Saddle Up and Go West

I haven't even written about my girls' night this past weekend. My mom, sisters, and I went to see Steven Curtis Chapman and Michael W. Smith on their United tour. Once I got over the junior high nostalgia, it was a GREAT concert. I adore Steven Curtis Chapman, and listening to hear about the fatal accident of his little girl last year made me bawl like a baby. I had already warned my mom to get out the tissues if he sang the song Cinderella, which of course he did. I think of it every time my little girls dress up in their Cinderella dresses and want to marry Daddy or read a princess story. You never know when those precious moments might end.

I was never a huge Michael W. Smith fan. I think he is amazing on the keyboards, but his Go West years just didn't fit with my BeBe and CeCe Winans/Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir style at the time. I'm laughing just typing that. But...lately Michael W. has written some amazing worship songs that I didn't even know I should give him credit for. Here is a picture of us dining before the concert. My poor sister (seated) has a jacked up back and could barely get out of her chair, so we gathered around her. I'm sad for her and also sad that I couldn't crop me without cropping out her beautiful face. So here we are, ready to embark on our surprise rerouting to the high school across town where we would stand in line, board a shuttle, and be 30 minutes late for the concert. Which WAS still worth it.

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The Gospel is Written Everywhere

We rented the Will Smith movie Seven Pounds this weekend. Interesting movie. Of course I don't agree with the way the heroism played out, but it did make me think. Why are we so uncomfortable watching a movie like that? If you plan to see it, come back to this post after you've watched the movie so I don't ruin it for you.

In the movie, the character Ben--prompted by guilt about an accident he caused where seven people were killed--gives up his life to make the lives of others better. He brings pain upon himself so that others can live. He dies so that one person's heart can be healed and one man's blind eyes can be opened. We cringe because who would do such a thing? No one deserves that. He deserves a happy life even though he really was guilty.

But how about someone who would give up His life so others can live even when He had done nothing wrong? That should stir some emotion in our hearts. Someone who would let others torture him and kill him in a humiliating manner that only a criminal deserved? That will wrench your heart. Someone who would give up a throne and live a lowly life so that all hearts can be healed and blind eyes can be opened? That will bring tears to your eyes.

That, my friend, is the gospel. Mysteriously woven in even to Seven Pounds.

Ruthless and Toothless

I am getting implants. Don't get too excited. They are tooth implants...well, just one for now. The periodontist said that the root on the tooth next to it, though, is "like digging a 6-inch fencepost when it should be 6 feet deep." We might have enough money in our cafeteria plan to get that one done in 2013. Orthodontic work seemed like a great idea when I had buck teeth. Now it seems that it has reaked havoc on my roots. Apparently the only option to fix the first tooth was to get an implant. Trust me. I would NOT have chosen the most expensive possible option. But here we are.

Here are things I heard yesterday that I never want to hear from a dental professional again.

1. You might want to turn the radio up before I start this drill in your mouth.
2. Oops. I'm painting outside the lines (as they are wiping blood off of my forehead and cheeks).
3. Did you bring an extra tooth with you?
4. This is the worst part for most people (referring to the shots). Later...um...maybe that wasn't the worst part.

To be fair, the periodontist and his assistant were fabulous, good-natured, and did their best to put me at ease. I had headphones with a remote control (which I kept turning down the volume on because I wanted to hear what they were saying). After I started freaking out a little they even gave me a blanket to cover up with. It was actually very calming.

So now it's done. Oh, wait. No, it's not. Now I'm just missing a tooth. The implant will come later. I have one fancy retainer, though. It has one tooth on it--you know, in case I feel like dressing up and going out somewhere. It's a tough decision right now between looking like a homeless girl and shoving the fake tooth onto my stitches. Ouch. Darn that pride.

The Sign Says It All

This is a sign by the pool at the YMCA where Big Sissy takes swimming lessons. It always makes me chuckle because I have the same thought about 27 times a day regarding Little Buddy, who is almost 15 months old and STILL not walking on his own. We're not beyond begging, as you will see in these very dark video clips. I know he's close. I'm just getting impatient because the weather is getting warm and I hate for him to ruin all his clothes crawling on grass, mulch, asphalt, etc. Just walk please!

Please???

Pretty please?

Every Story Whispers His Name

My name is John*, and I'm an alcoholic. I'm thankful that God spared my daughter's life and that she is coming to AA meetings with me.

My name is Amy*, and it's been 6 months since I've smoked marijuana. I'm thankful that my friends are respecting my wishes.

No, this wasn't an AA meeting. Or group therapy. This was my church this morning. The names have been changed to respect the privacy of the people involved. I'm sure there were some folks squirming. We have traditionally been a church full of engineers and professionals, and we are good at pretending we have it all together. But times are changing. The neighborhood is changing. The church body is changing. So here we sit with our respectable jobs and clean fingernails and cute clothes wanting to be comfortable while Jesus wants to rescue the whole world. Everyone. The drug addicts. The prostitutes. The alcoholics. Are we ready to love them as Jesus loves them? This story is about them too. The gospel story, I mean.

My new favorite Bible is The Jesus Storybook Bible. It says it's for kids ages 4-8, but I sometimes cry reading the stories to Big Sissy because it tells the gospel story so powerfully. Here is an excerpt.

The Bible isn't a book of rules, or a book of heroes. The Bible is most of all a Story. It's an adventure story about a young Hero who comes from a far country to win back his lost treasure. It's a love story about a brave Prince who leaves his palace, his throne--everything--to rescue the one he loves. It's like the most wonderful of fairy tales that has come true in real life!

You see, the best thing about this Story is--it's true.

There are lots of stories in the Bible, but all the stories are telling one Big Story. The Story of how God loves his children and comes to rescue them.

It takes the whole Bible to tell this Story. And at the center of the Story, there is a baby. Every Story in the Bible whispers his name. He is like the missing piece in a puzzle--the piece that makes all the other pieces fit together, and suddenly you can see a beautiful picture....

The most wonderful thing about this Story is--it's your story, too!

Paraphrase of John 1:12-13

For anyone who says yes to Jesus

For anyone who believes what Jesus said

For anyone who will just reach out to take it

Then God will give them this wonderful gift:

To be born into

A whole new Life

To be who they really are

Who God always made them to be--

Their own true selves--

God's dear

Child.

A Tisket A Tasket...

A Two Dollar Basket!!!

You might recall my saying that I'm in love with baskets. This Easter I especially loved Little Buddy's basket. I went to Sam's this week, and guess what I found...coordinating baskets/buckets for the girls at about 75% off. Score. I'm thinking of getting some more to use as gift baskets. Have I mentioned I love baskets?

Bra Burning

Disclaimer: If you are a boy and have no desire to hear about bras, you might want to skip this post. I'm just sayin'...


I'm done with nursing bras..forever and for always (singing Shania Twain song). I want to burn them. Oh, I do. But I've invested a lot of money in them (as has my dear mother who has bailed me out more than once), and they're still in good shape despite the fact that I've been wearing them for 5 years now.


The problem is that I can't think of a graceful way to give them away.


"Wow. You're looking like you could use a new bra" doesn't seem flattering.


"What size are those getting to be? 'cuz I've got some Big Mama bras I could give you" sounds too personal.


Trust me. I don't need one more reason to be awkward. I guess I'll let them hang out in my closet with my other abandoned unmentionables and let my family bumble through the decision after I pass.


Unless you have some other ideas for me.


In the meantime, I am taking my next paycheck (I mean my husband's next paycheck) and buying something CUTE. I'm pretty sure he will approve of this wise use of our resources. And I'm wearing a dress every Sunday for the whole summer just because I can. OK, so I'm a little sad about this phase passing but....oh look. I think I'm getting over it.