Movin' On...Up? Out? Into a Van Down by the River?

Drum roll please...the big news that I've been teasing about on Twitter? I'm saying farewell to Standing Partnership after ten years and going out into the big wide world on my own as a freelance public relations consultant.

Yeah, I know. Kind of a goofy time to be doing something like this, huh? There's that small issue of the biggest economic crisis the world has seen in a long flippin' time - and our dear new president's laser-focused determination to beat the living crap out of whatever shred of innovation and entrepreneurial activity that might pull us out of it. Well, I didn't exactly choose this route (I am a tinge nuts but not certifiably crazy - legally, anyway), but I am joining the ever-growing ranks of laid off workers with a big advantage - I have the option of freelancing rather than needing to go out and find another formal position with another company.

So here's the deal. I could sit around and feel sorry for myself and drown my sorrows in a bunch of chocolate. Or, I can thank God for the amazing life He's given me to date, thank him for the knowledge, experience and skills that I've gained at Standing Partnership (which I am sincerely and eternally grateful for), and focus on the doors that I know - I know - He's going to open for me. Heck, He's already started growing my freelance career in a couple of fun and exciting ways - God's not one to wait around when He's ready to move on something.

I'm choosing door #2. And I'm choosing to focus on Him and keep my faith in Him, because I believe the promise He gave me in Jeremiah 29:11. I've seen it happen over and over in my life, and He's going to make it happen again. Probably not in any way I can envision, but that's what makes it really fun, right?

I'm sad to say goodbye, but I'm excited about where He's leading me. I'll be sharing more about that here in the next few weeks, so stay tuned.

I am, though, gonna go have a big old bowl of chocolate ice cream. Told you I'm not certifiable.

Until We Meet Again

He died in my arms Thursday night.

As I huddled in the floor of our laundry room where he'd collapsed, cradling his head and stroking his silky, Spock-like corgi ears while he gasped for breath, I frantically called my dear knight and held the phone to one pointy ear so that his dad since the age of six weeks could say goodbye. The door shut to the laundry room, and - thanks be to God - the princesses engrossed in a Disney movie, I gently cuddled him and whispered that I loved him and that it was okay to go. It seemed to be what he was waiting to hear, because his breathing stilled and his heartbeat racing under my hand faded quietly away.

A week after an uncharacteristic seizure (although a lifelong epileptic, his seizures were extremely well-controlled and hadn't occurred in years) and five days after he began losing his sight, his hearing and his ability to walk in rapid succession, our dear Welsh Pembroke corgi passed away from what multiple veterinarians who checked him believe was an aggressive and fast-moving brain tumor. Prior to that wicked seizure, he had been one of the most amazing doggie specimens around - at age 14, he looked and acted like a dog half his age, jumping over anything his short little corgi legs could clear and loving nothing better than running beside Princess E on trips around our subdivision.

It wasn't always that way. When the knight and I went to choose our first "child" from a litter of corgis, he was the runt. The breeder even warned us that we might not want to choose him because she thought he was, in her words, "special." But when I first bent down to get a closer look at the wriggling mass of corgi puppies, he was the one who ran straight up to me, stretched up on those teeny hind legs and licked my nose. How could I possibly choose another after that?

On the ride home, this fawn-colored puppy the length of my forearm cuddled down between me and the car's center console and promptly fell asleep, while we debated names and I stroked those impossibly soft ears that hadn't yet popped straight up in that typical corgi style. (A few weeks later, the right one would pop up, but the left stayed droopy another week or so, which gave him this adorable lopsided look that got him out of more than one of his oh-so-frequent naughty scrapes.) Once we got him home to our tiny starter condo, he sniffed around and then plopped down in the typical doggie sitting pose, but with one noticeable difference - he was so little that one of his legs shook as he tried to keep himself upright, proudly showing us his "big doggie" pose. In that moment, he earned the name that beautifully fit his larger-than-life personality - Elvis.

That "special" little runt turned out to be one of the most beautiful, athletic, intelligent - and mischievous - corgis we, and our vets and groomers, had ever seen. Elvis didn't just learn to speak, he learned to "grunt" a la Tim Allen on "Home Improvement." He was a sleek, muscular, stubborn dog with a stomach of steel and a taste for just about anything - among his most infamous snacks: drywall, a linoleum floor, a Duraflame log (prompting our by-now-shocked-by-nothing vet to say, "Eh, it's mostly fiber."), and a pound of fudge. Contrary to popular thought, the fudge didn't make him sick in the slightest - it took two doses of vet-prescribed hydrogen peroxide to get him to bring it all back up, in typical Elvis fashion, on the light beige carpet of our new home.

Age barely slowed him down. Neither did the arrival of his "brother" Winston, nor the births of two decidedly unfurry princesses, whom he thought were the greatest playthings (or at least the greatest food-droppers) ever - although rather hard to herd, as his corgi instincts dictated he do whenever possible. Sure, he slept a little more in the past year or two, but he was bright-eyed, as fast as ever, and still able to leap up on our bed every night to lay on and warm my feet. The only nights he didn't were those when my knight worked late - when that happened, Elvis would sleep on the landing of the stairs, dutifully protecting his family and no doubt willing to gnaw the kneecaps off anyone who tried to get past him.

As hard as it was to hold him as he died, at the same time I feel incredibly privileged to have been there with him, and I pray that I comforted him as he passed. I am so very sad, but I also know - in my soul I know - that he is running and jumping and playing and herding little ones in Heaven right now, and he will be among the first to greet me when I go there someday. For that - and for the awesome privilege of being his mommy for 14 years - I thank God.

But that doesn't stop me from aching to stroke those velvet ears just one more time, or from knowing that my feet will never really be warm in bed ever again.

Goodbye Elvis - you were indeed "special" in so many ways we could have never imagined. You will always be loved, and you will never be forgotten.

He's Good, And That Works For Me

A couple of weeks ago my knight in shining armor and I went to our first-ever "marriage seminar." We've been married 15 years; at this point, I think we're due for an award just because neither of us has ever kicked the other out in a rage or thrown anything at the other - not that we haven't thought about it, but still, we haven't actually done it.

Anyway, we went to Focus on the Family's simulcast marriage conference, and although I have to admit being a little skeptical going in (I'm too private a person to usually get into this sort of thing), I came out a changed person. All the speakers - Gary Thomas, Dr. Del Tackett (love him - check out his blog ASAP - and if you ever get the chance to experience The Truth Project, do it), Gary Smalley and John Trent - were wonderful, but by far my favorite was Beth Moore.

Now, I'd heard conflicting reports about Beth. Some women love her, while I think some others find her a little..ahem...direct. This was my first "Beth experience," and I thought she was absolutely fantastic. Maybe I relate to her because she's a mouthy Southern chick with a wicked sense of humor. (Check out her blog to see what I mean.) Maybe it's because she and I can both be called the "Trifecta of Evil," aka a Southern Christian conservative (along with another new favorite of mine, Allison Worthington). But maybe it's because her marriage is far from perfect, as she was brutally honest about, but it's good. And good is good.

Sound like she's telling us to settle? No way. Beth's message is that women have an infatuation with idealism - we always want something better. We want that "honeymoon period" that we initially experience - that physical need for each other and feeling of total love and satisfaction - to last forever. And why shouldn't we? Isn't that what the great romances in literature, movies and TV show us is the norm?

Yeah, uh-huh. You get back to me with that overwhelming feeling of love when you've got a toddler gnawing on your ankle, a newborn throwing up on you, leaky boobs, piled-up laundry, dirty dishes and a sacked-out hubby completely oblivious to it all and totally surprised that you've got a butcher knife in your hand and are charging toward him.

Not that I ever did that. It certainly wasn't a butcher knife. Technically, anyway.

But I digress. Beth's point is simple. We've always been told to look for someone to "complete" us, and that is impossible to find. Man is as imperfect as woman is, and is wholly incapable of "completing" himself, so why in the world would we think a man could ever "complete" us?

Only God can complete us. Jesus gives us everything we need. He fills in what is incomplete in our marriage, and in our lives in general. We can't look to a man to do that, because we'll never be satisfied. And if we're not satisfied, ladies, you know ain't nobody in your house happy.

The problem is, we're looking in the wrong place. And we're longing for that overwhelming feeling of love to come back. It is going to come back - we'll find it in Heaven with Jesus. That longing we have is for eternity, and when we get there, we'll feel way beyond what we even think we're looking forward to. We can't even comprehend what that kind of love will feel like - and that feeling won't ever go away. Now that's my idea of a honeymoon!

So in the meantime, I'm looking at my dear knight in a completely different way. His job is not to complete me. His job is to love and cherish and protect and comfort me to the very best of his totally imperfect ability. He's good - and I'm good - and we're good together. And that, pre-eternity, is quite good enough for me.

God Is With Us

As our pastor pointed out at our church's Christmas Eve service, the true joy in Christmas - indeed, the very reason we celebrate it - is because Jesus' birth meant that God is with us. On Earth. In the flesh. In a real town that's still there today. Seen, touched, raised and followed by real people. Real people just like you and me, holding a real, precious, beautiful new baby. What an awesome thought!

God is with us - and I pray that everyone who reads this blog knows that in your heart and soul. If not, or if you want to learn more, read on here.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Through The Valley, With Children

One of my husband's beloved aunts is dying. We found out only three weeks ago that cancer had invaded her brain, her bones, her lungs, even her eye - it was everywhere, and it was spreading rapidly. At best, with aggressive chemo, she had about a year.

One week into the chemo treatments, her body began to shut down in protest. It was too much, too late. Now, she possibly has a week.

We had prepared ourselves for a year. A year sounded like enough time to get those last family celebrations in with Aunt Sharon around - Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter, when she makes her prosciutto-wrapped asparagus we all fight over, and she holds court at the dining table, keeping everyone entertained and laughing. She's the baby sister of a large family and, as such, the natural "tease" who has never lost the ability to goad her brothers and sisters into at least a mock food fight or a "pinch war" - apt substitutes for the ponytail-pulling and frog-in-the-bed tricks that surely went on frequently while they were all growing up in rural Missouri.

A year wouldn't have been enough, of course, but it at least allowed us to delay the pain, to pray for a miracle and to spend time making memories we hoped we'd be able to live on, or would at least comfort us, after she was gone. But a week? What do you do - what can you do - in a week? And what do you say to little princesses who see Mommy and Daddy crying and speaking in hushed tones, then Daddy rushing off late one night and not seeing him again until the next day, carrying a sadness that, despite his best efforts to hide, he wears like a thick blanket that overshadows his normally upbeat spirit?

We do what we do when we don't know what else to do - we hit our knees and pray, grateful that God is there, bewildered that His plan includes this, angry that this senseless disease runs rampant and indiscriminate, frustrated in knowing that a week is all that is left, and searching, always searching, for what to do and how to explain it to children.

And then we get up, because He tells us over and over that He is with us, He is our refuge and strength, He is a very present help in trouble - and He, despite the world's best efforts to tell us otherwise - can most definitely be felt in our very getting up when all we want to do is crawl under the covers and let someone else take care of it. He takes care of it for us, with us and through us, whether it's in finding just the right resource to help walk us through talking to the Princesses, opening our eyes to wonderful friends new and old who will drop everything and rearrange their lives to help with no hesitation or resentment, or in locating a favorite kind of dessert to entice the palate of a kind, loving woman walking through the valley of the shadow of death with dignity and grace.

Aunt Sharon, I pray that your final request is fulfilled - that God's "job" for you in the next life will be to rock the babies in Heaven. I know I've learned an awful lot about rocking my Princesses - and the fruits of surrounding children with love, gentle discipline and respect - from the way you've lived your life. Be still now, and know that He is here, with you and with us, and that your family you love so much will be okay. Sadder, quieter, and with a very empty chair at the holidays, but we'll be okay. And, we'll look forward to seeing you again someday, as you always were here in your happiest moments, surrounded by children.

"It's Great!"

That's Princess E's analysis of kindergarten. In her first three days, she's already gotten her first homework, had Spanish, computer and sign language classes and learned that dawdling over her lunch (she's a notoriously slow eater) means that she won't get to eat everything in her lunch box.

And, she's also been laughed at.

She told a "secret" to one of her friends (it involved a, shall we say, bathroom problem), and that friend - being a five-year-old - immediately told everyone in their seven-person kindergarten class. Of course, at that age anything to do with bathroom habits are funny, and they all started laughing at her - which broke her oh-so-sensitive little heart.

Does it make me a bad person if I want to go wring the necks of a bunch of five-year-olds?

The teacher dealt with it well, and the Princess and I had a talk about 1) sharing "secrets," 2) the dos and don'ts (or the who's and who nots) of sharing personal information, and 3) that you can really make a person feel bad by laughing at them. As much as I hated to see the sadness in her eyes, maybe there was an underlying reason from the Big Guy for the whole incident. Maybe He just wanted her to learn compassion and respect and integrity early on, in a way that would imprint on her heart so that she'd never forget it.

And maybe the Big Guy wanted to teach me a lesson early on, too. That I can't protect her from the big bad world anymore, but I can be there to pick up the pieces afterward, cuddle her on my lap, and reassure her that at least one person in the world knows she's one fantastic kid.

Gosh, kindergarten is hard.

Happy Birthday America!

It's the most gorgeous day I think I've ever seen on the 4th of July - 80 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, low humidity - just fantastic. It's a great day to count our blessings and celebrate 232 years of American independence - and thank all the soldiers and veterans who've sacrificed to ensure our freedom.

A special thank you to our "Cookie Battery" - the Soldiers of Alpha Battery, 3rd Bn, 320th Field Artillery Regiment serving right now in Iraq. God bless you and keep you all.

And for all of us, a reminder of the eloquence and faith of the Founding Fathers in the opening words of the Declaration of Independence:

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

God bless America.

Prayer Works

I'm into counting my blessings today - here are just a few of many:

• My dad's latest scan showed that his non-Hodgkin's lymphoma is gone. Totally gone. He's finishing up his weekly chemo treatments in the next few weeks and having another PET scan and bone marrow test to do a final check, but his doctors are confident they won't find anything.
• Baby Izabela is growing like a weed and gaining more muscle control by the day. She's not totally out of the woods yet, but she's steadily getting better.
• The soldiers of Alpha Battery, 3rd Bn., 320th Field Artillery Regiment (aka the soldiers who get homemade cookies and brownies from me every month) are proudly serving our country in Iraq and doing well, despite getting cookies and brownies from me every month. Their leader (whose name I'll keep private until I know for sure it's okay to share here) actually took the time to write the Princesses and I a lovely letter thanking us for the latest shipment of goodies. How cool (and incredibly sweet) is that? I'm thrilled that we can do anything to make their time away from home a little (bad pun alert) sweeter - there's another box heading your way later this week, guys...but besides praying for your safety, we also pray every day you'll get to come home soon.

Anyone else want to share some answered prayers?

My Dad Has Cancer

Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, to be exact. His prognosis is very good - two to three months of chemotherapy, then a bone marrow biopsy and PET scan to make sure it hasn't spread. His doctors are very positive, as is he. My dad is otherwise healthy, exercises every day and eats well - heck, he's probably in better shape than I am. He took the news hard at first, but then he rallied, and now he's ready to get going ASAP and whip this thing.

My mom has researched the heck out of lymphoma (under better circumstances, I'm convinced my mother would have gone to medical school and been a fantastic doctor), found one of the best oncologists around to care for my dad, and has already started her compilation of notes from doctor visits, taken - as all her important notes are - in shorthand. (She may have been a better spy than doctor.) :-P

My 16-year-old sister (yes, she was a surprise baby!) is taking it in stride, wanting to go to all the doctor visits with Mom & Dad and stay on top of everything. (Yep, she's planning to go premed in college.)

I think I'm still in the stunned phase. I think it's just because this week was so completely overwhelming I'm just now starting to process things. Last Sunday I had to jump in on a massive and fast-moving new business pitch that dominated the first part of the week - lots of working day and night on this one. Monday afternoon came the news about my dad. Tuesday night Princess G began running a fever that would only get worse as the week progressed, resulting in no real sleep for several nights...which just makes your brain hurt.

Beyond hurting for my family, I'm hurting for my friends. One has just lost her mother. Another is about to lose her dad. Yet another is in a great deal of emotional pain - I don't know why, and she doesn't want to share yet. And another just tried again to reach a goal she's tried to make several times, and she didn't make it. There's so much pain going on around me right now, and I don't have arms big enough to hold everyone....and maybe that's the lesson God is trying to teach me. Humility is a difficult lesson, especially for someone whose usual M.O. is always to say, "I can do that!"

But I can't. I can't save my dad from the harsh reality of cancer, no matter how positive the diagnosis, or the pain of chemotherapy. I can't save my baby from fever and chills and sickness. I can't save my friends from the pain of losing their loved ones, or whatever is hurting them. All can really do is get down on my knees and pray to the One whose arms are big enough to hold us all - pray that my dad will continue to fight, that my mom and sister will be supportive and will ask for support when they need it, that my friends who are losing their parents will find peace, that my friend who can't talk about her pain yet will open up to God, if to no one else, to soothe her aching heart.

So I pray...and I cry...and I depend on my faith, which some people may think is stupid and naive, but which, at the end of the day, is really the only thing we truly have to hang onto in this hard, cold, imperfect world that sometimes seems as though it's spiraling out of control. It may be, but He is not - and when everything around me is swirling, all I can do is get on my knees and hang onto Him.

My dad has cancer - and whether on earth or in Heaven, he is going to be okay. Thank you, Lord, for that knowledge and that comfort. I pray that my other friends who are hurting so much will find that comfort, too.

Look To God

I've been thinking a lot about the recent horrific events in Kirkwood. Any words I write about what happened would never even come close to being adequate, so I just keep turning to the only words that can comfort us in times like this - God's words:

"These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world." John 16:33

God Bless Us, Every One

Why didn't I write over the holidays? A very sick Princess Grace, sniping relatives and sheer exhaustion are my excuses. But, I still had a good Christmas - wanna know why?

Even though the little one required an eight-hour ER stay and IV fluids/antibiotics, she got to come home, and now she's better. Thank you, God, for healing our princess - and please comfort those children, and their families, who didn't get to come home from the hospital for Christmas.

Yes, various relatives were taking shots (figurative ones - we're Southern, not trashy!) at one another most of the time, but at least we were all together, and we did manage to have some fun. Thank you, God, for giving us the opportunity to be together this year - and please comfort those whose loved ones were far away, and those who were mourning loved ones lost.

Did I get even less sleep than usual? Yes, but at least I had a warm bed to fall into every night and all the comfort food I could want (which I'll be working off for the next several months). Thank you, God, for blessing me so very much this Christmas - and please comfort those who feel lost and alone, and who don't have a safe place to sleep or food to eat.

My life is crazy, funny, frustrating, and exhausting - and I'm extremely blessed to have it. Thanks for reading my random thoughts and rants in 2007 - I hope you've had some laughs and found some value in it, and I hope you'll keep reading in 2o08. Happy New Year and God bless you.

The Truth Is Out There

I'm not good at talking publicly about being a Christian - contrary to what you may think after reading my blog, I'm actually a fairly private person.

I know - you're thinking you wish I'd been more private in some earlier posts. I said "fairly private" - I've got wiggle room there.

Anyway, I'm working on getting better at sharing God with others - here's a good first step. I've been participating in The Truth Project through my church. It's been an amazing experience - very focused on the "why" behind so many of the truths Christians the world over share. The lessons are led by Dr. Del Tackett, who also has the insightful blog Truth Observed.

Check it out - it's worth your time.