Y'all.
I started this blog because I wanted to try to document the little things about Butterbean as a baby/toddler that made me chuckle. Things that I know I'll forget as time goes on.
I have veered away from that a bit, so I thought I'd try to set this train back on its tracks tonight with a list of words from Butterbeans ever expanding and oh-so-adorable vocabulary.
Be prepared to go "awww."
Ready?
Aye or Oi - hot. I have no idea why she says it this way…but that's how it sounds to her I guess.
Issue - Bless you.
Chuck - couch.
Eeets - Eat.
Finkies - fingers.
Shawbies - Strawberries.
Puck - Cup.
Pinka or Pinkie - Blanket.
Foo-ta ball - football. (Her Boppi's doing I'm sure. If it were up to me, ESPN would be utterly banned.)
Mimi ah pee - This phrase could mean two things actually, depending on body language and my crystal ball. It could mean 1) Mimi, I'm pretty or 2) Mimi, I need to pee/have peed/might have peed on your floor.
Mimi ah hunky - Mimi I'm hungry. This is actually the first sentence out of her mouth every. Day. And she will repeat it to me with increasing volume and gusto until breakfast is placed before her.
Ehvv Ewe - Love you.
Huck - Hug.
Ahsa Mimi? - Where's Mimi.
Mimisa seepin'/nighnights - Mimi is sleeping. (I have to admit, sometimes she sounds a little like JarJar Binks)
Kickle - Tickle. (One of my personal favorites. Cracks me up to hear her say Kickle me Mimi.)
Sop it! - Stop it!
Buds - Birds
Gog - Dog
Gigi - her word for Granny…which is her 86 year old great great grandmother.
Pie - her word for Pap…which is her great grandfather. Who also happens to be my Dad.
Deezus - Jesus (another personal fave)
and last but not least, what would any two-year old vocabulary list be without the following:
NO! - NO!
Surprisingly, that last one comes out pretty darn clear.
Two year olds…it's a good thing they're so cute.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Sweet Roll
If she was five feet tall I'd have been surprised.
The photo is black and white, wrinkled and worn around the edges. She is young here. She looks at the camera with what can only be described as defiance.
She's my grandmother.
My grandfather is beside her with his arm slung around her shoulders, hat slightly askew and his lanky 6 foot 2 frame dwarfs her.
In May of this year, she'll have been gone 10 years.
My other grandmother, my mom's mother, passed away in December of that year. It's crazy how much time can pass before you realize the importance of what you've lost.
I look back at the woman in the photograph and for the umpteenth time bemoan the fact that I really never knew her. At least, not the way I wanted to.
Family legend has it that back when they were young, my grandfather liked his beer and she could out cuss a sailor.
I'm not sure if those are facts I should be proud of, but they are interesting. They give a little depth to a woman who came late in life to Jesus and spent the years that remained trying so hard to live up to what she thought it meant to be "Christian."
Rigid, Southern Baptist fundamentalism? Check.
Sunday afternoon "fellowship" at the local buffet? Check.
"Witnessing" to two young female sunbathers that they were "headed to hell" if they didn't get their acts straight? Check, check. (True story. The young girls were my mom's sisters. They still tell that story to this day.)
She was a complicated woman with an entire luggage set of issues. My cousin nicknamed her Sweet Roll. I've never asked him why, but I'm pretty sure it was partly playful tongue in cheek and partly desperate prayer.
She could be cruel. But she could also be outrageously generous and fun.
The pieces of her life that made her who and what she was are shrouded in mystery. The knowledge that she had lost both of her parents by age sixteen coupled with the fact that she rarely if ever talked about her childhood helped her children and grandchildren to understand that her life had not been a Norman Rockwell painting.
At a very young age all the grandkids knew she was broken in some way because she couldn't accept love, even from us…the ones who got the best parts of her, unless it was on her terms.
She did not love perfectly. And in my childishness…I harbored a grudge against her for that.
Because I am so very like her.
She didn't love me on MY terms…with easy hugs and quick affection. Her way was more to drag me down to Miller's department store and buy me a new dress. Every time she took me shopping she was screaming in her broken way, "I love you. I have no way to communicate that with you other than this…but please, please, please know I love you and I want you to love me too."
And now, finally, I get it. As damaged and hard as she was, every little step she took in my direction is worthy of my respect and gratitude. Because love, no matter how it comes to us, is something to be grateful for.
Sweet Roll, it's taken me nearly ten years, but I think now I can finally put you to rest.
I love you.
Thank you for loving me. Forgive me for not seeing? Someday, we'll sit down face to face and laugh and cry and hug and love without fear. Thank you for all your prayers, for taking me to church and for using what little faith you had to point me to Jesus. I miss that beautiful, clear soprano voice, those cornflower eyes (I think Jessica got those…dang her) and trips to Duff's Smorgasbord because "Doe, Shayne's hungry."
I'm a Mimi now and I'm sure you've seen more than a few of my goof-ups and laughed and said, "Not so easy is it?" Uh, no. No ma'am it's not.
The dogwoods and the redbuds are blooming and I always think of you best during this time of year. You live in the best memories of my heart, where Spring is eternal and full of promise.
You are loved and you are not forgotten. It's ok that you weren't perfect…because newsflash…I'm not perfect either.
You were good though…in your own way…you were good. And now, all these years later, I can appreciate how hard you tried.
Dear God, isn't it about time?
The photo is black and white, wrinkled and worn around the edges. She is young here. She looks at the camera with what can only be described as defiance.
She's my grandmother.
My grandfather is beside her with his arm slung around her shoulders, hat slightly askew and his lanky 6 foot 2 frame dwarfs her.
In May of this year, she'll have been gone 10 years.
My other grandmother, my mom's mother, passed away in December of that year. It's crazy how much time can pass before you realize the importance of what you've lost.
I look back at the woman in the photograph and for the umpteenth time bemoan the fact that I really never knew her. At least, not the way I wanted to.
Family legend has it that back when they were young, my grandfather liked his beer and she could out cuss a sailor.
I'm not sure if those are facts I should be proud of, but they are interesting. They give a little depth to a woman who came late in life to Jesus and spent the years that remained trying so hard to live up to what she thought it meant to be "Christian."
Rigid, Southern Baptist fundamentalism? Check.
Sunday afternoon "fellowship" at the local buffet? Check.
"Witnessing" to two young female sunbathers that they were "headed to hell" if they didn't get their acts straight? Check, check. (True story. The young girls were my mom's sisters. They still tell that story to this day.)
She was a complicated woman with an entire luggage set of issues. My cousin nicknamed her Sweet Roll. I've never asked him why, but I'm pretty sure it was partly playful tongue in cheek and partly desperate prayer.
She could be cruel. But she could also be outrageously generous and fun.
The pieces of her life that made her who and what she was are shrouded in mystery. The knowledge that she had lost both of her parents by age sixteen coupled with the fact that she rarely if ever talked about her childhood helped her children and grandchildren to understand that her life had not been a Norman Rockwell painting.
At a very young age all the grandkids knew she was broken in some way because she couldn't accept love, even from us…the ones who got the best parts of her, unless it was on her terms.
She did not love perfectly. And in my childishness…I harbored a grudge against her for that.
Because I am so very like her.
She didn't love me on MY terms…with easy hugs and quick affection. Her way was more to drag me down to Miller's department store and buy me a new dress. Every time she took me shopping she was screaming in her broken way, "I love you. I have no way to communicate that with you other than this…but please, please, please know I love you and I want you to love me too."
And now, finally, I get it. As damaged and hard as she was, every little step she took in my direction is worthy of my respect and gratitude. Because love, no matter how it comes to us, is something to be grateful for.
Sweet Roll, it's taken me nearly ten years, but I think now I can finally put you to rest.
I love you.
Thank you for loving me. Forgive me for not seeing? Someday, we'll sit down face to face and laugh and cry and hug and love without fear. Thank you for all your prayers, for taking me to church and for using what little faith you had to point me to Jesus. I miss that beautiful, clear soprano voice, those cornflower eyes (I think Jessica got those…dang her) and trips to Duff's Smorgasbord because "Doe, Shayne's hungry."
I'm a Mimi now and I'm sure you've seen more than a few of my goof-ups and laughed and said, "Not so easy is it?" Uh, no. No ma'am it's not.
The dogwoods and the redbuds are blooming and I always think of you best during this time of year. You live in the best memories of my heart, where Spring is eternal and full of promise.
You are loved and you are not forgotten. It's ok that you weren't perfect…because newsflash…I'm not perfect either.
You were good though…in your own way…you were good. And now, all these years later, I can appreciate how hard you tried.
Dear God, isn't it about time?
Friday, April 4, 2014
Bustin' Down The Door of Fear
Hey..so…y'all have met Butterbean. But I don't think I've ever introduced you to Buster. Shame on me, I know. I've got to pick up the slack where he's concerned because y'all…my little Buster is 47 different flavors of adorable.
See for yourself.
I mean…he's got the hair, the (mostly) toothless grin…he's got the total package. I don't deny it. Having beautiful grandchildren is my superpower.
And what does all this adorable-ness have to do with fear?
When Buster was about a month old, he decided to stop breathing. He was awake, laying on his back and something happened (we still don't know what) to cause him to stop breathing. His mother was able to resuscitate him twice. That episode earned the little feller what would be the first of many trips to the hospital in an ambulance.
He stayed in the hospital for a week under observation and went through several tests. He didn't have another episode like that, so the doctors postulated that he was lactose intolerant and had a touch of reflux. While lying on his back he choked on what his little body was trying to reject.
They aren't positive that's what happened, but we went with it. His mommy changed her diet, and things calmed down a bit. And then, last week, out of the blue…he began having seizures. Full on, whole body convulsing, incredibly frightening seizures.
Enter fear.
His mother has been unable to relax and get a full night's sleep. Butterbean witnessed the first seizure and now constantly mentions that the baby has a boo boo and will point and wag her finger at the parade of doctors and nurses. In her most serious voice she will command them to "No huwt a baby."
She's dealt with her mother's nervousness and many absences due to Buster's trips to the hospital.
And then there's Mimi. Praying, pouting, demanding from God over and over again to explain Hisself…(like THAT'S gonna move Him to act) and trying desperately not to allow fear have it's way in her house.
Because fear is not my friend.
Oh it likes to claim that it is. It likes to move on in with it's cousins Worry and Anxiety and lie to me that I have the right to worry and as a matter of fact, if I don't worry then I'm not being a concerned Mimi. And then for added kicks fear likes to spread on out to all aspects of my life.
Money…you know you don't have enough to pay the bills. You're NEVER going to have enough. God's mad at you because you did X and so that's why you're not being blessed.
Work…seriously? You think you can switch occupations at YOUR age? Because of this ridiculous leap of faith of yours, this pipe dream…you don't have enough to take care of your BASIC NEEDS. What kind of woman ARE you? You CERTAINLY aren't creative enough to do this and you are SO SLOW…no one wants to buy your work because you are a TERRIBLE photographer. Just give up already and go back to doing what you were doing.
Marriage…my relationships with my kids…my grandkids…my mom…my dad…and on and on and on and on.
Yesterday was a particularly bad day. I had allowed fear to nearly paralyze me…the above phrases and more were on repeat in my mind and I literally could not move.
But somewhere in the midst of the whirlwind…a still small voice spoke.
"Choose joy."
Choose joy? Seriously? Are you kidding me God? Have You seen the wreck that is my life lately?
"Choose joy."
Funnily enough, He wasn't telling me something that I hadn't already resolved to do for myself for 2014. New Year's day I made an inner commitment to myself…I would choose joy.
So…as weak and beat down as I felt yesterday…I stood up. I took hold of my mind and forced myself to say positives anytime a negative thought came up. I spoke it out loud. I didn't feel courageous. I felt sort of stupid for (a) allowing myself to get in that type of mental shape and (b) for having to walk around muttering things to myself. Like a crazy cat lady.
When I got into the shower this morning I told myself out loud that I would choose joy. I had a job to do today. A job that I love desperately…that God gave to me. And no, it's not easy…it's very challenging to me. But it fulfills me in a deep way.
And it's not a job where I can walk around navel-gazing all day long. It will literally destroy the quality of my work and the amount of my income. So, after giving myself a stern talking to...I chose joy.
And guess what?
It worked.
Inside…the tumult has died down to a dull roar and I had a seriously good day in spite of the many challenges that came my way.
It occurred to me later this evening that my little stand had not been all that hard for me. It just took some ah, shall we say…cojones on my part to tell fear to just shut. up.
Buster is not healed. Money is still a problem. Work still presents difficult challenges. Butterbean is still an expert two year old and is totally winning the potty training war.
But so long as I choose joy…I am not defeated and there is room for Hope to work in me.
Praise God for joy. And if, like me, you have been struggling…take hold of it with both hands.
How you ask? Well…maybe you could:
Turn up the music and dance like a crazy person in the middle of your kitchen until you and your family are laughing hysterically.
Stand in your shower with the water and the tears streaming down your face and sing "I Will Survive" at the top of your lungs. Gloria Gaynor won't mind. Your neighbors might…but good ol' Gloria won't.
Go into your bedroom. Open up your Bible and read Psalm 107 all the way through. Let it sink in how many different ways God saves His people from their various predicaments.
Refuse to frown or grimace. Smile at every person who crosses your path. They will look at you like you're "special" at first, but then they'll smile back.
Last but not least…be grateful. Somebody somewhere ALWAYS has it worse than you do. Count your blessings and thank God for them.
You are amazing…and God has not given you a spirit of fear. He has given you a spirit of Power and a sound mind. So take authority over it and stop giving fear the time of day.
It's not worth it. Trust me.
P.S. ~ The whole "Gloria Gaynor" thing…and the dancing…thing…did not necessarily happen in this house. There are rumors, of course. Butterbean has been bribed to silence with M&M's and Fruit Loops…so don't EVEN try to get it out of her. She's rock solid. Mostly because even if she did tell you…you wouldn't be able to understand her. But a Mimi's gotta have a little insurance so…M&M's and Fruit Loops…they do a Mimi good.
See for yourself.
I mean…he's got the hair, the (mostly) toothless grin…he's got the total package. I don't deny it. Having beautiful grandchildren is my superpower.
And what does all this adorable-ness have to do with fear?
When Buster was about a month old, he decided to stop breathing. He was awake, laying on his back and something happened (we still don't know what) to cause him to stop breathing. His mother was able to resuscitate him twice. That episode earned the little feller what would be the first of many trips to the hospital in an ambulance.
He stayed in the hospital for a week under observation and went through several tests. He didn't have another episode like that, so the doctors postulated that he was lactose intolerant and had a touch of reflux. While lying on his back he choked on what his little body was trying to reject.
They aren't positive that's what happened, but we went with it. His mommy changed her diet, and things calmed down a bit. And then, last week, out of the blue…he began having seizures. Full on, whole body convulsing, incredibly frightening seizures.
Enter fear.
His mother has been unable to relax and get a full night's sleep. Butterbean witnessed the first seizure and now constantly mentions that the baby has a boo boo and will point and wag her finger at the parade of doctors and nurses. In her most serious voice she will command them to "No huwt a baby."
She's dealt with her mother's nervousness and many absences due to Buster's trips to the hospital.
And then there's Mimi. Praying, pouting, demanding from God over and over again to explain Hisself…(like THAT'S gonna move Him to act) and trying desperately not to allow fear have it's way in her house.
Because fear is not my friend.
Oh it likes to claim that it is. It likes to move on in with it's cousins Worry and Anxiety and lie to me that I have the right to worry and as a matter of fact, if I don't worry then I'm not being a concerned Mimi. And then for added kicks fear likes to spread on out to all aspects of my life.
Money…you know you don't have enough to pay the bills. You're NEVER going to have enough. God's mad at you because you did X and so that's why you're not being blessed.
Work…seriously? You think you can switch occupations at YOUR age? Because of this ridiculous leap of faith of yours, this pipe dream…you don't have enough to take care of your BASIC NEEDS. What kind of woman ARE you? You CERTAINLY aren't creative enough to do this and you are SO SLOW…no one wants to buy your work because you are a TERRIBLE photographer. Just give up already and go back to doing what you were doing.
Marriage…my relationships with my kids…my grandkids…my mom…my dad…and on and on and on and on.
Yesterday was a particularly bad day. I had allowed fear to nearly paralyze me…the above phrases and more were on repeat in my mind and I literally could not move.
But somewhere in the midst of the whirlwind…a still small voice spoke.
"Choose joy."
Choose joy? Seriously? Are you kidding me God? Have You seen the wreck that is my life lately?
"Choose joy."
Funnily enough, He wasn't telling me something that I hadn't already resolved to do for myself for 2014. New Year's day I made an inner commitment to myself…I would choose joy.
So…as weak and beat down as I felt yesterday…I stood up. I took hold of my mind and forced myself to say positives anytime a negative thought came up. I spoke it out loud. I didn't feel courageous. I felt sort of stupid for (a) allowing myself to get in that type of mental shape and (b) for having to walk around muttering things to myself. Like a crazy cat lady.
When I got into the shower this morning I told myself out loud that I would choose joy. I had a job to do today. A job that I love desperately…that God gave to me. And no, it's not easy…it's very challenging to me. But it fulfills me in a deep way.
And it's not a job where I can walk around navel-gazing all day long. It will literally destroy the quality of my work and the amount of my income. So, after giving myself a stern talking to...I chose joy.
And guess what?
It worked.
Inside…the tumult has died down to a dull roar and I had a seriously good day in spite of the many challenges that came my way.
It occurred to me later this evening that my little stand had not been all that hard for me. It just took some ah, shall we say…cojones on my part to tell fear to just shut. up.
Buster is not healed. Money is still a problem. Work still presents difficult challenges. Butterbean is still an expert two year old and is totally winning the potty training war.
But so long as I choose joy…I am not defeated and there is room for Hope to work in me.
Praise God for joy. And if, like me, you have been struggling…take hold of it with both hands.
How you ask? Well…maybe you could:
Turn up the music and dance like a crazy person in the middle of your kitchen until you and your family are laughing hysterically.
Stand in your shower with the water and the tears streaming down your face and sing "I Will Survive" at the top of your lungs. Gloria Gaynor won't mind. Your neighbors might…but good ol' Gloria won't.
Go into your bedroom. Open up your Bible and read Psalm 107 all the way through. Let it sink in how many different ways God saves His people from their various predicaments.
Refuse to frown or grimace. Smile at every person who crosses your path. They will look at you like you're "special" at first, but then they'll smile back.
Last but not least…be grateful. Somebody somewhere ALWAYS has it worse than you do. Count your blessings and thank God for them.
You are amazing…and God has not given you a spirit of fear. He has given you a spirit of Power and a sound mind. So take authority over it and stop giving fear the time of day.
It's not worth it. Trust me.
P.S. ~ The whole "Gloria Gaynor" thing…and the dancing…thing…did not necessarily happen in this house. There are rumors, of course. Butterbean has been bribed to silence with M&M's and Fruit Loops…so don't EVEN try to get it out of her. She's rock solid. Mostly because even if she did tell you…you wouldn't be able to understand her. But a Mimi's gotta have a little insurance so…M&M's and Fruit Loops…they do a Mimi good.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Hide And Seek
Sooooooo…before I unpack the thoughts in my head that prompted this post, umm, remember last week when I was talking about how Butterbean moved out of my house?
Well.
She's back.
I know. If you listen closely you can hear the metallic clickety-clack of the cars on this roller coaster lining up to take yet another plunge into that happy little place I like to call Dante's Inferno.
Oh wait, is that name taken?
*sigh*
Without going into tons of details here, let me make clear that Butterbean and her baby brother Buster are both safe, loved, and well-cared for by their mom and dad. It's just that their mom and dad are young, and as such, they don't yet have the benefit of the wisdom that comes with age and experience.
Plus, I apparently haven't learned all I need to learn about God through Butterbean and Buster. So He's decided to give me another crack at it.
And sincemisery loves company I'm a generous soul, how's about hopping in the car and suffering thru a minor case of whiplash with me as we barrel towards this coaster's first incline? Oh come on. Suck in that gut and push down the safety bar! It'll be fun. I promise.
So yeah. Butterbean. And me. And God. Together again.
Butterbean is two now and one of her favorite night-time rituals is to be up on my lap, snuggled into her "pinka" (that's 'Beanspeak for 'blanket') rocking slowly back and forth in the glider.
And I confess, I don't exactly dislike that time with her.
Tonight, prior to the 'pinka' and the rocking and resultant snuggle-fest, Butterbean and I ended up in an impromptu game of hide and seek.
As in, I needed to go to the bathroom and what with Butterbean's affection for me, my bid for 5 minutes of privacy entails some Bond-like maneuvers that would make Jason Bourne weep with unrestrained envy.
'Cause y'all…Butterbean is just that good.
She knows my buttons and pushes them with all the accompanying joy and abandonment she can muster.
Plus, it doesn't help much when your heart turns into a whimpering pile of goo at the mere hint of oncoming cute-ness.
So…hide and seek. I was hiding. She was seeking. And for once, I managed to elude her for a minute.
Y'all I can't even describe the feelings of absolute delight listening to that little voice as she conversed with her mother while she tried to find me. I had such a time not giving myself away with my giggles as she searched the laundry basket looking for me. (Bless her heart for thinking my behind could fit into it.)
Just hearing her say "Mimi" and ask her Mommy in 'Beanspeak where I was sent little jolts of happy into my system. To say that my heart belongs to her is an understatement.
Now, I fully intended to reveal myself to Butterbean. But the deliciousness of listening to her little mind work as she searched for me, and the anticipation of the look on her face when I came out of hiding…it was worth the effort of concealment.
If you have a beloved child in your life, perhaps you've played this game. Because you know how precious the sound of those little feet running toward you are, how irreplaceable the sight of those little arms flung open wide as they move toward you in expectation of hugs, how indescribable it is to feel those little lips as they press against your cheek in a kiss, how the scent of that tiny head obliterates your heart as you are wrapped in the most joyous embrace.
It's during these types of moments that the Holy Spirit will speak to me. Nothing profound. Nothing earth-shattering. Most often, it's just little flashes of 'aha' moments.
Tonight I thought, "No wonder. No wonder He sometimes hides Himself."
If the way I feel about my Butterbean is the palest shade of grey in comparison to the incomprehensible rainbow of His feelings toward me…then it is no wonder.
And it makes me all the more eager to find Him.
Well.
She's back.
I know. If you listen closely you can hear the metallic clickety-clack of the cars on this roller coaster lining up to take yet another plunge into that happy little place I like to call Dante's Inferno.
Oh wait, is that name taken?
*sigh*
Without going into tons of details here, let me make clear that Butterbean and her baby brother Buster are both safe, loved, and well-cared for by their mom and dad. It's just that their mom and dad are young, and as such, they don't yet have the benefit of the wisdom that comes with age and experience.
Plus, I apparently haven't learned all I need to learn about God through Butterbean and Buster. So He's decided to give me another crack at it.
And since
So yeah. Butterbean. And me. And God. Together again.
Butterbean is two now and one of her favorite night-time rituals is to be up on my lap, snuggled into her "pinka" (that's 'Beanspeak for 'blanket') rocking slowly back and forth in the glider.
And I confess, I don't exactly dislike that time with her.
Tonight, prior to the 'pinka' and the rocking and resultant snuggle-fest, Butterbean and I ended up in an impromptu game of hide and seek.
As in, I needed to go to the bathroom and what with Butterbean's affection for me, my bid for 5 minutes of privacy entails some Bond-like maneuvers that would make Jason Bourne weep with unrestrained envy.
'Cause y'all…Butterbean is just that good.
She knows my buttons and pushes them with all the accompanying joy and abandonment she can muster.
Plus, it doesn't help much when your heart turns into a whimpering pile of goo at the mere hint of oncoming cute-ness.
So…hide and seek. I was hiding. She was seeking. And for once, I managed to elude her for a minute.
Y'all I can't even describe the feelings of absolute delight listening to that little voice as she conversed with her mother while she tried to find me. I had such a time not giving myself away with my giggles as she searched the laundry basket looking for me. (Bless her heart for thinking my behind could fit into it.)
Just hearing her say "Mimi" and ask her Mommy in 'Beanspeak where I was sent little jolts of happy into my system. To say that my heart belongs to her is an understatement.
Now, I fully intended to reveal myself to Butterbean. But the deliciousness of listening to her little mind work as she searched for me, and the anticipation of the look on her face when I came out of hiding…it was worth the effort of concealment.
If you have a beloved child in your life, perhaps you've played this game. Because you know how precious the sound of those little feet running toward you are, how irreplaceable the sight of those little arms flung open wide as they move toward you in expectation of hugs, how indescribable it is to feel those little lips as they press against your cheek in a kiss, how the scent of that tiny head obliterates your heart as you are wrapped in the most joyous embrace.
It's during these types of moments that the Holy Spirit will speak to me. Nothing profound. Nothing earth-shattering. Most often, it's just little flashes of 'aha' moments.
Tonight I thought, "No wonder. No wonder He sometimes hides Himself."
If the way I feel about my Butterbean is the palest shade of grey in comparison to the incomprehensible rainbow of His feelings toward me…then it is no wonder.
And it makes me all the more eager to find Him.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Shattered, Scattered, Smothered and Covered
Gosh, I was a little scared to come back here. Didn't even know if Blogger had saved my seat. Mystery solved! (Thanks Blogger!) Insert nervous chuckle and handwringing here.
Shew. This place smells and looks like the very thing that moved me to post today.
Defeat.
I've tasted a lot of it. Take my word for it, it tastes nasty. Maybe even worse than Regret. I'm not sure, but I do know that even the mention of those words leave an acrid, bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
Yuck.
So many things have happened since my last post. Butterbean moved out of my house…my son graduated high school and went into the Marines, and I became a Mimi for the 2nd time with the arrival of little Buster, who is now approaching 6 months old. I got inexplicably mad at God, as if somehow all the upheaval was His fault instead of just being the natural order of things, and promptly went into a long and protracted pity party.
Good times.
So the weight loss goal? Chucked it.
Slightly witty writing that hopefully lifted someone's day a bit? Gone.
But the navel-gazing? Check.
Crying incessantly and doing my best to drive my loved ones to the brink? Oh yeah, baby.
Depression, despair and disillusionment? Yep.
There were a few other things in there as well, but I'm pretty sure you've got the general idea. For the last 6 months or so, I've been a self-absorbed, myopic, asinine, and miserably boring pain in the ass.
I know…the language…but really, is there any other way to put it without sounding ridiculously pious?
So what's changed? Why now? Why here? Why would I think anyone even cares?
All I can tell you is God. Again.
God.
I whine, cry, throw myself down on the ground and throw ashes all over myself. He stands there, maybe rolls His eyes a bit at the drama, and He patiently holds out His hand and waits. And waits. And waits some more.
Every so often, a friend will stop by, see the spectacle, look at God, look at me, shake their head and sigh a bit. Then, (for reasons known only to Him) because God has given them a love for me, they'll speak a bit of truth into me.
For instance:
A couple of months ago, at a church function, I was whining to some friends about how I was having some "issues" with God. My friend very wisely looked at me and said, "It doesn't matter. He doesn't really care."
Now, my friend wasn't saying that God didn't care about me. Obviously, He does. What he was pointing out was that my "issues" weren't big enough to scare God off. God didn't care if I had issues or not. He loved me regardless.
I stopped sniveling just long enough to let that sink in. And Despair lost some of its grip.
So…here I am again. Scarred and not a little bit sheepish, but ready to share more information than you really want to know once more. Forgive my absence…and please forgive any silliness that may come from this point on.
I must say, I've missed you. You look lovely.
I know, sweetie. The winter has been long and dark and cold.
But, say it with me, spring is coming…and with it all the hope and joy and promise that He has set aside for His own…His beleaguered, battered and beloved.
So stick with me a little longer, eh? It's gonna be a fun ride.
Shew. This place smells and looks like the very thing that moved me to post today.
Defeat.
I've tasted a lot of it. Take my word for it, it tastes nasty. Maybe even worse than Regret. I'm not sure, but I do know that even the mention of those words leave an acrid, bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
Yuck.
So many things have happened since my last post. Butterbean moved out of my house…my son graduated high school and went into the Marines, and I became a Mimi for the 2nd time with the arrival of little Buster, who is now approaching 6 months old. I got inexplicably mad at God, as if somehow all the upheaval was His fault instead of just being the natural order of things, and promptly went into a long and protracted pity party.
Good times.
So the weight loss goal? Chucked it.
Slightly witty writing that hopefully lifted someone's day a bit? Gone.
But the navel-gazing? Check.
Crying incessantly and doing my best to drive my loved ones to the brink? Oh yeah, baby.
Depression, despair and disillusionment? Yep.
There were a few other things in there as well, but I'm pretty sure you've got the general idea. For the last 6 months or so, I've been a self-absorbed, myopic, asinine, and miserably boring pain in the ass.
I know…the language…but really, is there any other way to put it without sounding ridiculously pious?
So what's changed? Why now? Why here? Why would I think anyone even cares?
All I can tell you is God. Again.
God.
I whine, cry, throw myself down on the ground and throw ashes all over myself. He stands there, maybe rolls His eyes a bit at the drama, and He patiently holds out His hand and waits. And waits. And waits some more.
Every so often, a friend will stop by, see the spectacle, look at God, look at me, shake their head and sigh a bit. Then, (for reasons known only to Him) because God has given them a love for me, they'll speak a bit of truth into me.
For instance:
A couple of months ago, at a church function, I was whining to some friends about how I was having some "issues" with God. My friend very wisely looked at me and said, "It doesn't matter. He doesn't really care."
Now, my friend wasn't saying that God didn't care about me. Obviously, He does. What he was pointing out was that my "issues" weren't big enough to scare God off. God didn't care if I had issues or not. He loved me regardless.
I stopped sniveling just long enough to let that sink in. And Despair lost some of its grip.
So…here I am again. Scarred and not a little bit sheepish, but ready to share more information than you really want to know once more. Forgive my absence…and please forgive any silliness that may come from this point on.
I must say, I've missed you. You look lovely.
I know, sweetie. The winter has been long and dark and cold.
But, say it with me, spring is coming…and with it all the hope and joy and promise that He has set aside for His own…His beleaguered, battered and beloved.
So stick with me a little longer, eh? It's gonna be a fun ride.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
And Sometimes...You Just Wish Your Arms Would Fall Off
Y'all.
I did my first official work-out with a trainer today. Which means that I'm not really typing this post. I'm using my Jedi mind powers to manipulate the keyboard because my arms are in full-on rebellion right now.
My trainer is awesome and he decided (as made obvious by the title) that I needed a little work on my arms/upper body area. And well...I knew I was out of shape but OH MY WORD THE BURNING!!!
When it was all over, I was a sweating, quivering mass of Jell-O. I didn't cry and I didn't toss my cookies...but I may have said the Lord's name out loud once or twice.
In reverent prayer, of course. As in, "Oh Jesus. JE-sus. JAY-SUS!!! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY TAKE MY ARMS! TAKE 'EM LORD! They've been good to me! They don't deserve all this abuse! Do whatever is in Thy Holy Will to do with them just MAKE IT STOP!"
(Ok so maybe that was a little bit extreme and I didn't quite go there...but I wanted to.)
However sore my body may be...the thing is, I did it. And everytime my body said "Girl...you gon' hafta put a stop to this! We cain't do this!" I just remembered all the OTHER times my body said I couldn't...but I did.
Due an issue with my knee, I've decided to walk the 5k instead of run and lower the impact so as not to do major damage. So instead of walk/shuffle/walk I'm just walking.
But I'm walking longer and faster to compensate. I'm up to 30 minutes at a 3.7 mph clip. After that I've been hopping on to the elliptical for a 20 minute fat-burner session. Hopefully next week I'll be able to up my walking speed to almost 4 mph and do more time on the elliptical.
Plus the personal trainer work-outs.
It sounds like a lot, and it is...but I'm so determined to see this through. I've been off the sodas for about 6 weeks now, and I've been working out for three weeks. I lost another pound this week but more than that...I'm defeating the voices in my head that keep saying I can't.
Because y'all...Yes. I. Can. And the more I do it, the more my confidence grows. Each workout does more to chip away at the feelings of shame and defeat for having let myself get to this point.
I'm doing it.
I'll bet you can do it too.
Rotating on Mimi's playlist this week:
Revolution on the Dance Floor - I don't know who recorded this. My kids downloaded it.
California Gurls - Katy Perry
Bring It On - Lenny Kravitz
American Idiot- Green Day
So What - P!nk
Live and Let Die - GnR
Back in Black - AC/DC
Mama's Broken Heart - Miranda Lambert
What Was I Thinkin' - Dierks Bentley
Last Dance With Mary Jane - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
I did my first official work-out with a trainer today. Which means that I'm not really typing this post. I'm using my Jedi mind powers to manipulate the keyboard because my arms are in full-on rebellion right now.
My trainer is awesome and he decided (as made obvious by the title) that I needed a little work on my arms/upper body area. And well...I knew I was out of shape but OH MY WORD THE BURNING!!!
When it was all over, I was a sweating, quivering mass of Jell-O. I didn't cry and I didn't toss my cookies...but I may have said the Lord's name out loud once or twice.
In reverent prayer, of course. As in, "Oh Jesus. JE-sus. JAY-SUS!!! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY TAKE MY ARMS! TAKE 'EM LORD! They've been good to me! They don't deserve all this abuse! Do whatever is in Thy Holy Will to do with them just MAKE IT STOP!"
(Ok so maybe that was a little bit extreme and I didn't quite go there...but I wanted to.)
However sore my body may be...the thing is, I did it. And everytime my body said "Girl...you gon' hafta put a stop to this! We cain't do this!" I just remembered all the OTHER times my body said I couldn't...but I did.
Due an issue with my knee, I've decided to walk the 5k instead of run and lower the impact so as not to do major damage. So instead of walk/shuffle/walk I'm just walking.
But I'm walking longer and faster to compensate. I'm up to 30 minutes at a 3.7 mph clip. After that I've been hopping on to the elliptical for a 20 minute fat-burner session. Hopefully next week I'll be able to up my walking speed to almost 4 mph and do more time on the elliptical.
Plus the personal trainer work-outs.
It sounds like a lot, and it is...but I'm so determined to see this through. I've been off the sodas for about 6 weeks now, and I've been working out for three weeks. I lost another pound this week but more than that...I'm defeating the voices in my head that keep saying I can't.
Because y'all...Yes. I. Can. And the more I do it, the more my confidence grows. Each workout does more to chip away at the feelings of shame and defeat for having let myself get to this point.
I'm doing it.
I'll bet you can do it too.
Rotating on Mimi's playlist this week:
Revolution on the Dance Floor - I don't know who recorded this. My kids downloaded it.
California Gurls - Katy Perry
Bring It On - Lenny Kravitz
American Idiot- Green Day
So What - P!nk
Live and Let Die - GnR
Back in Black - AC/DC
Mama's Broken Heart - Miranda Lambert
What Was I Thinkin' - Dierks Bentley
Last Dance With Mary Jane - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Thursday, May 16, 2013
I Don't Have A Title For This Post
I know. Butterbean and I are all about keepin' it classy on the blog.
That and I just didn't have any titles that were doin' it for me, ya know?
So...remember the other day when I was all "Oh I don't know how much I weigh, I'm not worried about the number on the scale" and all that?
You don't? What...you don't think my issues with my weight is riveting blog material?
Whatevs. Just pretend you're interested.
Anyhoo last Thursday I ventured out to the Walmarts and bought myself a scale . And it only took an hour of some serious prayer and fasting before I figured out how to turn the thing on. I am all sorts of what the young folks call...tech savvy.
I hopped on the scale and the number was (embarrassingly enough) 2...1...4. YIKES! At 5'4" I should only weigh somewhere in the 125-135 range. That's roughly 90 pounds of extra baggage.
ERMAHGERRD I've been carrying around the equivalent of an 8th grade physics nerd for the past 20 years! Complete with pocket protector and horn-rimmed glasses!
(No offense to all you physics nerds out there. You guys are neat-o! And smarter than me!)
So yeah...that day was kind of a bummer...but I didn't let it get me down too much. I kept to the plan...I hopped back on the treadmill Monday and stepped up my game. 2 minutes of brisk walking and 90 seconds of jogging. To say that my body went into shock over Truffle Shuffling for 90 seconds straight would be like saying the Pope is Catholic. It's sort of an understatement.
First my calves started in with "Ummm hey lady...things are starting to heat up down here. How's about dialing it down just a hair?"
When that didn't work my knees started in with, "Hey...we're getting seriously ANNOYED with you and your exercising shenanigans."
My lungs couldn't talk to me because they were busy huffing and puffing, but I could sense they were somewhat put out.
But I didn't listen to them. Oh no. I just kept imagining I was that firework that Katy whatshername keeps singing about. I couldn't really help that. She was singing in my ear so...what was I to do?
Then I thought about what it would be like to just be able to listen to some music and bust a few moves without seriously endangering myself or others around me. I imagined myself in a sparkly outfit dancing and glittering across the stage and my spare tire spoke up and was all, "Easy there Beyonce ...two things are wrong with that scenario. 1) You have no rhythm and 2) You have no rhythm."
But I just rolled my eyes and kept on shuffling. And then...I weighed myself again on Tuesday.
The number on the scale said 2...0...9! 5 pounds in 4 days.
Y'all...when I saw that I broke into some dancing that would have made Beyoncé cry. Or cringe. I don't know which because 5 POUNDS! MIMI LOST 5 POUNDS!
Yeah. It was what you might call...A Moment. The first of many I'm sure.
That 8th grade Physics nerd is goin' down!
That and I just didn't have any titles that were doin' it for me, ya know?
So...remember the other day when I was all "Oh I don't know how much I weigh, I'm not worried about the number on the scale" and all that?
You don't? What...you don't think my issues with my weight is riveting blog material?
Whatevs. Just pretend you're interested.
Anyhoo last Thursday I ventured out to the Walmarts and bought myself a scale . And it only took an hour of some serious prayer and fasting before I figured out how to turn the thing on. I am all sorts of what the young folks call...tech savvy.
I hopped on the scale and the number was (embarrassingly enough) 2...1...4. YIKES! At 5'4" I should only weigh somewhere in the 125-135 range. That's roughly 90 pounds of extra baggage.
ERMAHGERRD I've been carrying around the equivalent of an 8th grade physics nerd for the past 20 years! Complete with pocket protector and horn-rimmed glasses!
(No offense to all you physics nerds out there. You guys are neat-o! And smarter than me!)
So yeah...that day was kind of a bummer...but I didn't let it get me down too much. I kept to the plan...I hopped back on the treadmill Monday and stepped up my game. 2 minutes of brisk walking and 90 seconds of jogging. To say that my body went into shock over Truffle Shuffling for 90 seconds straight would be like saying the Pope is Catholic. It's sort of an understatement.
First my calves started in with "Ummm hey lady...things are starting to heat up down here. How's about dialing it down just a hair?"
When that didn't work my knees started in with, "Hey...we're getting seriously ANNOYED with you and your exercising shenanigans."
My lungs couldn't talk to me because they were busy huffing and puffing, but I could sense they were somewhat put out.
But I didn't listen to them. Oh no. I just kept imagining I was that firework that Katy whatshername keeps singing about. I couldn't really help that. She was singing in my ear so...what was I to do?
Then I thought about what it would be like to just be able to listen to some music and bust a few moves without seriously endangering myself or others around me. I imagined myself in a sparkly outfit dancing and glittering across the stage and my spare tire spoke up and was all, "Easy there Beyonce ...two things are wrong with that scenario. 1) You have no rhythm and 2) You have no rhythm."
But I just rolled my eyes and kept on shuffling. And then...I weighed myself again on Tuesday.
The number on the scale said 2...0...9! 5 pounds in 4 days.
Y'all...when I saw that I broke into some dancing that would have made Beyoncé cry. Or cringe. I don't know which because 5 POUNDS! MIMI LOST 5 POUNDS!
Yeah. It was what you might call...A Moment. The first of many I'm sure.
That 8th grade Physics nerd is goin' down!
Monday, May 13, 2013
Jesus Jukin' The Gym
You all may remember that last week I began an exercise routine known as the Couch-5K.
Or as I like to call it, Death On A Treadmill.
The first time wasn't bad. I actually left the gym feeling like a boss, because I'd managed to do the thing and you know...not die.
On Tuesday and Wednesday last week I didn't do the workout, I just walked. Then Thursday rolled around and I went back to the gym. I popped my earbuds in and stepped on to the treadmill to do my version of the Truffle Shuffle, and my body was all, "Whoa. Wait...what? Didn't you do this Monday? Why do we need to do this again? Don't tell me you're gonna make me do this for reals!"
I was all, "Shut up. Just stop talking to me. I'm listening to Kelly Clarkson, and she says that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
To which my body replied, "Keep shuffling lady and I can make that happen."
But I prevailed. I showed my body that I was the boss of it and not the other way around. And then something strange happened...I began noticing a phenomenon that normally doesn't happen to me unless I'm in church and the preaching is particularly fiery and brimstoney-ish.
I was sweating.
It was oh so lovely to behold. In a smelly sort of way.
Friday I went back for more. My body began the usual arguments which then turned to pleading, and finally...to bargaining. But I wasn't having it. No ma'am.
I'll admit that it was a little difficult for me to get over how I must appear to everyone else who was working out. But I looked over to the right of me to the skinny Minnie who was climbing the stairs endlessly...only she was sidestepping her way up the stairs. She looked just as sweaty and ridiculous as I did. She caught my eye and by unspoken agreement, we looked tactfully away from each other and didn't fall off our machines laughing at our silly selves.
I took comfort in the fact that she probably felt more uncomfortable than I did.
Plus, I had unwittingly and single-handedly Jesus Juked the entire joint.
(Pretend that was a really smooth segue into what I'm about to tell you)
Years ago I participated in the March for Jesus. For those of you who may not remember, some people got together and thought Jesus wasn't being worshipped enough in public, so they came up with the March for Jesus. And they sold t-shirts. A friend of mine gave me one and I love it because it's soft and gi-normous. I had grabbed it for my work-out Friday morning and didn't really realize what I was doing until after.
It has a picture of Jesus and the Crown of Thorns on the front. On the back it says, "He walked for me, so I'll walk for Him."
Thereby informing everyone around me that this is not just a work-out for pleasure...oh no my young muscle-bound friends. I was there on a mission from God. (Name that movie!)
Now, if only Jesus and the Father did the Truffle Shuffle. It would make my suffering on this earth so very worthwhile. (Stop looking at me like that Holy Rollers! I'M JUST KIDDING!)
Or as I like to call it, Death On A Treadmill.
The first time wasn't bad. I actually left the gym feeling like a boss, because I'd managed to do the thing and you know...not die.
On Tuesday and Wednesday last week I didn't do the workout, I just walked. Then Thursday rolled around and I went back to the gym. I popped my earbuds in and stepped on to the treadmill to do my version of the Truffle Shuffle, and my body was all, "Whoa. Wait...what? Didn't you do this Monday? Why do we need to do this again? Don't tell me you're gonna make me do this for reals!"
I was all, "Shut up. Just stop talking to me. I'm listening to Kelly Clarkson, and she says that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
To which my body replied, "Keep shuffling lady and I can make that happen."
But I prevailed. I showed my body that I was the boss of it and not the other way around. And then something strange happened...I began noticing a phenomenon that normally doesn't happen to me unless I'm in church and the preaching is particularly fiery and brimstoney-ish.
I was sweating.
It was oh so lovely to behold. In a smelly sort of way.
Friday I went back for more. My body began the usual arguments which then turned to pleading, and finally...to bargaining. But I wasn't having it. No ma'am.
I'll admit that it was a little difficult for me to get over how I must appear to everyone else who was working out. But I looked over to the right of me to the skinny Minnie who was climbing the stairs endlessly...only she was sidestepping her way up the stairs. She looked just as sweaty and ridiculous as I did. She caught my eye and by unspoken agreement, we looked tactfully away from each other and didn't fall off our machines laughing at our silly selves.
I took comfort in the fact that she probably felt more uncomfortable than I did.
Plus, I had unwittingly and single-handedly Jesus Juked the entire joint.
(Pretend that was a really smooth segue into what I'm about to tell you)
Years ago I participated in the March for Jesus. For those of you who may not remember, some people got together and thought Jesus wasn't being worshipped enough in public, so they came up with the March for Jesus. And they sold t-shirts. A friend of mine gave me one and I love it because it's soft and gi-normous. I had grabbed it for my work-out Friday morning and didn't really realize what I was doing until after.
It has a picture of Jesus and the Crown of Thorns on the front. On the back it says, "He walked for me, so I'll walk for Him."
Thereby informing everyone around me that this is not just a work-out for pleasure...oh no my young muscle-bound friends. I was there on a mission from God. (Name that movie!)
Now, if only Jesus and the Father did the Truffle Shuffle. It would make my suffering on this earth so very worthwhile. (Stop looking at me like that Holy Rollers! I'M JUST KIDDING!)
Monday, May 6, 2013
Time For A Change
I love the color green y'all. It's one of my favorites...but honestly, with this new season of life that I'm in...I was getting a little tired of it.
So...TA-DA!!! How do you like it? I think it's pretty cool. The posts are a little easier to read...the blue fuzzy background reminds me of summertime and well...I like it. So you have to like it too. Because hey...my blog...my rules.
You might also want to take note of the added page at the top...Mimi's Movin' and Groovin.'
Cause y'all...I have passed the stage of being pleasingly plump. You can read all about the whys and wherefores and what's up with that's on the page, but basically, I'm tired of being old, worn-out, and fat.
I can't do anything about the first thing, but I can certainly work on the other two. All those old fears of "but I'll look ridiculous working out with all those skinny people" are being shot down with dosages of truth. Because the truth is...I can't look much more ridiculous than I do now. And it's only going to get worse with time, neglect, and gravity.
Besides...everybody's got their battles. That cute little 20-year old stick that's sweating out her soul on that stair master like she's Tallahassee searching for his all-elusive Twinkie? Honey, she could be fighting financial troubles, depression, family stuff, hassles at work, or...maybe she's like me and dealing with a body image/health issue. Or maybe it's just zombies. WHO KNOWS?
We all have our issues y'all...some are just better disguised than others. So why should I be concerned with how I look in front of someone who has her own personal brand of crazy to deal with?
Yep. That's what I thought.
So...a new look, a new journey, and...da da da da...a new grand-baby.
Thaaaaaat's right y'all...I'm 'boutta be a Mimi again! Come September, Butterbean's gonna have a baby brother...so I've got to think up a moniker for him. Maybe Butternut? Butterscotch? Butterfinger? I dunno. Some things just can't be forced. Some things require contemplation and the alignment of certain heavenly bodies...and a really good bottle of wine.
OH I KID.
I can't afford wine.
Well..y'all that about wraps it up for me today. Keep the 'Bean in your prayers...because one of her issues is being the ONE AND ONLY. We'll see how that works out for her this fall.
Should be more fun than fighting a herd of bloodthirsty zombies.
So...TA-DA!!! How do you like it? I think it's pretty cool. The posts are a little easier to read...the blue fuzzy background reminds me of summertime and well...I like it. So you have to like it too. Because hey...my blog...my rules.
You might also want to take note of the added page at the top...Mimi's Movin' and Groovin.'
Cause y'all...I have passed the stage of being pleasingly plump. You can read all about the whys and wherefores and what's up with that's on the page, but basically, I'm tired of being old, worn-out, and fat.
I can't do anything about the first thing, but I can certainly work on the other two. All those old fears of "but I'll look ridiculous working out with all those skinny people" are being shot down with dosages of truth. Because the truth is...I can't look much more ridiculous than I do now. And it's only going to get worse with time, neglect, and gravity.
Besides...everybody's got their battles. That cute little 20-year old stick that's sweating out her soul on that stair master like she's Tallahassee searching for his all-elusive Twinkie? Honey, she could be fighting financial troubles, depression, family stuff, hassles at work, or...maybe she's like me and dealing with a body image/health issue. Or maybe it's just zombies. WHO KNOWS?
We all have our issues y'all...some are just better disguised than others. So why should I be concerned with how I look in front of someone who has her own personal brand of crazy to deal with?
Yep. That's what I thought.
So...a new look, a new journey, and...da da da da...a new grand-baby.
Thaaaaaat's right y'all...I'm 'boutta be a Mimi again! Come September, Butterbean's gonna have a baby brother...so I've got to think up a moniker for him. Maybe Butternut? Butterscotch? Butterfinger? I dunno. Some things just can't be forced. Some things require contemplation and the alignment of certain heavenly bodies...and a really good bottle of wine.
OH I KID.
I can't afford wine.
Well..y'all that about wraps it up for me today. Keep the 'Bean in your prayers...because one of her issues is being the ONE AND ONLY. We'll see how that works out for her this fall.
Should be more fun than fighting a herd of bloodthirsty zombies.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Ohio...Where Church Gets Done Right
Y'all. I had the opportunity to go up to Ohio this past weekend and visit my cousin and her precious family.
The drive is easy...straight up I-75...for several hours. Then 3 rights and I'm there.
I was so looking forward to the weekend...I was going up to do some training and meet some fabulous people (Sara, Katie, Brandy...I'm looking at you here) and just do some all around gabbing and gossiping (Oh, I'm sorry Jessica...I meant to say "praying") and catching up in general.
My cousin is a hoot and even though she's lived in Ohio fora hundred years a while, she still has the most southern accent of anybody I know.
And that's saying something.
Anyhoo...as I was saying...the drive up to Ohio is pretty much a straight shot. Nothing much to see except gorgeous views from the top of Jellico Mountain, beautiful horse ranches in Kentucky, and breath-taking sprawling farmland in Ohio.
Oh...and then there was this:
Photo from The Ohio State University.
Okay, okay...there weren't really Ohio State fans standing there doing the O-H-I-O. But there was (I'll get to the "was" in a minute) what the locals lovingly referred to as "Touchdown Jesus."
Yep. That is one giant statue of...well...You Know Who.
(Unfortunately, as I was driving by...I couldn't just whip out my camera and take a picture for you since doing that at speeds of 70-ish miles an hour is not advisable by the Department of Transportation. Mimi did not want to end up in Jesus' arms right at that moment so she sagely followed that piece of advice.)
Now y'all...that is what I call doing church RIGHT. Wanna "cast your net" and "be a fisher of men?" Erect a giant Jesus statue in your front yard in full view of the highway. Why my goodness...the "fish" will be jumping into the net what with all the accidents caused by the copious amounts of rubbernecking! All you have to do is have a faithful group on standby to thump 'em on the head with the Word as they're being wheeled into the ambulance. This is nothing less than an act of sheer evangelical genius in my opinion.
But seriously y'all...here's what's kept me awake nights since I've seen this: why didn't they have Him doing the Heisman stance? It would be like He was saying to all the traveling sinners, "Stop! In the Name of Love! Beeefore yew braaaake my heart!" (Because that is totally how Jesus would sing that song.)
Anyways...turns out that maybe Jesus (As in..The One and Only) didn't like the "Touchdown" version since (true story, you can Google it) "Touchdown Jesus" got hit by lightning in a bad thunderstorm and burned right on down to the ground.
But make no mistake my friends...this sad development did not deter our Ohio-an brethren and sistren. Nosirree.
Lo, they picked themselves up off the ground, dusted themselves off andresurrected re-erected a new statue.
Photo by Sarahlobster (I did not make that name up) via Tumblr.
There ya go. The newly improved...more loving and huggable Jesus. Beat THAT southern bible belt-ers!
(Now...I know there are some of you reading this going..."but...but...how can you make fun of Jesus?" Honey-buns...I'm not making fun of Jesus. I love Him. But I am poking fun at the group of Master Gold Level Believers at the church where Huggable Jesus is located. However, I want you to know that though my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek, it is in sisterly love y'all. Sisterly love.)
The drive is easy...straight up I-75...for several hours. Then 3 rights and I'm there.
I was so looking forward to the weekend...I was going up to do some training and meet some fabulous people (Sara, Katie, Brandy...I'm looking at you here) and just do some all around gabbing and gossiping (Oh, I'm sorry Jessica...I meant to say "praying") and catching up in general.
My cousin is a hoot and even though she's lived in Ohio for
And that's saying something.
Anyhoo...as I was saying...the drive up to Ohio is pretty much a straight shot. Nothing much to see except gorgeous views from the top of Jellico Mountain, beautiful horse ranches in Kentucky, and breath-taking sprawling farmland in Ohio.
Oh...and then there was this:
Okay, okay...there weren't really Ohio State fans standing there doing the O-H-I-O. But there was (I'll get to the "was" in a minute) what the locals lovingly referred to as "Touchdown Jesus."
Yep. That is one giant statue of...well...You Know Who.
(Unfortunately, as I was driving by...I couldn't just whip out my camera and take a picture for you since doing that at speeds of 70-ish miles an hour is not advisable by the Department of Transportation. Mimi did not want to end up in Jesus' arms right at that moment so she sagely followed that piece of advice.)
Now y'all...that is what I call doing church RIGHT. Wanna "cast your net" and "be a fisher of men?" Erect a giant Jesus statue in your front yard in full view of the highway. Why my goodness...the "fish" will be jumping into the net what with all the accidents caused by the copious amounts of rubbernecking! All you have to do is have a faithful group on standby to thump 'em on the head with the Word as they're being wheeled into the ambulance. This is nothing less than an act of sheer evangelical genius in my opinion.
But seriously y'all...here's what's kept me awake nights since I've seen this: why didn't they have Him doing the Heisman stance? It would be like He was saying to all the traveling sinners, "Stop! In the Name of Love! Beeefore yew braaaake my heart!" (Because that is totally how Jesus would sing that song.)
Anyways...turns out that maybe Jesus (As in..The One and Only) didn't like the "Touchdown" version since (true story, you can Google it) "Touchdown Jesus" got hit by lightning in a bad thunderstorm and burned right on down to the ground.
But make no mistake my friends...this sad development did not deter our Ohio-an brethren and sistren. Nosirree.
Lo, they picked themselves up off the ground, dusted themselves off and
There ya go. The newly improved...more loving and huggable Jesus. Beat THAT southern bible belt-ers!
(Now...I know there are some of you reading this going..."but...but...how can you make fun of Jesus?" Honey-buns...I'm not making fun of Jesus. I love Him. But I am poking fun at the group of Master Gold Level Believers at the church where Huggable Jesus is located. However, I want you to know that though my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek, it is in sisterly love y'all. Sisterly love.)
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
All's "Hair" In Love And War
So just so that you don't think that Butterbean has dropped off of the face of the earth...(she totally hasn't...I mean but she HAS been a little busy what with walking and toddling and learning new words and basically being a toddler. She's swamped.)
Here's a little convo we had just recently. Please overlook the empty boxes and dead plants in the background. It's not that I'm against cleaning up my front porch, it's just that I didn't do it BEFORE I started clicking away.
So...Butterbean has a little bit of an issue with her hair. And she came to me, her very loving and very wise Mimi.
Butterbean: Ummm...hey Mimi???
Me: Yes my little love?
Butterbean: Um, well, um could you maybe help me out with something?
Me: Of course I can, my angel. What is it?
Butterbean: Oh, well...it's my hair I mean...
....just LOOK at it, it's just you know...LAYING there. And stuff.
Me: Uh-huh. I see. Well...have you thought about putting a little hair clip in it?
Butterbean: What's a hairclip?
Me: Well, I think I have one here (digging in pocket) um, yes, I do. Here ya go kid.
Butterbean: What the heck is THAT? It's the most WONDERFUL thing I have EVER SEEN IN MY WHOLE LIFE!!!
Me: 'Bean honey it's just a hair clip...let's dial down the enthusiasm just a bit mkay precious?
Butterbean: YAY!!! I HAVE IT!!! I HAVE THE HAIRCLIP!!!! LOOK IT'S A HAIRCLIP!!! BY THE POWERS OF GREYSKULL...(wait Mimi...that's from He-Man. I don't even know who He-Man is...)
Me: (Sorry) Um, yes baby, that's a hairclip. Here...let me show you how to put it in...
Butterbean: OKAY!
Butterbean: Uh...you're gonna give that back right? Mimi?
Butterbean: Man, she is totally ignoring me right now. I can't believe this. What's the deal here? Why did she take my hairclip? I loved it so.
Me: There you go precious! What do you think?
Butterbean: Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about. Beyonce' ain't got nothin' on me baby! Talk about puttin' a ring on it...huh...you betta put a HAIRCLIP on it girlfriend!
Butterbean: Hold on a minute Mimi, I think you need a close-up of this. Let me get on my ride and roll on over to you...
Me: Uh, 'Bean honey that's not really necessary...I have, like hundreds of shots here...
Butterbean: Let me just scoot on a little closer...you get your camera ready Mimi!
Me: Uh...Bean that's close baby...just um...you know...
Butterbean: Just. a. little. closer.
Me: 'Bean I'm bout to fall off the porch honey...
Butterbean: Almost....there....just...one...more...step
Me: Uh 'Bean, honey this isn't normal darling. Just BACK THAT PONY UP A LITTLE MIMI LOVES HER TOES DARLING!!! SHE'D LIKE TO KEEP THEM!!!
Butterbean: Are you ready Mimi?
Me: (Completely melted by those eyes) What toes?
Butterbean: So...how do I look?
Me: *sigh* Absolutely adorable.
Here's a little convo we had just recently. Please overlook the empty boxes and dead plants in the background. It's not that I'm against cleaning up my front porch, it's just that I didn't do it BEFORE I started clicking away.
So...Butterbean has a little bit of an issue with her hair. And she came to me, her very loving and very wise Mimi.
Me: Yes my little love?
Butterbean: Um, well, um could you maybe help me out with something?
Me: Of course I can, my angel. What is it?
Butterbean: Oh, well...it's my hair I mean...
Me: Uh-huh. I see. Well...have you thought about putting a little hair clip in it?
Butterbean: What's a hairclip?
Me: Well, I think I have one here (digging in pocket) um, yes, I do. Here ya go kid.
Me: 'Bean honey it's just a hair clip...let's dial down the enthusiasm just a bit mkay precious?
Me: (Sorry) Um, yes baby, that's a hairclip. Here...let me show you how to put it in...
Butterbean: Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about. Beyonce' ain't got nothin' on me baby! Talk about puttin' a ring on it...huh...you betta put a HAIRCLIP on it girlfriend!
Me: Uh, 'Bean honey that's not really necessary...I have, like hundreds of shots here...
Me: Uh...Bean that's close baby...just um...you know...
Me: 'Bean I'm bout to fall off the porch honey...
Me: Uh 'Bean, honey this isn't normal darling. Just BACK THAT PONY UP A LITTLE MIMI LOVES HER TOES DARLING!!! SHE'D LIKE TO KEEP THEM!!!
Butterbean: Are you ready Mimi?
Me: (Completely melted by those eyes) What toes?
Me: *sigh* Absolutely adorable.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Hi...I'm Mimi and I'm Melaninally Challenged...
Don't let the title confuse you. I'm not mentally challenged (contrary to popular belief in the Mimi Supreme household) I am melaninally challenged.
Melaninally challenged - to be unable to scrape up enough melanin to produce anything close to resembling a tan.
Webster's and Merriam you are welcome. I'll be expecting a share of the royalties soon after my pet sea monkeys arrive in the mail.
Look y'all...what I'm trying to say is...I am not only a white woman...I'm a pale white woman. And...I know...this is quite possibly the most trivial first-world problem EVER...but it IS an issue.
And OH do I ever have a lee-tle bone to pick with the local, ahem, "meteorologists" around here. Oh, I know, I know...you can't control the weather...blah blah blah, but here's the deal weather people:
If the month of the year is April, and you've got your happy (or as Phil Robertson would say...happy happy happy) little sunfaces showing on the tv screen here's what blows through the cavern that is my mind...
SUNSHINE + APRIL IN THE SOUTH = HOT! TIME TO BREAK OUT THE CAPRI-PANTS!
Thaaat's right. Just because I can't use the sun's rays for what God intended them for...perfect honey-kissed skin...doesn't mean I'm not still affected by them. I get WARM y'all! So I use the capris for some air-conditioning AU NATURAL.
Cause y'all...nobody wants to see Mimi sweat. Ain't nobody got time for that!
But what has happened this year? It's April. I've got the sunfaces, I've got the capris, I've got my pale-ashy skin...which is now turning a nice shade of blue because OH MY LORD THE COLD!!!!
The sun (and the weather people) has hoodwinked me y'all. I been had. I tell ya I been bamboozled. And a lot of sweet, innocent little passersby who woke up this morning with no idea of what was in store for them today are now having to have medical attention because SUNRAYS BOUNCING OFF OF PALE WHITE SKIN = TEMPORARY BLINDNESS.
Yes weather people...it's possible that you are responsible for a small yet very devastating public health hazard. Because even though Meatloaf thinks two out of three ain't bad (or in this instance, 4 out of 5) ..in some cases...it is.
Very bad.
The only silver lining in this whole thing is the looks on my kids faces when Mimi breaks these bad puppies out.
It almost makes it worth the frostbite.
Melaninally challenged - to be unable to scrape up enough melanin to produce anything close to resembling a tan.
Webster's and Merriam you are welcome. I'll be expecting a share of the royalties soon after my pet sea monkeys arrive in the mail.
Look y'all...what I'm trying to say is...I am not only a white woman...I'm a pale white woman. And...I know...this is quite possibly the most trivial first-world problem EVER...but it IS an issue.
And OH do I ever have a lee-tle bone to pick with the local, ahem, "meteorologists" around here. Oh, I know, I know...you can't control the weather...blah blah blah, but here's the deal weather people:
If the month of the year is April, and you've got your happy (or as Phil Robertson would say...happy happy happy) little sunfaces showing on the tv screen here's what blows through the cavern that is my mind...
SUNSHINE + APRIL IN THE SOUTH = HOT! TIME TO BREAK OUT THE CAPRI-PANTS!
Thaaat's right. Just because I can't use the sun's rays for what God intended them for...perfect honey-kissed skin...doesn't mean I'm not still affected by them. I get WARM y'all! So I use the capris for some air-conditioning AU NATURAL.
Cause y'all...nobody wants to see Mimi sweat. Ain't nobody got time for that!
But what has happened this year? It's April. I've got the sunfaces, I've got the capris, I've got my pale-ashy skin...which is now turning a nice shade of blue because OH MY LORD THE COLD!!!!
The sun (and the weather people) has hoodwinked me y'all. I been had. I tell ya I been bamboozled. And a lot of sweet, innocent little passersby who woke up this morning with no idea of what was in store for them today are now having to have medical attention because SUNRAYS BOUNCING OFF OF PALE WHITE SKIN = TEMPORARY BLINDNESS.
Yes weather people...it's possible that you are responsible for a small yet very devastating public health hazard. Because even though Meatloaf thinks two out of three ain't bad (or in this instance, 4 out of 5) ..in some cases...it is.
Very bad.
The only silver lining in this whole thing is the looks on my kids faces when Mimi breaks these bad puppies out.
It almost makes it worth the frostbite.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Why I'm Not God
I know the posts here have been extremely few and far between. Sorry about that. I've been keeping quiet lately, trying to read more of the Word, and live more of the Word...rather than just run my mouth about it.
I'm writing today because a Big Event is happening and I have Some Thoughts.
Big Thoughts if you will.
My son, the younger of my two, is about to graduate from high school in a few months. So naturally he's been thinking rather hard about Life After High School.
His father and I have been insisting on college since he was old enough to pronounce the word. I mean, that's what all good parents in America do, right? Education is the key to the American Dream, so we pushed and shoved for college right out of the gate.
But college is our dream.
Not his.
Ever since he was little, and I mean 4 or 5 years old, my son has talked about being in the military. When he got to be around 7 or 8 he started talking about it a lot. When he was in middle school, his favorite channel became The Military Channel. And it was about that time that he started talking about being a Marine.
Now...I can't say I'm thrilled about this dream. I'm just not. I'm proud of him, and I support him to the fullest...but I do not like this idea.
We thought we had him talked into at least trying a semester at college at UT Chattanooga. Then last week he came home with the news that he'd met a Marine recruiter at his school during lunch, and wanted us to go and meet with him to talk about...things.
It became crystal clear to me in that moment that this really wasn't going to go away. This wasn't just a pipe dream for him. He is going to become a Marine.
Later that night after much pleading for prayer at church, (it was a Wednesday...thank goodness) it occurred to me that I could cry and beg and plead...and probably get him to enter college. But it also occurred to me that perhaps if I did that, I would be standing in the way of God's plan for C. And here's where it gets really nasty.
Everybody knows that the Marines are the first ones into battle. And given that our country is still engaged in Afghanistan...and may possibly make a move on Syria...my concern for my son's well being is well founded.
Especially when I look at the people in this country. Do I want my son sacrificing his youth and possibly his life defending freedom not just for the people here, but elsewhere in the world?
Um...no.
I mean c'mon...we're talking everybody here. Righteous and unrighteous. Deserving and undeserving. People who wouldn't so much as spit on my son if he were on fire. Do you see where I'm going?
Why should my son possibly give up his life to protect freedom for murderers...rapists...child molesters...and on and on and on. Do they know his heart? That this isn't only a dream to him...but a driving force from within? He feels compelled to stand for us. That he would be less of a man, less of an American, if he doesn't do it.
Have any of those people in Congress..the ones who have the power to send him to war on a whim seen his sweet smile? The tenderness of his heart? Was the President there when he was born? The politicians and judges and all in charge, did they watch him endure taunting and bullying only to persevere and be given awards and be recognized by his football coaches and peers as a man of integrity and character? He could have turned nasty with all that he's been through...but he didn't. He forgave and loved and moved on.
I'm not a wealthy person...the ONLY treasure I have outside of Jesus is my children. THEY (and Butterbean) are my most precious possessions. And I'm sorry...I just don't love you enough to give ANY of them up for you. Especially not my son.
Which is why I'm not God.
If I had to sacrifice my son to satisfy the requirement of the Law...you'd better believe I'd be making dang sure you all were worth it. And from where I sit...no one would make the cut. You would all need to be making room in your suitcases for marshmallows and weenies because I hear hell is only good for roasting things.
So thankfully for you, where I sit is not where God sits.
He is seated high above, He knows all, loves all, and His wisdom and understanding have no limit. For God...you, me, everybody...even the politicians...are worth it.
I don't get it, don't understand it, but that's the way it is. He has deemed you worthy of the Greatest Treasure, the Daystar, the Lily of the Valley, the Rose of Sharon.
And as I learn, oh so painfully, the greatness of this cost, I join my voice with Paul's and implore you (and myself) to "walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." Eph. 4:1 (NASB)
I hope you hear my heart in this. The cost for freedom, spiritual and physical, is so high that we there isn't a measuring instrument or scale able to truly count it or weigh it. Therefore we have a duty first as Christians, and secondly as Americans, to walk in a way that honors Christ first, and then those who gave years of their lives away from families, who gave their sanity, their bodies, their fortunes, and for some...their lives...so that it won't have been for nothing.
We owe so much...it is the least we can do.
I'm writing today because a Big Event is happening and I have Some Thoughts.
Big Thoughts if you will.
My son, the younger of my two, is about to graduate from high school in a few months. So naturally he's been thinking rather hard about Life After High School.
His father and I have been insisting on college since he was old enough to pronounce the word. I mean, that's what all good parents in America do, right? Education is the key to the American Dream, so we pushed and shoved for college right out of the gate.
But college is our dream.
Not his.
Ever since he was little, and I mean 4 or 5 years old, my son has talked about being in the military. When he got to be around 7 or 8 he started talking about it a lot. When he was in middle school, his favorite channel became The Military Channel. And it was about that time that he started talking about being a Marine.
Now...I can't say I'm thrilled about this dream. I'm just not. I'm proud of him, and I support him to the fullest...but I do not like this idea.
We thought we had him talked into at least trying a semester at college at UT Chattanooga. Then last week he came home with the news that he'd met a Marine recruiter at his school during lunch, and wanted us to go and meet with him to talk about...things.
It became crystal clear to me in that moment that this really wasn't going to go away. This wasn't just a pipe dream for him. He is going to become a Marine.
Later that night after much pleading for prayer at church, (it was a Wednesday...thank goodness) it occurred to me that I could cry and beg and plead...and probably get him to enter college. But it also occurred to me that perhaps if I did that, I would be standing in the way of God's plan for C. And here's where it gets really nasty.
Everybody knows that the Marines are the first ones into battle. And given that our country is still engaged in Afghanistan...and may possibly make a move on Syria...my concern for my son's well being is well founded.
Especially when I look at the people in this country. Do I want my son sacrificing his youth and possibly his life defending freedom not just for the people here, but elsewhere in the world?
Um...no.
I mean c'mon...we're talking everybody here. Righteous and unrighteous. Deserving and undeserving. People who wouldn't so much as spit on my son if he were on fire. Do you see where I'm going?
Why should my son possibly give up his life to protect freedom for murderers...rapists...child molesters...and on and on and on. Do they know his heart? That this isn't only a dream to him...but a driving force from within? He feels compelled to stand for us. That he would be less of a man, less of an American, if he doesn't do it.
Have any of those people in Congress..the ones who have the power to send him to war on a whim seen his sweet smile? The tenderness of his heart? Was the President there when he was born? The politicians and judges and all in charge, did they watch him endure taunting and bullying only to persevere and be given awards and be recognized by his football coaches and peers as a man of integrity and character? He could have turned nasty with all that he's been through...but he didn't. He forgave and loved and moved on.
I'm not a wealthy person...the ONLY treasure I have outside of Jesus is my children. THEY (and Butterbean) are my most precious possessions. And I'm sorry...I just don't love you enough to give ANY of them up for you. Especially not my son.
Which is why I'm not God.
If I had to sacrifice my son to satisfy the requirement of the Law...you'd better believe I'd be making dang sure you all were worth it. And from where I sit...no one would make the cut. You would all need to be making room in your suitcases for marshmallows and weenies because I hear hell is only good for roasting things.
So thankfully for you, where I sit is not where God sits.
He is seated high above, He knows all, loves all, and His wisdom and understanding have no limit. For God...you, me, everybody...even the politicians...are worth it.
I don't get it, don't understand it, but that's the way it is. He has deemed you worthy of the Greatest Treasure, the Daystar, the Lily of the Valley, the Rose of Sharon.
And as I learn, oh so painfully, the greatness of this cost, I join my voice with Paul's and implore you (and myself) to "walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." Eph. 4:1 (NASB)
I hope you hear my heart in this. The cost for freedom, spiritual and physical, is so high that we there isn't a measuring instrument or scale able to truly count it or weigh it. Therefore we have a duty first as Christians, and secondly as Americans, to walk in a way that honors Christ first, and then those who gave years of their lives away from families, who gave their sanity, their bodies, their fortunes, and for some...their lives...so that it won't have been for nothing.
We owe so much...it is the least we can do.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
A City On A Hill
Well y'all, I've been thinking about some stuff tonight. So hold on to your hats, go pee or whatever because this could get lengthy.
One might say that I've been in a bit of a funk the past several months. No need to go into specifics...I'm sure everybody's been like that at one time or another.
Aforementioned funkiness (yeahhh...let's go with THAT word...funkiness...eatcha heart out Chaka Khan...) being the reason that posts have been pretty sparse around here. Because really? Who wants to read about a somewhat middle-aged woman whining about her stuff?
Nobody. That's who.
Fortunately for me though, I have a Heavenly Father who is so crazy about me that He will go to any lengths, use any method, any tool, even go so far as to send His one and only to die for me...so that I can be rescued from myself and live.
I shouldn't have been surprised by it all really. I had been crying out for some time that my passion for Him just wasn't there anymore. That I needed to get rid of some pride, do this, do that...anything to be enough.
Enough for Him.
*sigh* Silly rabbit, all works and no grace is for Pharisees.
So...
I sorta, kinda got my wish to have my fire re-kindled, my passion re-inflamed, my hope restored and made fresh. But it came at a heavy price.
See...here's the thing...sometimes, in order to be filled or, re-filled, with something...it means you gotta get rid of something. In my case, it was a big old giant that I thought was dead, but was really only wounded...and he came back with some of his brothers to set up house, because I merrily refused to deal with him fully in the first place.
All that to say, this battle has got me stirred up. And really, me and God are doing good...we're cleaning house if you catch what I'm doing here. Because all of the funk drove me to my knees and forced me to pray something I hadn't prayed in a while.
God...You are God and I am not. God...give me back my hunger....give me back my passion for You...give me an all-consuming love for You again.
So yeah...me and God have this fiery romance thing going on right now. And it's awesome because I know this is a seismic shift in my life.
I will never, ever be the same again.
And in all of this, just today, I began to think about passion and about how I got passionate for God in the first place...if you'd like to know (and you sort of don't have a choice here. Well...you do, but you'll have to sort of like, leave and not read the rest of this post...so...) I'll be glad to share with you.
Quite simply...the way I started to hunger for a passion for God was...well...I hung out with passionate people. One friend of mine in particular sort of set the whole thing off.
So it's her fault...thankfully.
I won't call her by her given name here...we'll just let her be known as 'Netters.
She and I crossed paths in a tiny little church many moons ago. We instantly connected because, it was hard not to love somebody who was so...out there and ga-ga over the moon for Jesus.
She's a talented singer and musician but it's not so much her talent...it's how she sings...she gives her whole self..and I had never, ever seen anybody in any little bitty church sing to God like that.
I asked her once how she did it. She said it like this, "When I'm up there on that piano stool, it's just me and God." I couldn't figure it out, since obviously, it wasn't just her and God...myself and the rest of the congregation were there too.
And it wasn't just how she sang...it was how she lived. She was so eager to talk about Jesus and to learn about Him, and was so fascinated with Him. What can I say? I was jealous.
And God used her to light a holy and beautiful brushfire within me.
So to my dear friend...I am thinking of you once again today as I re-start and re-kindle and re-fill. I can see you, tears streaming down your face, smiling and singing with your whole body...telling everyone about how the old story would never grow old for you.
I give thanks to God that He put you in my path...because I was forever and irrevocably changed. You unashamedly put your lamp out on a lampstand and lit up the whole house. You were the city that was set up on a hill for me and in you...He could not be hidden.
Thank you for that.
One might say that I've been in a bit of a funk the past several months. No need to go into specifics...I'm sure everybody's been like that at one time or another.
Aforementioned funkiness (yeahhh...let's go with THAT word...funkiness...eatcha heart out Chaka Khan...) being the reason that posts have been pretty sparse around here. Because really? Who wants to read about a somewhat middle-aged woman whining about her stuff?
Nobody. That's who.
Fortunately for me though, I have a Heavenly Father who is so crazy about me that He will go to any lengths, use any method, any tool, even go so far as to send His one and only to die for me...so that I can be rescued from myself and live.
I shouldn't have been surprised by it all really. I had been crying out for some time that my passion for Him just wasn't there anymore. That I needed to get rid of some pride, do this, do that...anything to be enough.
Enough for Him.
*sigh* Silly rabbit, all works and no grace is for Pharisees.
So...
I sorta, kinda got my wish to have my fire re-kindled, my passion re-inflamed, my hope restored and made fresh. But it came at a heavy price.
See...here's the thing...sometimes, in order to be filled or, re-filled, with something...it means you gotta get rid of something. In my case, it was a big old giant that I thought was dead, but was really only wounded...and he came back with some of his brothers to set up house, because I merrily refused to deal with him fully in the first place.
All that to say, this battle has got me stirred up. And really, me and God are doing good...we're cleaning house if you catch what I'm doing here. Because all of the funk drove me to my knees and forced me to pray something I hadn't prayed in a while.
God...You are God and I am not. God...give me back my hunger....give me back my passion for You...give me an all-consuming love for You again.
So yeah...me and God have this fiery romance thing going on right now. And it's awesome because I know this is a seismic shift in my life.
I will never, ever be the same again.
And in all of this, just today, I began to think about passion and about how I got passionate for God in the first place...if you'd like to know (and you sort of don't have a choice here. Well...you do, but you'll have to sort of like, leave and not read the rest of this post...so...) I'll be glad to share with you.
Quite simply...the way I started to hunger for a passion for God was...well...I hung out with passionate people. One friend of mine in particular sort of set the whole thing off.
So it's her fault...thankfully.
I won't call her by her given name here...we'll just let her be known as 'Netters.
She and I crossed paths in a tiny little church many moons ago. We instantly connected because, it was hard not to love somebody who was so...out there and ga-ga over the moon for Jesus.
She's a talented singer and musician but it's not so much her talent...it's how she sings...she gives her whole self..and I had never, ever seen anybody in any little bitty church sing to God like that.
I asked her once how she did it. She said it like this, "When I'm up there on that piano stool, it's just me and God." I couldn't figure it out, since obviously, it wasn't just her and God...myself and the rest of the congregation were there too.
And it wasn't just how she sang...it was how she lived. She was so eager to talk about Jesus and to learn about Him, and was so fascinated with Him. What can I say? I was jealous.
And God used her to light a holy and beautiful brushfire within me.
So to my dear friend...I am thinking of you once again today as I re-start and re-kindle and re-fill. I can see you, tears streaming down your face, smiling and singing with your whole body...telling everyone about how the old story would never grow old for you.
I give thanks to God that He put you in my path...because I was forever and irrevocably changed. You unashamedly put your lamp out on a lampstand and lit up the whole house. You were the city that was set up on a hill for me and in you...He could not be hidden.
Thank you for that.
You are the light of the world. A city set upon a hill cannot be hidden. Nor does anyone light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven. Matthew 5:14-16 (NASB)
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
I am Jean Valjean
One word from him and I'd be back
Beneath the lash, upon the rack
Instead he offers me my freedom
I feel my shame inside me like a knife
He told me that I have a soul,
How does he know?
What spirit comes to move my life?
Is there another way to go?
I am reaching, but I fall
And the night is closing in
And I stare into the void
To the whirlpool of my sin
I'll escape now from the world
From the world of Jean Valjean
Jean Valjean is nothing now
Another story must begin!
Beneath the lash, upon the rack
Instead he offers me my freedom
I feel my shame inside me like a knife
He told me that I have a soul,
How does he know?
What spirit comes to move my life?
Is there another way to go?
I am reaching, but I fall
And the night is closing in
And I stare into the void
To the whirlpool of my sin
I'll escape now from the world
From the world of Jean Valjean
Jean Valjean is nothing now
Another story must begin!
(Lyrics from Who Am I? as sung by Jean Valjean.
From Les Mis
Written by Claude-Michel Schonenberg and Alain Boublil)
I was blessed by an opportunity to go see the movie/musical Les Mis this past weekend. My sweet son was my date. He actually was the one who convinced me to go. Y'all I don't normally go to the movies. (Because hello...$40 for 2 cokes and a popcorn is not my idea of a good time.)
Usually I just wait for movies to get to On-Demand before I watch them. But my son said I just had to go and see this movie. He had seen it over the Christmas break and offered to go see it again if I'd go with him.
Well...long story short (too late for that...sorry) we went.
And y'all.
Y'all.
Y'ALL.
I was quite simply...blown away. It's been 4 days and I still haven't quite recovered. How Hollywood managed to put out a movie that proclaimed the Gospel of Grace so wonderfully and beautifully without totally cutting the Lord out of the picture is nothing short of a true-blue miracle.
True. Blue.
I'm telling you I practically floated out of that movie theater. I had to because we had flooded the dang thing with tears. Seriously...my son said it sounded like a symphony in there what with all the sobbing and sniffling and nose blowing. And when the rest of the audience got into the act...well...I'll just leave it to your imagination.
The movie...it is a tear-jerker. So take some Kleen-ex with you. Don't be like yours truly and think "Oh I'm not gonna cry."
Yes. Yes you will.
The lady to the left of me said she would've shared but she could only find one measley kleenex and it had to last her the entire 2 and 1/2 hours. I'm guessing she hasn't heard of our Lord's miracle of the fishes and the loaves but whatever.
The two sweet little girls sitting next to my son didn't speak English very well (bless 'em) and they spent the entire movie sobbing in Chinese. I didn't know that was possible but it is.
So yeah. Tears. They will flow like a river.
But they will be good tears...especially at the end and you smack yourself in the head and realize the full message of what Mr. Hugo (author of the novel Les Miserables which is what the musical is based upon) had to say. Not that I did that. I'm speaking hypothetically of course.
The whole thing is uplifting and glorious in ways that Hugh Jackman's shamefully absent (and sadly missed) sideburns have striven-to-be-but-never-quite-made-it in all those X-men movies.
It is what going to the movies should be.
So don't wait for On-Demand. Shell out the bucks and go. It's worth it.
But please, for the love of all you and yours hold dear...refrain from singing "I Dreamed A Dream" mournfully to yourself in the shower the next morning as you ready yourself for work. You may find yourself in a puddle (ha...you see what I did there right?) shivering and sobbing in a fetal position on the floor when your husband starts pounding on the bathroom door complaining that he's late and he's gotta get ready too for Pete's sake.
But at least if it does happen you can reach up and grab some toilet paper for your nose. If you've remembered to change the roll of course.
But again...that's just a hypothetical.
Friday, December 7, 2012
The Name
I was thinking the other day, while driving in my car, about the name of Jesus. More specifically, I was thinking about the honor and the privilege that I have in being able to speak it with boldness and confidence.
I was thinking what a wonder it is that I'm allowed to breathe out the syllables of His name at all.
I can't really explain it, but I bet if you got alone by yourself for a minute and closed your eyes and really concentrated on Jesus and Him alone for a few minutes...you'd begin to possibly understand the magnitude of what I'm speaking about here.
Jesus is awesome, and awe-inspiring...not to mention Holy. To be in His presence is to not only be instantly filled with love and adoration, but also horror. Horror at the sin that has now been made glaringly apparent in His light.
Imperfections that once seemed minor and inconsequential are now unmasked for what they truly are...pure, stinking, rotting death. Separation, rebellion, disobedience. Evil.
Surely someone with such defilements would be completely reviled by The Holy One. Someone who bitterly rages about having to forgive that certain someone over and over while blithely overlooking her own shortcomings and need for constant forgiveness...that type of hypocrisy would most certainly be shunned by The Eternal right?
Instead, we are granted the unspeakable grace of being allowed into His Presence at the merest whisper of His Name, and when the Light shines on all those imperfections, we are offered a trade.
Our weakness for His strength.
Our frailties and disease for His wholeness and healing.
Our utter depravity for His righteousness.
On and on the list goes. His goodness knows no end and His kindness endures from generation to generation.
There is only one catch to this whole deal.
We must choose to trade. We cannot knowingly hold onto evil with one hand and expect to touch His heart with the other.
We must choose.
I'm sure you've noticed the silence here at Mimi and Butterbean these past few months. Perhaps someday I'll be able to share about it all, but at this time, part of my choosing means letting all of what has passed...go.
And so...once again I breathe The Name of Names.
It is at once a prayer and a praise, for things I'm letting go of, and the things I will receive in this ridiculously upside-down trade.
Pray with me? Choose with me?
Let's let what has passed in the old year go its way. And as we breathe in and out, uttering the Holiest of Holies, may we let the Light wash over us and fill us with joy and hope for the new year to come.
I was thinking what a wonder it is that I'm allowed to breathe out the syllables of His name at all.
I can't really explain it, but I bet if you got alone by yourself for a minute and closed your eyes and really concentrated on Jesus and Him alone for a few minutes...you'd begin to possibly understand the magnitude of what I'm speaking about here.
Jesus is awesome, and awe-inspiring...not to mention Holy. To be in His presence is to not only be instantly filled with love and adoration, but also horror. Horror at the sin that has now been made glaringly apparent in His light.
Imperfections that once seemed minor and inconsequential are now unmasked for what they truly are...pure, stinking, rotting death. Separation, rebellion, disobedience. Evil.
Surely someone with such defilements would be completely reviled by The Holy One. Someone who bitterly rages about having to forgive that certain someone over and over while blithely overlooking her own shortcomings and need for constant forgiveness...that type of hypocrisy would most certainly be shunned by The Eternal right?
Instead, we are granted the unspeakable grace of being allowed into His Presence at the merest whisper of His Name, and when the Light shines on all those imperfections, we are offered a trade.
Our weakness for His strength.
Our frailties and disease for His wholeness and healing.
Our utter depravity for His righteousness.
On and on the list goes. His goodness knows no end and His kindness endures from generation to generation.
There is only one catch to this whole deal.
We must choose to trade. We cannot knowingly hold onto evil with one hand and expect to touch His heart with the other.
We must choose.
I'm sure you've noticed the silence here at Mimi and Butterbean these past few months. Perhaps someday I'll be able to share about it all, but at this time, part of my choosing means letting all of what has passed...go.
And so...once again I breathe The Name of Names.
It is at once a prayer and a praise, for things I'm letting go of, and the things I will receive in this ridiculously upside-down trade.
Pray with me? Choose with me?
Let's let what has passed in the old year go its way. And as we breathe in and out, uttering the Holiest of Holies, may we let the Light wash over us and fill us with joy and hope for the new year to come.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Season Of Shut Yer Mouth
Well...y'all...Mimi has been going through a time. A time.
*insert deep dramatic sigh here*
On a lighter note, I have discovered that I'm somewhat in love with Duck Dynasty.
Have you seen it yet? Oh my word if not, then please do all you can do to clear your schedule and take a gander. It's a hoot. It's clean, funny, and for once, there's not a bunch of scantily-clad 40-ish women doing all they can to destroy one another's weave.
So.
As I type, a Duck Dynasty marathon is on and I've laughed more this evening than I have in a while.
Because...did I mention I've been going through a time? To say I've been a bit concerned and a little on edge lately would unfortunately be an understatement. And to make matters worse, the lesson for Mimi through all of this hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing has been to keep her mouth shut.
Which is not exactly something I'm familiar with, all bloggy evidence to the contrary.
And if I go a bit further here and be really brutally honest here...my real problem hasn't been my circumstances...my real problem has been me.
I still have a control issue.
The good news is...I am making strides and while I've suffered a lot of defeat...I've also had some small victories.
So yay God. You're awesome and Holy and Wonderful and all that I need. You're faithful when I'm faithless and have patiently endured my raging and tenderly calmed my fears. I am Yours...I belong to You...do with me and mine as You see fit.
And oh...if You could somehow arrange a meeting between me and Phil and Miss Kay...that would help to heal a lot of wounds. Because they own lots and lots of guns, Jesus...and I have a feeling Imma need one soon.
Just kidding.
Sort of.
*insert deep dramatic sigh here*
On a lighter note, I have discovered that I'm somewhat in love with Duck Dynasty.
Have you seen it yet? Oh my word if not, then please do all you can do to clear your schedule and take a gander. It's a hoot. It's clean, funny, and for once, there's not a bunch of scantily-clad 40-ish women doing all they can to destroy one another's weave.
So.
As I type, a Duck Dynasty marathon is on and I've laughed more this evening than I have in a while.
Because...did I mention I've been going through a time? To say I've been a bit concerned and a little on edge lately would unfortunately be an understatement. And to make matters worse, the lesson for Mimi through all of this hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing has been to keep her mouth shut.
Which is not exactly something I'm familiar with, all bloggy evidence to the contrary.
And if I go a bit further here and be really brutally honest here...my real problem hasn't been my circumstances...my real problem has been me.
I still have a control issue.
The good news is...I am making strides and while I've suffered a lot of defeat...I've also had some small victories.
So yay God. You're awesome and Holy and Wonderful and all that I need. You're faithful when I'm faithless and have patiently endured my raging and tenderly calmed my fears. I am Yours...I belong to You...do with me and mine as You see fit.
And oh...if You could somehow arrange a meeting between me and Phil and Miss Kay...that would help to heal a lot of wounds. Because they own lots and lots of guns, Jesus...and I have a feeling Imma need one soon.
Just kidding.
Sort of.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
One Year Later
Well...it's here. The anniversary we didn't want to have.
It's been one year since you left us. Well...maybe I should correct that. You left us a long time ago, but your body didn't give out until a year ago.
A lot has changed in this past year. A lot has stayed the same. I'm still married to your son. I still love him and he still loves me (most times) and we still fight to stay together every day.
Your grandbabies are now adults mostly. K will be 20 this year and C will be 18. And your great-grandbaby...sweet Butterbean, will soon be a year old. You never got to meet her in the flesh. You left 6 weeks before she arrived. 6 measley weeks.
You would not believe how much she is K made over. You would be in love with her and she would be in love with you. I wish that the anticipation of her arrival had been enough to convince you to stay.
I wish we would have been enough...your family. I know losing your husband six months earlier was hard. It was unbearable for all of us. But seriously...you couldn't have fought a little harder? Worked a little more to find a reason to live?
Butterbean has her mama's eyes. And the exact same hair. There are days when her Bops and I look at her and it takes our breath because she reminds us so strongly of K when she was that age. She'll be walking in a few short weeks. And not long after that we'll be celebrating her first birthday.
And we'll be thinking of you. And wishing you were here.
I remember when K turned a year old and those first years as a mother. Man, I was so insecure and so uptight about everything. You and I definitely did not see eye to eye on a lot of things as far as she was concerned, but there was one thing I was never in doubt about. I knew you loved her.
Probably in ways you didn't even think you could love. I'm sure it took you by surprise. I know you didn't want to be a grandmother at that time. I know you were too young.
I know because I'm too young.
But none of that mattered once the baby arrived. All that mattered was her and making sure she was loved and spoiled in all the ways a granddaughter should be. I'm sorry I ruined some of that for you by being so insecure and so worried about things that didn't matter.
I'm sorry I helped to make it into a competition for you. I get it now. I know what it's like to try to erase regret by trying to be Mimi Supreme. I'm trying not to do that to K but it's very hard. She doesn't have the benefit of hindsight like you and I do. I keep trying to remember that, but I fail at it a lot.
I believe that you have finally found the peace that eluded you here on earth, because I believe in the mighty hand of our merciful and just God. I know that you see and know now, all the things you couldn't see and know before. And I'm glad. I'm glad you can finally see all the love that we have had for you all these years. I'm glad you can finally rest enough to let it in.
I just wanted to say that to you today.
And that even through all of the crap, and the what ifs, and the wishing it could have been otherwise...we still love you.
I still love you.
I wish you were here. *sigh*
But you're not.
Anyway...happy anniversary.
It's been one year since you left us. Well...maybe I should correct that. You left us a long time ago, but your body didn't give out until a year ago.
A lot has changed in this past year. A lot has stayed the same. I'm still married to your son. I still love him and he still loves me (most times) and we still fight to stay together every day.
Your grandbabies are now adults mostly. K will be 20 this year and C will be 18. And your great-grandbaby...sweet Butterbean, will soon be a year old. You never got to meet her in the flesh. You left 6 weeks before she arrived. 6 measley weeks.
You would not believe how much she is K made over. You would be in love with her and she would be in love with you. I wish that the anticipation of her arrival had been enough to convince you to stay.
I wish we would have been enough...your family. I know losing your husband six months earlier was hard. It was unbearable for all of us. But seriously...you couldn't have fought a little harder? Worked a little more to find a reason to live?
Butterbean has her mama's eyes. And the exact same hair. There are days when her Bops and I look at her and it takes our breath because she reminds us so strongly of K when she was that age. She'll be walking in a few short weeks. And not long after that we'll be celebrating her first birthday.
And we'll be thinking of you. And wishing you were here.
I remember when K turned a year old and those first years as a mother. Man, I was so insecure and so uptight about everything. You and I definitely did not see eye to eye on a lot of things as far as she was concerned, but there was one thing I was never in doubt about. I knew you loved her.
Probably in ways you didn't even think you could love. I'm sure it took you by surprise. I know you didn't want to be a grandmother at that time. I know you were too young.
I know because I'm too young.
But none of that mattered once the baby arrived. All that mattered was her and making sure she was loved and spoiled in all the ways a granddaughter should be. I'm sorry I ruined some of that for you by being so insecure and so worried about things that didn't matter.
I'm sorry I helped to make it into a competition for you. I get it now. I know what it's like to try to erase regret by trying to be Mimi Supreme. I'm trying not to do that to K but it's very hard. She doesn't have the benefit of hindsight like you and I do. I keep trying to remember that, but I fail at it a lot.
I believe that you have finally found the peace that eluded you here on earth, because I believe in the mighty hand of our merciful and just God. I know that you see and know now, all the things you couldn't see and know before. And I'm glad. I'm glad you can finally see all the love that we have had for you all these years. I'm glad you can finally rest enough to let it in.
I just wanted to say that to you today.
And that even through all of the crap, and the what ifs, and the wishing it could have been otherwise...we still love you.
I still love you.
I wish you were here. *sigh*
But you're not.
Anyway...happy anniversary.
Friday, October 5, 2012
And Sometimes...All You Can Do Is Grab A Bag Of Popcorn And Enjoy The Show
GEEZE-O-PETE!!! When did October get here? What happened to September? Or July for that matter?
I suppose what I'm trying to say here is...well I don't know really what I'm trying to say. I'm sure it was something nifty about time and Jim Croce and a bottle. Or it could just have been about my lack of discipline and getting behind on stuff.
Something to that effect.
Anyhoo, I think when last we spoke I was tellin' y'all about my brush with the stripper pole. Turns out, that was not to be the only time during vacay that I would almost come in contact with the exotic dance industry. Oh no.
After much back and forth with our friendly GPS lady and approximately 11 U-turns...we finally arrived at our destination (completely intact and only slightly worse for wear). We were pleasantly surprised by the ocean view from our condo "balcony." I put the word "balcony" in quotation marks because it was only about a foot wide. Two people could fit out there, but your behind would definitely be smooshed up against the sliding glass door.
We snapped some quick pics of the kids faces as they got their first view and then we did what normal people do...we dropped our bags and hightailed it out to the beach. Now, in order to get to the beach, we had to go down one floor to the lobby and walk past the pool and hot tub. As we were walking I noticed some people out there that were a bit, well, out of the ordinary...but I just chalked it up to "Hey we're at Myrtle Beach" and tried to keep up with the kids as they ran pell mell to the ocean.
A while later we dragged the kids away from the ocean in order to feed them dinner. We only accomplished this feat with promises of returning as soon as possible. We got cleaned up and hopped back in the car (oh joy! rapture!) in search of grub.
Now, I should remind y'all...I have never had to drive myself around Myrtle before. I was therefore, immediately lost. But we had our trusty GPS lady to guide us and what do you know...only 3 minor U-turns and one trip through the North Myrtle "red light" district later (see paragraph #4) and we found a suh-weet little Mexican restaurant.
We walked in and almost walked back out because someone had seriously doused the entire place in Pine-Sol. It was nauseating. We considered leaving but we were pretty much done with all the "being in the car" so we decided to stick it out. PSA: Mexican food and "pine-fresh scent" do not go together well.
After dinner we headed back to the beach for one last dip before collapsing into our beds. Keep in mind we had been up since 4:30 in the am. Y'all we were tired. Which might help you understand the whys and wherefores of what happened next.
My friend began working her "mom" magic and somehow managed to get the littles calmed down enough to drop off to sleep. We had turned out the lights in the condo and were settling down ourselves when the people I had noticed earlier decided it was PARTY IN THE USA time. Because spending their whole day doing shots at the pool-side Tiki bar hadn't been enough. And lucky for us...our room was right over the pool/hot tub area. So we got to hear every bit of slurred conversation and "friendly banter" happening between the guys and the gals.
One of whom started to get really upset. Girlfriend and I peeked through the curtains and noticed that one of the party-goer guys was a little on the short side. Someone had called him on it or asked him about it and I don't know what else was said but it must have been bad because next thing we know, homeboy is up out of the hot tub going "Come AT me BRO! Come AT me!"
Now y'all...Mimi is all about people of all shapes, colors and sizes. So please don't hate me for saying this...but the sight of that little man dripping wet and hopping (I kid you not...he was hopping) and screaming...well it was somewhat humorous. It didn't help that we were slap-happy by that time either.
After the initial chuckle or two, when things didn't seem to be calming down, this was the point when Girlfriend started getting a little mad herself. We were TRYING TO KEEP TWO KIDS COMATOSE UNTIL AT LEAST 6AM FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. It was 11pm and the rules clearly stated (we knew because being the nerdy girls we are...we actually read them) that 11pm was quiet time. Girlfriend wanted those peeps gone. I just sat back (see blog title) to see what would happen. Plus I didn't want to get in her way. She was getting this strange twitch in her eye and mumbling something about sleep so...I just tried to survive.
Girlfriend marched to the phone...picked up the receiver and called the front desk. Yes. She TOLD ON THE PARTY-GOERS AND THE ANGRY LITTLE MAN. It should be mentioned here (because my wordcount isn't NEARLY long enough and you haven't been completely bored to tears yet) that the front desk guy was all of 150 pounds soaking wet. And his name was Richard. Not Rick. Not Ricky-Bobby. Not Studly McStudmuffin. Just Richard.
BUT...he WAS covered in tattoos so we were hoping there was enough toughness in him to get the job done. We were especially worried that Richard might have to tangle with the ANGRY LITTLE MAN...so after Girlfriend hung up we did what normal, mature, grown-up Christian ladies would do. We peeped through the curtain to watch the show.
Home-boy Richard was brilliant. Those people argued and whined...but Richard the Night Manager got them out. We were high-fiving him and giving him the thumbs up and telling him (from the safety of our second floor room and behind our curtains) that we had his back. At this point, Richard turned and LOOKED UP AT US and gave us a thumbs up. And that's when we realized the sliding glass door was OPEN and he had heard us.
Every. Word.
Mortification. It's a definite buzz-kill.
Tune in next time for the story about the one-legged lady and Lt. Dan. No, I am not kidding.
I suppose what I'm trying to say here is...well I don't know really what I'm trying to say. I'm sure it was something nifty about time and Jim Croce and a bottle. Or it could just have been about my lack of discipline and getting behind on stuff.
Something to that effect.
Anyhoo, I think when last we spoke I was tellin' y'all about my brush with the stripper pole. Turns out, that was not to be the only time during vacay that I would almost come in contact with the exotic dance industry. Oh no.
After much back and forth with our friendly GPS lady and approximately 11 U-turns...we finally arrived at our destination (completely intact and only slightly worse for wear). We were pleasantly surprised by the ocean view from our condo "balcony." I put the word "balcony" in quotation marks because it was only about a foot wide. Two people could fit out there, but your behind would definitely be smooshed up against the sliding glass door.
We snapped some quick pics of the kids faces as they got their first view and then we did what normal people do...we dropped our bags and hightailed it out to the beach. Now, in order to get to the beach, we had to go down one floor to the lobby and walk past the pool and hot tub. As we were walking I noticed some people out there that were a bit, well, out of the ordinary...but I just chalked it up to "Hey we're at Myrtle Beach" and tried to keep up with the kids as they ran pell mell to the ocean.
A while later we dragged the kids away from the ocean in order to feed them dinner. We only accomplished this feat with promises of returning as soon as possible. We got cleaned up and hopped back in the car (oh joy! rapture!) in search of grub.
Now, I should remind y'all...I have never had to drive myself around Myrtle before. I was therefore, immediately lost. But we had our trusty GPS lady to guide us and what do you know...only 3 minor U-turns and one trip through the North Myrtle "red light" district later (see paragraph #4) and we found a suh-weet little Mexican restaurant.
We walked in and almost walked back out because someone had seriously doused the entire place in Pine-Sol. It was nauseating. We considered leaving but we were pretty much done with all the "being in the car" so we decided to stick it out. PSA: Mexican food and "pine-fresh scent" do not go together well.
After dinner we headed back to the beach for one last dip before collapsing into our beds. Keep in mind we had been up since 4:30 in the am. Y'all we were tired. Which might help you understand the whys and wherefores of what happened next.
My friend began working her "mom" magic and somehow managed to get the littles calmed down enough to drop off to sleep. We had turned out the lights in the condo and were settling down ourselves when the people I had noticed earlier decided it was PARTY IN THE USA time. Because spending their whole day doing shots at the pool-side Tiki bar hadn't been enough. And lucky for us...our room was right over the pool/hot tub area. So we got to hear every bit of slurred conversation and "friendly banter" happening between the guys and the gals.
One of whom started to get really upset. Girlfriend and I peeked through the curtains and noticed that one of the party-goer guys was a little on the short side. Someone had called him on it or asked him about it and I don't know what else was said but it must have been bad because next thing we know, homeboy is up out of the hot tub going "Come AT me BRO! Come AT me!"
Now y'all...Mimi is all about people of all shapes, colors and sizes. So please don't hate me for saying this...but the sight of that little man dripping wet and hopping (I kid you not...he was hopping) and screaming...well it was somewhat humorous. It didn't help that we were slap-happy by that time either.
After the initial chuckle or two, when things didn't seem to be calming down, this was the point when Girlfriend started getting a little mad herself. We were TRYING TO KEEP TWO KIDS COMATOSE UNTIL AT LEAST 6AM FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. It was 11pm and the rules clearly stated (we knew because being the nerdy girls we are...we actually read them) that 11pm was quiet time. Girlfriend wanted those peeps gone. I just sat back (see blog title) to see what would happen. Plus I didn't want to get in her way. She was getting this strange twitch in her eye and mumbling something about sleep so...I just tried to survive.
Girlfriend marched to the phone...picked up the receiver and called the front desk. Yes. She TOLD ON THE PARTY-GOERS AND THE ANGRY LITTLE MAN. It should be mentioned here (because my wordcount isn't NEARLY long enough and you haven't been completely bored to tears yet) that the front desk guy was all of 150 pounds soaking wet. And his name was Richard. Not Rick. Not Ricky-Bobby. Not Studly McStudmuffin. Just Richard.
BUT...he WAS covered in tattoos so we were hoping there was enough toughness in him to get the job done. We were especially worried that Richard might have to tangle with the ANGRY LITTLE MAN...so after Girlfriend hung up we did what normal, mature, grown-up Christian ladies would do. We peeped through the curtain to watch the show.
Home-boy Richard was brilliant. Those people argued and whined...but Richard the Night Manager got them out. We were high-fiving him and giving him the thumbs up and telling him (from the safety of our second floor room and behind our curtains) that we had his back. At this point, Richard turned and LOOKED UP AT US and gave us a thumbs up. And that's when we realized the sliding glass door was OPEN and he had heard us.
Every. Word.
Mortification. It's a definite buzz-kill.
Tune in next time for the story about the one-legged lady and Lt. Dan. No, I am not kidding.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
The Cracker Barrel And The Stripper Pole
You know what two phrases are rarely heard together in a sentence?
"Stripper poles" and "Cracker Barrel." But today, friends...prepare to be amazed as history is in the making where these two phrases are concerned.
Only in my world could they ever be together. A fact for which I thank God for...truly.
Now, I love ye olde "CB" but I am in no way affiliated with that corporation, nor am I being paid to mention anything about them.
I just like to eat there.
And a few weeks ago, whilst on yon vacation...I decided to stop there. To eat. With my friend and her two littles.
The only problem with it was, we were in South Carolina and apparently, they do things a bit differently there. In my neck of the woods, when you walk in to a CB, the dining hall is always to your left, and the general store is to your right.
Not so in South Carolina. It's all backwards. So after hitting the bathroom up and mentioning all the geographical oddities of this particular locale...we commenced to being seated and eating breakfast. It should be mentioned here that Girlfriend's four year old has an appetite that is approximately the size of an ant. She's a little stick figure with white blonde curls and gorgeous blue eyes that swallow her whole face.
She is lethally adorable.
The one thing she does love to eat in any sort of measurable quantity is bacon. Because...who doesn't? Even if you don't eat it because of diet restrictions...you're still craving the salty, crispy goodness of porkfat. Yum. So...Princess Pea (as she shall henceforth be named) and I ordered ourselves a nice helping of bacon.
At which point Princess Pea says, "You wike bacon too?" And I said, "Psshhhttt...yeah...I lurve bacon!" And then she giggled and squirmed and put her hand up to her mouth to whisper to me, "You and me can be bacon buddies!" *snort giggle giggle snort*
To which I replied solemnly, "Yes. Yes we can." And so we are even to this day.
Now during this whole exchange, the eight-year-old was discussing with his mother what he would have and so on and so forth. When the food came out...he took two bites and declared loudly to all within hearing range that "This is the best food I've ever had!!!"
Have I said to you that I love these kids??? I mean...they are foodie geniuses!
Eight-year-old declared and avowed his love for his meal again to our waitress, who then proceeded into the kitchen to tell the cook...and buddy boy got a huge thumbs up from our table. And eight-year-old's day was made when the cook waved enthusiastically in response.
And then we all rolled out to the car...having eaten so much bacon and such that we could no longer walk.
I tipped the waitress with some "ones" from my "stripper stash."
Oh wait...I forgot to tell you about that part.
Prior to the culinary episode at CB...we had stopped at a gas station. I walked into the store to pay because all I had on me was cash. Large bills. It was a bit early in the day and the cashier only had ones, so she asked me if it would be ok if my change was a bunch of...well....one dollar bills. I said, "Sure."
To which she replied, "Just tell everybody you got them at the stripper pole last night."
To which I said, "Alrighty then."
And then I thanked her for thinking I had the flexibility and dexterity to be able to work a pole.
At my age...you've got to take the compliments where you can get them people.
So Lord...today please bless the Cracker Barrel people who have to serve copious amounts of bacon to weary travelers who can only tip them with cash that may or may not have been earned at a stripper pole. And bless the gas station attendants who have the optimism to believe someone whose physical shape largely resembles that of a bowling ball...would seem desirable enough to have warranted that many dollar bills.
Amen.
Tune in next time folks when Mimi throws together the phrases, "Angry Midget" and "Hot Tub."
"Stripper poles" and "Cracker Barrel." But today, friends...prepare to be amazed as history is in the making where these two phrases are concerned.
Only in my world could they ever be together. A fact for which I thank God for...truly.
Now, I love ye olde "CB" but I am in no way affiliated with that corporation, nor am I being paid to mention anything about them.
I just like to eat there.
And a few weeks ago, whilst on yon vacation...I decided to stop there. To eat. With my friend and her two littles.
The only problem with it was, we were in South Carolina and apparently, they do things a bit differently there. In my neck of the woods, when you walk in to a CB, the dining hall is always to your left, and the general store is to your right.
Not so in South Carolina. It's all backwards. So after hitting the bathroom up and mentioning all the geographical oddities of this particular locale...we commenced to being seated and eating breakfast. It should be mentioned here that Girlfriend's four year old has an appetite that is approximately the size of an ant. She's a little stick figure with white blonde curls and gorgeous blue eyes that swallow her whole face.
She is lethally adorable.
The one thing she does love to eat in any sort of measurable quantity is bacon. Because...who doesn't? Even if you don't eat it because of diet restrictions...you're still craving the salty, crispy goodness of porkfat. Yum. So...Princess Pea (as she shall henceforth be named) and I ordered ourselves a nice helping of bacon.
At which point Princess Pea says, "You wike bacon too?" And I said, "Psshhhttt...yeah...I lurve bacon!" And then she giggled and squirmed and put her hand up to her mouth to whisper to me, "You and me can be bacon buddies!" *snort giggle giggle snort*
To which I replied solemnly, "Yes. Yes we can." And so we are even to this day.
Now during this whole exchange, the eight-year-old was discussing with his mother what he would have and so on and so forth. When the food came out...he took two bites and declared loudly to all within hearing range that "This is the best food I've ever had!!!"
Have I said to you that I love these kids??? I mean...they are foodie geniuses!
Eight-year-old declared and avowed his love for his meal again to our waitress, who then proceeded into the kitchen to tell the cook...and buddy boy got a huge thumbs up from our table. And eight-year-old's day was made when the cook waved enthusiastically in response.
And then we all rolled out to the car...having eaten so much bacon and such that we could no longer walk.
I tipped the waitress with some "ones" from my "stripper stash."
Oh wait...I forgot to tell you about that part.
Prior to the culinary episode at CB...we had stopped at a gas station. I walked into the store to pay because all I had on me was cash. Large bills. It was a bit early in the day and the cashier only had ones, so she asked me if it would be ok if my change was a bunch of...well....one dollar bills. I said, "Sure."
To which she replied, "Just tell everybody you got them at the stripper pole last night."
To which I said, "Alrighty then."
And then I thanked her for thinking I had the flexibility and dexterity to be able to work a pole.
At my age...you've got to take the compliments where you can get them people.
So Lord...today please bless the Cracker Barrel people who have to serve copious amounts of bacon to weary travelers who can only tip them with cash that may or may not have been earned at a stripper pole. And bless the gas station attendants who have the optimism to believe someone whose physical shape largely resembles that of a bowling ball...would seem desirable enough to have warranted that many dollar bills.
Amen.
Tune in next time folks when Mimi throws together the phrases, "Angry Midget" and "Hot Tub."
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