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Truth is…

Aug20

Mom is a natural redhead (some years more natural than others). Jan, born three years before me, had nearly white hair, as did our younger sister, Rhonda, and our baby brother, Kevin. Their genetically perfect blonde heads seared the words “black sheep” all over me and my personality. Never mind that my hair was the same shade of dark brown as Dad’s.

Jan was old enough to know better when she conspired to convince me I was an adopted child. She explained, without the benefit of having completed third grade science,
“When a brunette and a redhead marry, their babies are always blonde.”
While her logic was flawed on so many levels, the examples she provided and her presentation were adequate for my five year old sensibilities.

It wasn’t long before a stark example demonstrated the error in Jan’s theory. Either she was misinformed or she had lied to me. I suspected the latter and brought my discovery to the dinner table, expecting a little drama. Mom and Dad accepted her weak apology for “teasing,” and (based on my judgment as a 5 year-old) they offered equally weak reassurance that I was their natural child.

When Jan pointed out my genetically distinctive personality and legs, common on Dad’s side of the family, everyone laughed, except me. No one verbalized it, but I knew if my parents were to have adopted, they would have selected the most pleasing of all orphaned baby girls, and she would have been a blonde.

This story says more about my own insecurities than anything else. It wasn’t funny then, but now that I’m grown, with children and grandchildren, I can laugh about how gullible I was. Thankfully, Jan’s scam only lasted a week or two, and as far as big sister antics go, that was probably the worst of hers. No harm. No foul.

But it causes me to wonder. How many other scams have I been gullible enough to believe?

You’re not good enough. You’re not smart enough. You can’t. What’s the use? Who cares? Don’t waste your time. Forget about it. Don’t risk it. That’s for someone else, not you. My list goes on.

I know I have selective hearing, listening to some lies more often than others, because some of those lies have been echoing in my brain long enough to have settled into my heart, and bleed out into my attitude and choices. I’m used to them. They have become a part of me.

Have you ever known someone to repeat a lie so many times they actually begin to believe it? Maybe it’s a lie intended to avoid negative consequences or gain something they haven’t earned, and you know it’s a lie, but you listen anyway. Seems harmless. But recently, I caught myself repeating what someone else had said, even though I knew it was a lie when they said it. Again, it seemed harmless. It wasn’t, and neither are the lies of Satan we hear every day.

The lies that Satan uses are intended to make us think we are avoiding negative consequences. He wants us to believe we can cheat to get something we don’t deserve. Adam and Eve took the first bite because they listened to one of Satan’s lies. The awful part of listening to a lie is that we miss out on the blessings of truth.

Truth is…sometimes I’m not good enough, or smart enough, and I can’t, but God can. Sometimes there seems to be no point, but God has a plan. Or I’m sure no one cares, yet I feel God’s urging. Maybe I should finish that project, because to quit would be to believe a lie and accept defeat. I know not to put on blinders, or plug my ears, but to calculate the risk, then trust God. Every believer has a skill or ability that God wants to use, and a unique way that God wants to use it, but Satan wants to distract.

Okay, here’s another truth…I probably am too old for gymnastics or soccer, but Satan would have me believe that I’m too old, and it’s too late to accomplish anything worthwhile. No so! He’d like me to feel that if I can’t be the best, or at least make it to the awards podium, that I shouldn’t bother trying. What a liar!

Here’s another lie, one of his craftiest: If I don’t do it, no one will, or it won’t be done right.

Ouch! Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s repeated that lie so often I believed it to be true. I don’t know all the details yet, but now that a few of Satan’s lies have been exposed, I can hear God calling me to something new or different, and better. Something perfectly fitted to the “black sheep” image He gave me.

Would you be willing to consider these 3 things?
1. If you’re in a rut, get out of it. You might be in someone else’s dream job. And blocking them from the passing lane doesn’t mean you’re getting anywhere.
2. Be a mentor or a Paul for a young and eager Timothy. If the thought of training your successor makes you roll your eyes or grumble, you might be believing a lie.
3. If you’re not willing to accept the hardest or lowliest of the duties required to carry on a ministry, you only think you’re serving people through that ministry, but the ministry is actually serving you.

I John 2:26-28 says:
I’ve written to warn you about those who are trying to deceive you. But they’re no match for what is embedded deeply within you—Christ’s anointing, no less! You don’t need any of their so-called teaching. Christ’s anointing teaches you the truth on everything you need to know about yourself and him, uncontaminated by a single lie. Live deeply in what you were taught. And now, children, stay in Christ. Live deeply in Christ. Then we’ll be ready for him when he appears, ready to receive him with open arms, with no cause for red-faced guilt or lame excuses when He arrives. (The Message)

Writer’s Block

Apr16

Benjamin Franklin said, “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.”

I’m suffering some serious writer’s block. It’s crazy! I write a paragraph or two, then delete. This has been going on for weeks. As a matter of fact, I’m tempted to backspace right now until the page is blank.

And it’s not like I’m busy doing anything worth writing about. When this phase (surely this is just a phase) is over, I could write about how I overcame writer’s block, but I’m not over it yet. Besides, writer’s magazines and blogs are saturated with “How To” tips for sufferer’s like me, and no one’s asking for my view or solution, if I had a solution.

So, I better get busy doing something. And it needs to be good. I started my spring cleaning, hoping to uncover some long lost treasure in the back of a closet or behind a bookshelf, but so far I’ve found a paper clip, and a lot of dust. Not exactly material for a novel.

The grandkids will be here next week. They always provide interesting, intelligent and often times humorous stories. Maybe I can write the week after?

I could take a walk. It’s a perfect spring day. My roses aren’t in bloom yet, or I could write about stopping to smell the them.

Mr. Franklin. Did you have days, and weeks, like this?

There is another old quote: “When all else fails, praise the Lord.” It’s such a common saying, I can’t credit anyone specifically for such excellent advice.

Think I’ll try it.

Oh Lord, my Lord. How excellent is your name in all the earth. You give me the air I breath. You are so very good. Nothing is good, except you make it that way. You give my mind reason to ponder. You satisfy me. You are the God of the universe, yet you are my faithful friend. Your promises are true. You watch over me. The sun, moon and stars amaze me, but do not distract you while hearing my prayers. I ask for little. You offer much. I walk away. You call to me, and wait. Oh Lord, my Lord. How excellent is your name in all the earth!

 

Opening the Box

Mar11

“What’s in the box?”

“I ordered a couple books. Thought it would be a good idea to get to know my editor better, so I got two of her books…books that she wrote…not just edited. She has quite a few.”

“Oh.”

“Twenty-eight dollars with shipping.”

He hadn’t asked and I didn’t expect a response, although some affirmation would have been nice.

“I smell cookies. You had cookies and yogurt for supper, didn’t you?”

Roger answered with his guilty grin, then stood by with key in hand in case I needed help slicing the packing tape. I could have ripped the box open, but I enjoy watching the way Roger enjoys making life easier for me.

I don’t know why I do it, but I always open a new book at the middle and read a few paragraphs before I take in the content on the cover or read the acknowledgments. This time I kept reading, but not for the compelling story or the excellent writing.

“I wish she hadn’t done that.”

“What?”

Roger listened as I read a passage with, not a verbal “bleep,” but a hard stop where the vulgar words assaulted my brain as well as my spirit. Not that I haven’t read or heard such words before, but I had already committed to having this “lady” edit my memoir. There was an e-mail contract, and the check had been cashed. They hadn’t talked about this sort of dilemma in any of the writing conferences I’d attended – Christian writing conferences. Why would they? How many writers actually do something so dumb? Another writer would never admit to such a huge mistake in vetting an editor!

He knows me well. I wouldn’t be able to ignore this and trust this editor with my story.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Maybe this is the only chapter. Maybe she is writing the way she used to be, you know, for impact, and there is some sort of redemption in later chapters?”

That sort of language isn’t necessary. Period. I know that. And there was no redemption.

It hurt – that $28.00 for books not belonging in a grandma’s (or anyone else’s) house had been added to my credit card, and I dreaded calling the Christian organization that helps Christian writers and editors connect. What if they didn’t care that one of their recommended editors wasn’t Christian, or worse. What if the organization was a scam marketing to women like me? It wouldn’t be the first time. I read from the second book. More of the same.

The covers were professional, appealing, and would attract lots of women. How many had opened these books, looking for help and hope after trauma, only to find an example of how to rationalize bitterness and anger.

The rest of my evening was spent trying to sooth my ego, telling myself it was an easy mistake other wannabe published authors must have survived.

“I’ve survived worse than this, much worse. We’ll get through this.”

Roger didn’t correct my inclusive comment. He cut a piece of dental floss and commenced with his nightly hygiene routine. That, with a nod and eye contact is what I’ve come to know as emotional support. It’s all I need for most of my issues.

My head landed on the pillow and, after oxygenating my brain with about three deep breaths, it occurred to me…

“My editor uses a middle name! The books I’d purchased only had a first and a last. I’ll get online and check in the morning.”

But this couldn’t wait.

With a few clicks of the mouse, I saw my mistake. Both authors had the same first and last names, and had selected the same font and placement of their names on their book covers. Both women “enjoyed helping new writers” and both had several books, but if I’d looked more closely at the titles, I would have bought books written by my editor, better books.

Now all I had to do was check out an exchange or return policy. That could wait until after a good night’s sleep.

So is there a moral to this story? Maybe. Or maybe I’m recording this event, because my name will soon be on the cover, and I want readers to see redemption. I want them to see the One who redeemed me.

I pray for Rachel, my editor, every day. She has my story. And someday (I hope soon), another woman will be ripping packing tape from another small box.

The Support Group

Feb19

I found a support group that suits me. Go ahead and say it out loud. I can hear you.

“It’s about time!”

And you would be correct. It is about time, but it’s not the sort of group you were hoping for, that is unless you think I need help as a writer, because I do.

We meet once a month on a Saturday morning in the student center of a college campus. The snack shop is still locked up from the night before, and we’re responsible for our own caffeine, but our corner of the place is near clean restrooms and the furniture is comfy.

Before anyone questions our legitimacy – as a support group, we have struggles, concerns and desires in common. We meet for emotional, moral, educational, and (sometimes) spiritual support. Aside from the God ordained groups of church and family, how much more legitimate could we be?

This blog post isn’t intended as a plug for my group or the organization, although fellow writers might want to check out http://word-weavers.com/.

I have two goals this week:

1. To cause you to consider how you’ve changed because of belonging to a group.

2. To cause you to consider how your group has changed because of you’re a part of it.

“Teamwork isn’t when two or more people get together to gripe about the same person.”

I heard that declaration years ago and lately I’m reminded of how the statement was and is true. Oh, how I’d love to elaborate and use a personal example to explain and support my point of view, but that might just turn into an unfruitful griping session and bore one of my favorite groups – here at wetfeet.us.

“Rita, you are right and wrong. You’ve identified the problem accurately, but you’re complaining to the wrong people, which won’t solve anything and will most likely make things worse.”

Again, sharing details or the context of my own experience could easily turn into another futile griping session, years after the offense occurred. What can I share that leads to my goals with this week’s blog post?

A summary of what I’ve learned about group dynamics over the years? Too many words. How about a thinly veiled personal or generic example of how a group let me down by concentrating on the needs of a few members rather than serving its wider purpose? I could offer several, but I won’t. My own transparency would only serve to enlighten you of someone else’s flaws, or worse.

Here’s what I do have. Try to find a group that meets the following criteria, and be that kind of member:

Finally, all of you, have unity of mind, sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart, and a humble mind. Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing. For “Whoever desires to love life and see good days, let him keep his tongue from evil and his lips from speaking deceit; let him turn away from evil and do good; let him seek peace and pursue it. For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their prayer. But the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.” 1 Peter 3:8-12.

My writing group is a good example of that behavior.

You’re probably like me, and belong to several groups. And of course you know, that some groups you join because you choose them, some groups trap (oops, I mean choose) you, some groups are temporary, and others are forever. Few can claim not to be in at least one group where everyone doesn’t love Jesus, or anyone else for that matter. I’m hoping that no one reading this is a ring leader or devoted follower in a group like that, but realistically it’s possible. If that would be the case, it’s unlikely they should recognize themselves as a source or contributor to the problem. My eyes have been blinded to reality before, so I know how much it hurts to have light shine on the truth.

Here’s what God’s Word tells us to do when members of a group don’t play by His rules:

Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good? But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled, but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if that should be God’s will, than for doing evil. 1 Peter 3:13-17.

What group is changing you and do you like the change? Has the Lord turned His eyes toward you and your group? Has He opened His ears to your prayers?

Would you be willing to let some light shine on your contribution to a group’s effectiveness and purpose? Would you be one to gripe unproductively, or seek peace and unity in brotherly love, and with a tender heart, and humility?

I’m liking my writing group. I chose them, and I pray to be the kind of member they appreciate.

My Cure for Homesickness

Jan30

I’m homesick for my kids. This bout came on suddenly. I woke up from a Friday evening nap, poured some sweet tea over ice, and prepared to do a little writing. That’s become my end of the work-week — rest up for the week-end routine.

With no words on the tip of my fingers, and sensing none stored in my tired brain, I picked up my Bible. The ribbon was between the two books of Thessalonians. I turned, page left, and started reading at I Thessalonians, the fifth chapter.

From the first verse, Paul was sounding like a parent, telling the church at Thessalonica that he shouldn’t have to write what he was about to write. He goes on to warn that “the day of the Lord comes like a thief in the night.” In verse 4, “But you, brethren, are not in darkness, so that the day should overcome you as a thief.” And verse 5, “You are all sons of light and sons of day. We are not of the night nor of darkness.” Then verse 6 starts with a “Therefore…”

It was at verse 6 when the homesickness hit me. First, I laughed. How many times have I started a lecture to my own children with, “You ought to know better?” Verses 6-15 give instruction, each with a clarification or rationale. I was always the kind of mother to elaborate on simple instruction. By verses 16-22, Paul leaves out the reason, and just tells the church what they need to do. It took me back to the days when I yelled out last minute instruction — clearly and succinctly so the teenager walking out the door would not be able to claim mistake or excuse.

Then my eyes got teary. Where I would have told my three kids, “Because I said so,” Paul tells his children, who he had loved from their infancy as Christians, “for this is the will of God.”

After Jesus, Paul is probably the most famous bachelor in the Bible, but he sure wrote like a parent. The last six verses are a prayer for the church, and Paul included himself as he wrote that prayer. I hope you’ll read the entire chapter. It’s short. When you get to the sixth verse, pay attention to the way Paul changes from the word “you” and begins to include himself with the instructed.

How many times were my own words aimed at my three children when they landed in my own ears?

The verse for my week: Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. I Thessalonians 5:16-18

As for my homesickness, there is only one cure. I’m gonna add $100 to my travel to Okinawa fund, find the cheapest flight to Phoenix and book it. Then finally, I’ll call my grandson, Isaac, in the morning. His birthday is Sunday. Maybe he can talk his mom and dad into meeting me and Roger in Springfield for a birthday dinner.

For Rob, Paula, and Aimee: If all I had in this world was you, I would have reason to rejoice. You know I pray for you and thank God for you – every day – sometimes 3 or 4 times a day. And before I forget, do what it says in the fifth chapter of I Thessalonians. Because I said so.

There. I feel better already.

Need an Oriental Rug?

Jan22

The apartment was clean and tidy. Laundry was done, and supper was nearly ready. He proceeded to the living room where he emptied his arms and rather than turning to greet me with a hug and a kiss, he opened his pack over the oriental rug and dumped his very smelly, muddy fatigues (battle dress uniforms) and dirty equipment.

Whoa! That got my attention.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too. What kind of greeting was that?”

I was new at the welcome your husband home after a bad day thing, so I expected him to cut me some slack. Not so. I offered to hold dinner and fill the tub for him.

“I’ll do it myself.”

I let him. The meat was dry and the potatoes too salty, but he gobbled it down anyway. His mood didn’t improve and I pushed.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Nothing was wrong until you unloaded all that filth on my rug?”

No response. He didn’t seem to notice the ownership I applied to the rug, went into the bedroom, and closed the door. My dad would have given my mom a good argument. I knew how to argue, but I had no clue how to deal with pouting silence. When arguing through the bedroom door was ineffective, I backed off and let him sleep.

Okay. I’ll admit I didn’t let him sleep right away. I cleaned up his mess, making as much noise as possible. I wanted him to be able to hear me brushing the mud off every pair of pants and cleaning each piece of his gear. There was also some moaning and loud groaning involved. I calculated what my huge reward would be for my act of self-sacrifice. I was a young wife, and didn’t understand my actions didn’t meet the criteria of sacrifice.

To sacrifice means to give, with no expectations and with the understanding that no one, other than you, will pay the price for your good deeds. I wanted Jack to feel punished. (Excerpt from Life On Goliath’s Mountain)

That really happened. Wish I could say it happened to someone else, but it was me. I was willing to “fight fair,” but it takes two. And my offender, with one grand gesture, wanted to be done with the struggles of his day.

Wouldn’t it be great if everyone treated us the way we wanted to be treated while overlooking our lapses in judgment or restraint? We’ll never know.

But here’s the place we need to start:
Proverbs 15:1 says, “A soft answer turns away wrath, But a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Did you hear the harshness in my words? Did you sense the harshness in my actions? That was nearly 40 years ago. I memorized the words to Proverbs 15:1 as a child, but lately, I haven’t done such a great job of applying them to my daily interactions.

I think these few words of instruction deserve at least a week of repetition and effort. It’s my verse of the week. Join me?

We can talk about sacrifice versus wannabe martyrs some other time. I know some of you could teach me a thing or two, but it’s Friday night. I’ve had a rough week. And I can’t find an oriental rug to dump on.

By George!

Jan15

“How rude! That kid wouldn’t work for me. Not for long, that is.”

“It’s not his fault, George. He’s not the one in charge. Calm down.”

“But they lost our bags and now I’ve missed the game.”

“So, you think he should lose his job? Why not can his boss? Would you stand still while your boss yelled at you that way? Who made the rules? I feel for the guy. You had a boss like that once, and what did you do? You walked out. Let’s just take a seat, like he said. I need to get off my feet.”

George stood where he could watch as new bags dropped. Round and round. Black bags, brown bags, large bags, small bags. Bags from Miami, but not their bags. Most of them grabbed on the first pass.

Wanda kept her eyes on George. When the red from his neck reached his face, he would need two of his pills. They were for his Type A, but George told folks they were for his heart.

She watched as he pulled his phone from his belt. “Who could that be? The kids should be at work by now.”

“Dad, you left your bags by the front door. How could you do that? Didn’t you think about them when you checked in? What do you want me to do?”

“Ship them. I’ll send you the cash.”

Wanda rose from her seat to join George as he walked back to the young man.

“Found our bags. By the way, I had a boss like that once. It’s tough.”

Without explanation, George grabbed the back of Wanda’s arm, and directed her toward the exit.

“But our bags?”

“Let’s go.”

There was no rattle in his pocket.

“Wanda, where are my car keys?”

“In one of the bags.”

 

Know anyone like George? He (or she) wants everyone to think they have life all sewn up. I’ve changed his name to protect the guilty, but George gets loud and seems to think he (or she) has the right, if not the responsibility to point out mistakes and call out the one who erred.

Ever been absolutely sure you were right, only to discover, like George did, that the problem you’re in the middle of was created by you, and no one else? No public confessions required. We’ve all been guilty. Even George. But don’t expect an admission of imperfection or hold your breath for an apology. It won’t happen.
The most we get from the “Georges of the world” is an attempt to gloss over his (her) own flaws or errors in judgment with a joke or belated kindness. When the Georges I know sense they have hit too hard or aimed their harsh words in the wrong direction, they seldom back down quietly. It’s more likely their “victim” will be the one to apologize.

I could go on with my description of George, but is it really necessary? If you haven’t identified a “George” by now, God has blessed you in a special way.

You might be saying, “So, we can’t change George, so why waste time thinking about him (or her). What can we do when we encounter a George?”

Well, every George is different, but here’s where to start:

And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:32 (NKJV)

It’s my memory verse of the week, and something I’m working on.

Did You Get Everything You Wanted for Christmas?

Jan8

Did you get everything you wanted for Christmas? If you don’t count having all my children and grandchildren around the same Christmas tree, I did.

In 2013, I was already thinking about my Christmas list in October. No, I wouldn’t write my wants on a piece of paper in the form of a list, but believe me, I had started a list. Then I came across this verse of scripture, and realized I was about to step into one of the oldest traps in history. Colossians 3:1-2 says, If then you were raised with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ is, sitting at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. (NKJV)

So I did that, but it wasn’t easy. A history of retail addiction made setting my mind on the heavenly and the intangible one of the hardest things. Christmas 2014 was a little easier for me to focus on what was important. This past Christmas – the junk mail, especially the retail propaganda, went straight to the trash. Problem not completely solved, but tragedy averted. Setting my mind is not only possible, it’s worth the effort. I celebrated the birth of Christ with heavenly expectations, and God delivered – without reindeer, a chimney, or snow.

Colossians 3:1-2 is worth committing to my memory. It’s my verse for the coming week.

I wrote the poem below in October of 2013. Writing it was just one way to set my mind in a different direction.

 

A Devil’s Tool

 I’ve been caught by this tool of the devil,

And suppose that you might have been too.

It sneaks through our thoughts to our actions.

Then soon drives many things that we do.

As a sin, it gets little attention.

It can be really hard to ID,

But there’s evidence of its destruction,

In everyone’s family tree.

As children, we might have been scolded,

Without hearing this sin called by name.

Maybe that’s why there’s so much frustration,

When we want what another has gained.

Have you guessed which of the commandments?

Is it two, four, six, eight or ten?

Here’s a clue: This tool of the devil,

Makes us feel that we always must win.

We call it the big, green-eyed monster,

And preach without offering grace.

Yet, when we spend time with the mirror,

We see all the green on our face.

The haughty and proud deny envy,

But if they would only think twice.

Beyond their material possessions,

Would more skill or influence be nice?

You won’t hear me saying, “It’s easy.”

Instead, hear my cry, “Help me, Lord!”

I use up my time and my wages,

And then want what another has stored.

When we do harbor envy or covet,

It’s disguised rather well as a need.

Our fam’ly and friends might not see it.

But God knows our pride and our greed.

He says to us, “Thou shalt not covet.”

Not to punish, withhold or control.

For each of us personalized blessings,

More than needs, His abundance can flow.

Help us run from the good and the better,

And to chase after all of God’s best.

Then His goodness should pour out on others.

Not hoarded. Not owned as a quest.

Oh – The list could go on – what we covet.

Some take this sad sin to the grave.

Where they want for the peace and contentment

Of others, forgiven and saved.

The last of the Ten Commandments,

Should never be seen as the least.

When we fail to obey the nine others,

Could covetous be the true beast?

So I ask of the Lord to reveal it,

When He sees this sin in His way.

I can count on His tender reminder.

It’s something like this that I pray:

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I trust the Jones’ you will keep.

If all my stuff someone should take,

I’ll be content when I awake.

Thanks for your wise and clear commands.

Thanks for your strength and guiding hands.

Whatever circumstance I find,

Help me not want for what’s not mine.

Help me to pray this every day,

For envy has a sneaky way.

I pray your mercy on this fool.

Help me avoid this devilish tool.

 

Rita Klundt

October 2013

 

 

 

2016 – New Plan for a New Year

Jan1

Here goes. I’d better say it quick – before I back out. Two weeks ago I promised to share my plan for change in 2016. So here it is. Not just one thing, but two:

1. Memorize 1 verse of scripture per week.
2. Spend at least an hour per week de-cluttering our basement.

I would say naming my goal for 2016 was like ripping off a Band-Aid, but I’ve been praying about this since early November. The Band Aid won’t get yanked off until I click “Publish.” That will hurt a little, but I’m counting on feeling some relief when it’s done.

The basement de-cluttering is probably self-explanatory, but I might need to post pictures to keep myself accountable.

The scripture memorization is something I tried a few years ago – and quit after only a couple of weeks. It’s a “Here I Go Again” sort of resolution, except this time I have you to hold me accountable.

I’ll be sharing my verse of the week with you. Some will be short and some will be a bit of a challenge. Some will be newly memorized and some will be re-memorized, if there is such a thing. Pray for me.

I have a lot of scripture floating in my head. Much of it from my early years, and God was right when he said, it wouldn’t “return void.” But where is that written? I couldn’t tell you without using a concordance – or Google.

For this coming week: Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven. Matthew 5:16 (NKJV)

Tomorrow: I’ll get the Christmas decorations put away, and throw away some of the “stuff” I won’t use next year or in the near future.

You’re Invited

Dec17

Anyone out there already have a resolution in mind for next year? If you do, I’d like to hear about it.

Here’s mine:

My first thought after being invited to a holiday party was, “What will I wear?” I know I’m not the only woman out there with such a mindset. I hear the question, in one form or another, all the time.

To quickly set the stage, I should let you know that in the early nineties I was busy trying to be both Mom and Dad to a couple of teenagers and an eight year old. Any date night was special. A date for a New Year’s Eve party was a fairly spectacular event for my calendar!

The invitation came about a week before Christmas. I started shopping for a dress after work the next day. For a solid week, I did a little Christmas shopping and made my way through every dress department in town, and within a fifty mile radius. Buy a present or two, then try on dresses. Fill up the gas tank, then shop some more. Drop off some take-out so the kids don’t starve, and then follow an advertisement to another store. Some of you are in the middle of a week like that.

Around midnight on Christmas Eve, the presents were wrapped and under the tree, but still no dress for the party. I was concerned, but not frantic. There was another week. Maybe I would find something on sale, and save a lot of money?

December 26th came and I was in the stores, returning clothes that didn’t fit the kids, and looking for “the” dress. The 27th, 28th, 29th, 30th and then the 31st of December arrived, but I hadn’t found a dress meeting my criteria. It had to make me look thinner than reality, and be modest, but accentuate my best features (don’t laugh! I had best features 20 years ago). Oh. And there was also this thing I sometimes ignore – my budget.

Without a new dress for the party, I sat on the floor of my bedroom, crying. The beautiful pair of black patent leather shoes I’d picked up off a sale rack would be wasted if I didn’t go to this party, but how could I show up wearing an old dress? Time for the melodramatic is a luxury for the single moms of the world, so I took a moment to indulge.

Tears flowed. Loud sobbing called my eight year old to my side. She could be counted on for a little sympathy. Now we were both sitting on the floor, leaning against my bed, and staring into my overstuffed closet. I was prepared to cancel the date for later that evening and settle for the current pity party when my daughter rose to her feet and started organizing my wardrobe.

“Mom. You could wear these black slacks with a fancy top.”

“No. He’s seen me in all my good tops.”

“How about this?”

“I wore it to a wedding last year.”

“So?  No one at this party was at the wedding.”

“I know. But they might have seen the pictures.”

“You think they will remember, even if they did see a picture? How about this?”

“It’s sleeveless. OK for summer, but not New Year’s Eve. Maybe if it was red?”

“Wear a sweater.”

“Tacky.”

“This looks good on you.”

“Too plain.”

“Not if you wear your Austrian crystals with it.”

“I don’t know. I’ll just call and cancel.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

She pulled two dresses and a glittery blouse from the back of my closet. They were covered with a bag from the store, and the tags still dangling. I tried one on, then did the math. Twenty plus hours, over the course of two weeks, during the busiest season of the year – wasted by looking for what was in my closet all along.

“That’s it. No shopping for clothes for a whole year.”

And so it was. For twelve months I avoided the ladies department, paid off a credit card, saved money for a vacation, and changed the way I shop, for good. I used to enjoy meandering through racks of clothes pairing tops with bottoms and looking for just the right bargain. No more. I go looking for what I need, and then go home.

Shopping was an addiction. It was a substitute – a pacifier.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult. Something about having a witness to my distress and the simple solution kept me faithful to my words. Of course, I had the desire to complete my commitment, but accountability is a great tool for success. Aimee (that’s my daughter) was a great accountability partner.

So one might expect I’d have twenty more stories of positive changes brought on by a new calendar year, but no. That’s it. Only once have I made a New Year’s resolution and followed through, so I am by no means, an expert or example.

Yes, I wrote a post recently, celebrating a year without my favorite soft drink (see my Oct. 30 post), but that doesn’t count as a New Year’s resolution. I started my recovery from that addiction in October. But with my limited experience, this I know: Accountability is key. And any time of year is the right time for commitment to positive change.

Since that post in October, I’ve been thinking and praying about a new commitment, and I finally have it. I really didn’t plan it this way – starting at the first of the year. Truth is, I still don’t have confidence in the whole “resolution” concept. I know how far my resolve, determination, steadfastness, and perseverance will get me. Not very far!

Here’s another thing I know: It won’t be my resolve, determination, steadfastness, or perseverance that will cause me to report another change this time next year. It will be God’s faithfulness.

Psalm 31:3-4 says, “For you are my rock and my fortress; Therefore, for your name’s sake, lead me and guide me. Pull me out of the net which they have secretly laid for me. For you are my strength.”

Still, I could use an accountability partner. Anyone willing? Anyone out there thinking and praying about a change for the coming year? Anyone willing to share their need for a change with a group of encouragers? Have an idea for a better year next year, or a story to encourage the rest of us?

I’ll share my goal for 2016 on Friday, January 1st. I’m taking the next two weeks off from posting, but I’ll be watching for your comments.

Until then, have a very blessed and merry Christmas.