've had to forego things we want and tighten our proverbial belts. Our needs are met, and then some.

The political climate in America is beyond scary because America turns her back on God a little more each day. Daniel 2 says that GOD is the One Who establishes kings AND the One Who removes kings. (No person will come to power anywhere except that God permits it.) God is still in control no matter who ends up in Washington.

Satan won't leave us alone. God is at work in our lives, and that poses a great threat to the enemy.

Satan is waging war against the Church. We belong to a Bible-believing, Bible-teaching church that refuses to compromise, stands on the Truth, and does what is right instead of what is popular.

The list is a lot longer, but I'll stop with that. My conclusions were simple.

How dare my attitude be one of grumbling? Have I learned NOTHING from studying about the children of Israel and their grumbling against God?

Zig Ziglar and Dale Carnegie got it right. Positive thinking yields positive results. As a child of God, I have hope which is the epitome of a positive attitude. I'm instructed in Philippians 4 to dwell on whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, whatever has any excellence and whatever is worthy of praise. If I actually DO that, there's no room for grumbling. Only gratefulness. I am grateful, but am I grateful enough?

I'm working on it.

What struggles are causing you to grumble? How can you focus on being more grateful? How can I encourage you?

In a galaxy far, far away...

I've been working on a post for about three days now. It's a tough one, so I've been taking my time. My left foot (no, not the movie, my REAL left foot) has been really bothering me, so I've kept it propped up most of the day. Since I don't have a lap top from which I could blog while my foot was elevated, I've had to wait until I felt well enough to come in here and sit at "the command post," as Studly calls it. Sometime soon, I'll finish that other post. For now, I'm going in a different direction.

At about 5:00 this afternoon, our power went out. No storm, no nothing. Just no power. When I called to report the outage, the recording acknowledged a problem in our area and said they estimated we'd have power back by, oh... 8:00 p.m. Hello? This is TEXAS. Three hours without air conditioning at the end of June... well, that's just not funny. Thankfully a thunderstorm blew in last night and had cooled things down a tiny bit, but Studly and I figured camping at my ma and pa's house until the crisis was overted was a capital idea. So after securing some ice cream for our hot selves, we mosied over to the homeplace.

My daddy recently came across an old foot locker that was FULL of stuff from my "Growing Up Jenny" years. I went through the box tonight and laughed hysterically at some of the stuff I said/did/wrote/saved/photographed from all those years ago.

One thing I found that DID warm my heart is the picture below. We had one.sweet.dog. when I was growing up, and Dad and I realized some time back we don't have very many pictures of her at all. The very few we do have are blurry and grainy. Imagine my excitement when I found THIS picture: I was probably five or six when we got her. (I'm nine in this picture.) We had lots of choices of names for this dog. "Spot" would've been a good idea because of that big ole thang on her back. "Bat Girl" was suggested because of the "mask" she wears. Ultimately we settled on the highly original, no-one-else-will-ever-name-their-dog-that name of Princess. It fit her.

I loved that dog. She was funny and smart and so very sweet. She had to be put down when I was in high school, but for the years before that, she gave our family so much joy and unconditional love.



I'm glad I found this picture.

I miss her.