"But success is always dangerous, and we need to be alert and avoid becoming the victims of our own success. Will we influence the world for Christ, or will the world influence us?"
- Rev. Billy Graham (93 yrs. old) from Christianity Today Interview, 1/21/2011 -
Graham preached in person in more than 185 countries to over 215 million people during his more than 70 years of ministry. He prayed with every American President from Harry Truman to George W. Bush.

Our Dog Luke

Our dog Luke was a cattle-herding breed. I found him at the shelter and knew he was the one right away. He had a gorgeous set of dark outlined eyes that looked at you with adoration mixed with anticipation and a little bit of mischief. He had no cattle to herd around our house so he made do with keeping his various chew toys rounded up in a specific area of the lawn or the living room after playing. He would herd Gramma Morton up the stairs to her rooms by play-nipping at her ankles. She held on for dear life to that bannister and only half-seriously would fuss at him to get away. "Luke!" she'd scold him. He did it, we were all sure, just to "help" her. He was petrified of the water. No way would he get near the swimming pool or the ocean waves. It was pretty funny to watch him skedaddle backward when the water crept up the shore right in his path when we'd be walking along the beach. He didn't want even a paw in that water. He won the heart of all the family, even Nathan who'd not really been too keen on his gangly, puppy ways at first. When Nathan was out of town on business, Luke was right there curled up on the bottom corner of his side of the bed at night. Every time he got home from his trip and ready for bed the first night, Luke would be there first, resting on his corner in hopes he could stay, but would always get the evil eye look from Nathan and would go skulking off to his dog bed. It was a never ending thing. He was a constant source of chuckles.  Sadly, I had to give Luke up to a cattle-dog rescue group after Nathan died as I just couldn't keep him and travel.  It was like a second mournful death. Somewhere in my boxes I have a picture of that gorgeous dog and I'll post it here when I find it. I'm hoping he's still making people happy out there in California somewhere.

Kids Only Know What They See (And Hear)

When Amy was little and we had only just begun to have drive-up order boxes at restaurants. She asked me once, "mommy, do you think that was a good idea to put the order taker in that little box? doesn't he get hot in there?"

The Woman at the Well - Was Me

For the longest time I have felt that I may as well have a sign on my forehead that read "loser" because I'd had several marriages and several divorces. I'd had so many last names in my life (five) that I could certainly never put them all on my facebook profile. Then one day I read about a certain woman in the bible - John chapter 4, who encountered Jesus when she was drawing water from a well just outside her village. He was thirsty and asked her to draw some water for him to drink. She was a Samaritan, a people despised and shunned by the Jews, and recognising that he was a Jew, she was astounded that he was talking to her. Jews did  not talk to Samaritans. She told him that if he knew who she really was he would not be talking to her. His reply was what melted my heart when I read it, he said, "I know well who you are and that you have had five husbands and the man you live with now is not your husband." He told her she had only to ask and he would give her living water (eternal life) that would satisfy her soul's thirst. In the next verses it tells how she was in awe of him and ran to her people to bring them to him so that they could meet this man who had no judgment for her, but truly offered her love beyond reason.  At that moment, while reading, I realized that woman at the well could've been me. And Jesus had no condemnation toward me. He really knew everything, every nuance of my life and yet he was concerned only that I receive his love, his water of life.  Sure I know the world will condemn and whisper and judge, but Jesus didn't with the Samaritan woman and he doesn't with me. I could never go back and change anything, any choices I made, but I didn't have to live with shame for my failures either. It was so freeing to read that story and see the true heart of God demonstrated to that woman who viewed herself as undeserving even to draw water for him. I knew that I could pick up my feet and go on for I was loved, failures known and yet loved, just as she was. Shame comes from the enemy of our souls not from our loving God. When we bow our hearts to him, he takes us by the hand and pulls us back up on our feet, letting us know we are precious to him. His love restores my self-esteem and I know that  many people struggle with feelings of guilt and shame and they wear them like heavy cloaks that weigh them down, keeping them from moving forward freely. Jesus came to set us free from sin, from failures, to take our burden of shame from us and let us know we needn't bear it any more. My life is his now, he steers the course and it's so much better now that I needn't walk around with my head down feeling like I had run out of chances to have a good life. I wish the same for you dear readers, I wish the same for you.

What is most important about God is that he is the presence that makes the world seem less frightening.

I was thinking this morning, what would it be like if we didn't know we can call on the presence of God in times of fear, times of great trouble? You must admit, it IS an automatic thing when great crushing grief, fear or loss comes upon most of us - and I mean MOST of us. People who don't normally seem to even think about praying just automatically resort to it when faced with anguish or fear of loss. And I think that's a GOOD THING. Scriptures - His Word - tell us that "He is a very present help in times of trouble." So, I am thankful, my heart sings with the truth that He likes to hang around us earthlings, Pretty cool God if you ask me.

To My Beautiful Daughter, Amy

I wish that I had known myself better
and hurt you less.
I know now that it's useless to blame husbands or children for one's own deficiencies, that it only delays facing them yourself.
And it only delays change.
And only after being humbled, humiliated and then becalmed
am I learning to row like hell, asking God for the strength to stay afloat.
Writing has become the solace that it was in my youth,
a means of self-calming, of self-knowledge.
Yet, I have come to honor the power of not using words for everything--of letting my soul hear in silence.
After all, facing yourself cannot be done in public.
Regret is the most bitter pill of all.
No wonder the famous author Dante' in his classic book Dante's Inferno, made it (regret) the chief punishment in hell.
I regret choices in marriage and then I regret failing to make them work.
With each divorce (or death in one case) abandonment or failure became my shroud.
But I walked on with my cover-up, ploughing into (another) new life with you my precious daughter, in tow.
Since a woman's ability to achieve depends on childlessness or child care, as a single mom (between husbands) I was fueled by my drivenness to provide a home, get a new job, find the right caregiver for you and bury the hurt, shame, anger, fear, etc.
Depressed and lonely, deep in grief for the lost marriage, no matter.
Things must be done.
I'd go forward but my heart kept looking back--it needed to grieve.
In early adolescence you were lucky enough to have many reasons to wisecrack and rebel no thanks to me.
Without child support I made our living and any notion of a serene life that I longed to have and to provide for you just had to wait.
But a fourteen-year-old doesn't understand or care, nor should she.
You wanted. You needed. Period.
And I began to mourn the loss of innocence you had in hero-worshipping me.
Any potential suiter in my life had to show himself a worthy father-figure, but some fooled me very, very well.
You remind me of this lack of good judgment on my part at times and of-course I want to whimper my justifications--foolishly.
Disappointing you, however justified, is always a needle in my heart.
The constant lack of perfect mothering is the cruel and unusual punishment for the necessity of career and motherhood at the same time.
I know that one day you'll tell your side of the story of us. And I know you won't be soft on me.
After all, you have turned out to have a killer way with words, you're sometimes wildly funny, witty and cynical, you had to be to survive your mother.

And This is the First Page....sort of..i think

She felt she had to write. There was a book in her that was supposed to be written, she just knew she was supposed to be putting her time into it, doing something useful rather than just going from endless day to endless day, never accomplishing much and sleeping fitfully every night. She began searching her mind, what in the wide world would she choose to write about? I mean, what? She often thought that maybe she should write about her late husband, the former CEO who had many respected accomplishments. She had this inkling though, that the book - the writing - should be about her. And what an awful, scary thought. Did she want to go back and revisit memories, try to put into some kind of sense the last twenty-five years of her life? Go back perhaps to recapture feelings of her childhood? No, no, emphatically NO! Neither of those. Uhgh! Why in god's name would she want to dig up old bones, visit the graveyard of buried hurts, failures and now tarnished victories? My, how she had to work just to keep them buried so they wouldn't be able to bring her down any lower than she already felt. And believe me she felt low. Her years of taking antidepressants probably clouded her reality, for sure, but she couldn't stop taking them and she hated that she had to.

No, she definitely didn't want to take a bad trip down memory lane unless, well, unless she could perhaps in doing just a little bit of it, see there was a very good purpose for it. She'd just have to think on that for a while and knowing herself, with the right motivation and understanding of purpose, she might possibly be willing to give it a try. It still made her really nervous, just the thought of it. Yes, there could be A LOT to delve into. Nevermind the trying to make any sense of it all. She would definately have to think hard about going down that long and treacherous road, long and hard. Okay, so there were some amazing things along the way, some sweet accomplishments, some enlightenment and joys too, she'd have to admit. People had often said of her that she was a born leader, a gifted teacher and a smart and beautiful woman. She'd many times had people tell her that she'd inspired them, that they'd learned from her, some over the years even told her that she'd changed their lives by something she'd done for them or by just knowing her. She then asked herself, how come the first overwhelming thoughts I have about writing are that it involves so much painful stuff? What about all the good stuff along the way? I mean, there could be a good amount of happiness delving into that and spending time recounting it. Some pain, some happiness..hmmm.. With that, she closed her laptop and put it all on a shelf in her mind to stay for awhile, and she moved on to other things.