On Ready Feet

Psalm 127:4-5 "Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born of youth;  Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them."          In our society, it is incredibly easy to believe the lie that career comes first, kids come later. It's really sad how my generation thinks of kids as an extra burden in addition to life. We want to have fun while we can, travel while we can and do regrettable stuff before we'll even consider having a family.  Guess what? Kids are called blessings in God's book.          They are bountiful arrows that fill our lives with more life! Honestly, I don't think I've ever had a conversation with a mother who regretted having kids instead of the "perfect job". She was too busy being a warrior mom, someone who cherished the little blessings she was granted.           I wish I could change the mindset that careers are better or more important...

         I could easily see how this vibrant city could be classed alongside the original lover's paradise of Paris. Bath is full of luxury, from exquisite and unique dining options to hand-holding river rambles. It is entrancing in it's history, from the lively life of the Romans to the writing pen of Jane Austen, it is the top spot to enjoy the escapades of love.       All that to say, I liked Bath just fine without all that lovey-dovey stuff. I Googled about half of gushiness above.       Still, Bath is swell; and chock-full of little tid-bits of unexpectedness. It's rather a Ying-Yang city, come to think of it. On one hand, you could be nosing around the bounteous stores on Pulteney Bridge and the next minute you're wandering along the peacefully meandering Avon river. The Abbey is a grand spectacle, a must see, and right next to it is a humble ice cream shop, a must eat.        Curious antique s...

I can't think of one song I don't like that Barbra Streisand sings. Think about it. There are some singers you're like "Yes! I love that song!" Then their next album comes out and you're like "Drat. That ruined it." So you scratch them off your "Will Always Love Forever" List. Not so with Barbra. Her talent, her range, her charisma make one incredible package in one incredible lady. I think I can pick out at least one song of hers that describes my mood or my relationships at any given moment in my life. That's sensational talent, that is. If I can leave you with one song to get stuck in your head today, let it be Barbra's iconic...

You know those certain memory-joggers that make your day? My memory joggers usually come in the form of a snippet of song or a movie quote. I hear a little tune or catch a line and my mind goes on a roller coaster ride of remembrance. I'll be having a normal day, brushing my teeth or sorting my mail and wham-o! That forgotten song comes on and my mind skips and speeds on my memory's tilt-a-whirl. When I make it to the end of the ride I can't get the smile off my face. My day has been made. My current memory-jogger came in the form of a brilliant mash-up of two of The Rivington's tunes. It's called "Bird is the Word"and whenever I hear it, my day is never the same. It causes my mental roller coaster to zip away to a night where strangers became friends. It was an impromptu get-together with a few fellow college students who were naturally awkward and inclined to social shyness. But, when one of the company burst into a solo rendition of "Bird...

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness: but will still keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.                Can you guess whose hand so artfully wrote that beautiful, unforgettable poetry?  The author was a young man, not much older than myself, who dreamed of becoming more than he was. His idol was Shakespeare and his peers included Tennyson. He knew sorrow and he knew love.  His name was John Keats, and he died at age twenty-five.                I first heard of him and his amazing work from my sister. She's read every one of his poems. She's watched Bright Star (which has since prompted me to watch it) a fascinating movie documenting his short life. We got to go to his house in Hampstead Heath, London and learn about his heartbreaking life.  Getting a kick ...

Childhood dream! Okay, okay, so it's not Broadway. It's actually London's West End. But that doesn't mean it doesn't count. You remember those childhood dreams you wrote down in your diary? The entries that read something like, "When I'm older (older, meaning 12) I want to travel to Australia and see a live Koala..." or the simpler entry you, age 12, wrote about becoming a grown up "I want to be a brain surgeon someday." I've never been to Australia. And that's okay with me. I can't discount things I've experienced in my lifetime just because they don't exactly meet my diary criteria. I remember going to the Albuquerque Zoo with my family and seeing a live Koala for the first time. I think I cried. Viewing that darling, fuzzy Koala face through the glass was enough for me. I will never become a brain surgeon (I've talked about my aversion to blood in other posts) And that's okay with me. I am p...

      Many of us live in a bubble world of our own. It's a comfortable place where we're relatively safe and sound. Our worlds are full of loving friends and family, dear people are always there for us.       A day ago, this safe bubble burst for hundreds of marathon runners and spectators in Boston, MA. Two devastating explosions rocked the city, leaving scores of people picking up the shattered pieces of their once-safe world. They lost limbs and loved ones. They faced terror and pain, and their lives will never be the same. God,  Heal Boston. Bring justice. Save souls. Ease nightmares. Touch hearts. Comfort the broken. Find the lost. Guide surgeons' hands. Grant them peace. Control the outcome. To help: https://donate.salvationarmyusa.org or http://www.redcross.org/support

When I'm not all I think I can be, When I'm a little less than me, When the boldness is gone, And it's hard to move on. I have a reason to be Brave.

The totally terrific Tower Bridge over the Thames We think we can't go back over a burnt bridge. That's how that saying goes, huh? We think there's no second chance to rebuild. Our opportunity's gone, the flames demolished our road. But bridges can be rebuilt. You don't have to be an expert engineer to start over, either. You don't need to know a thing about suspension or beams or cantilever spans. You just need to dare to hope and trust. There are parts of that bridge that can be remade. Maybe some communication needs to take place to help the construction along. Maybe an apology or a forgiving heart would be the new foundation. Maybe some time away, to think about the design, would help the building process. Sometimes, a second bridge is just as good, if not better, than the first.

"Good things can distract you from better things."  - Brady White -  (Notes from Mosaic Church @ Walt Disney World) Work Social Media Alcohol Relationships Sex                                                                           These things all have something in common. They were originally designed to be good things.  But guess what we've done? We've make gods out of them.  We've put them in the place where they will fulfill us.  But we can't keep trusting them to make us whole. We've got to give ourselves an opportunity to unplug.  We have to devote ourselves to Someone else. We've got to reboot our computers. Get rid of the programs that distract us. And focus on the better things.

           Art is inspiring.  But it's so easy for us to forget, isn't it? Take Bruce Monroe, for instance.  He's a sensational artist and lighting designer who I'd had never heard of  - until seeing his work displayed at Waddesdon Manor. It was...inspiring.  Often times, I think art has to be complicated and over the top.  Art, in my mind, means modernization and Hollywood and millions of dollars. But it doesn't have to be. It can be this. Monroe's Cantis Arcticus (strings of lights hung from the ceiling) So simple. It can be pencil on paper or words set to music. It can be hand puppets or handmade play-doh sculptures. It can be plinking piano keys or a homemade pumpkin pie. So, be inspired.

You remember that board game, Life? Well, it's funny, because that board game isn't like life at all. The board depicts a squiggly, winding road that progresses through "life-like" occurrences wherein you pay money or win money depending on the roll of the dice.  I don't know about you, but my life certainly doesn't follow a switch-backing path leading either to a mansion or a poor house depending on how I throw the dice.  As a good friend reminded me recently, we have more hope than simply reaching the end.  Our hope isn't in the amount of money we accumulate, the significant other we marry or the amount of kids we have to fill our model car to fill our model driveway to our model house.  Our hope is in the Lord. And He is all we need.

They remember their departed baby girl's birthday every year. They are mourning a baby boy who was with them for 67 days. They are shocked at the news of their baby girl's fatal brain dysfunction. Why do they have to go through this, God? These three mothers who have anxiously awaited motherhood  and these three fathers who have been eagerly preparing for fatherhood. Why must they hurt and mourn? These three infants, who could be loved and cherished  by moms and dads and uncles and sisters - why must they go? Babies are precious gifts of life.  They are darling miracles who coo and cry.  From the tip of a tiny fingernail to the curve of a teeny footprint,  their very being exudes praise to their amazing Creator. Father, only You know why their presence is desired in heaven instead of on earth.  You know the depth of the sorrow we face when kissing their soft cheeks goodbye.  You love better than we ever co...

Credit: My sister's camera She stood shaking, hands covering her grimacing face. She was having an ugly cry. You know, the type of cry that you can't stop, no matter how hard you try. You hiccup and sob and sniff, but numerous tissues or face contortions do nothing to help curb the waterfall tears. She tried speak again to two men sitting before her, but her voice failed. The men waited patiently, not seeming to mind her messy hair or runny makeup. One of them smiled encouragingly and that helped a little. She swallowed another sob and wiped mascara from her cheek with the back of her hand. Through her tears, she noted the peculiar dress of the two men. Their gleaming white robes contrasted her careworn dress and their countenance was...well, dazzling. Taking a deep breath, she tried to corral her racing emotions.  The two well-dressed strangers continued to smile, but she concluded they were not going to speak again. Shrugging limp shoulders in defeat, she turn...