But hang on to those big silver earrings, you never know when they might come back

My dear friend Beth did a post on her blog last week inviting us to write a letter to our 20 year old self. I am a little bit late, but here goes:


Dear Missy,

This is Missy, you, in eighteen years when you are REALLY old. Even though you are twenty and you already know everything, I just want to share a thing or fifteen with you.

1. I know you think the sun rises and sets on Eric McConnell, but believe me, it does not. Oh, it SO does not. You do NOT want to marry him. In about seven years you are going to run into him at a beer festival in downtown Houston and find out he got his girlfriend pregnant. And then you will turn to Rosann (you'll be friends with her forever) and say, "I SWEAR he was cute in college. I SWEAR." And she will say, "Oh, I'm sure he was, yeah" with a skeptical look on her face. Later you will not even want to be his facebook friend! (Facebook is this computer thing that is too hard to explain but trust me, you are glad it is not invented yet because you have enough trouble studying as it is.) Anyway. Eric. Yes. He's the devil. Really. Go ahead and break up with him now because he is about to cheat on you with a blond high school senior and you will subsequently spend the entire summer on your mom's couch crying, eating Cool Ranch Doritos, and watching Bewitched reruns. Get out now. Run. RUN!!!!!

2. Missy, we really need to talk about your grades. You are in college to STUDY. Not to play computer solitaire, not to lay out at Barton Creek, not to go to Sixth Street with your friends, not to sleep. To STUDY. You probably won't want to go to grad school but at the rate you are going, it won't even be an option. Try and keep your options open girl. Crack open a book sometime.

3. There are a few girls who are gonna ask you to be bridesmaids in their weddings. Come up with some excuse and just say no. You will drop $500 on the dress and the showers and then once they get married, you will never see them again. And you won't even care.

4. Speaking of weddings, you are not getting married until you are 32. Quit screaming. Seriously, now, you're not going to slit your wrists. Please. It's not the end of the world. In fact, it is going to be your greatest blessing. So, just try and enjoy your 20s and quit going for the gold, okay? It ain't happening.

5. Enjoy your body. It will soon droop and sag in ways you never believed possible.

6. Go and get a wire coat hanger and wrap it around the bumper of that sexy '87 Chevette you are driving. You're gonna be locking yourself out of your car a lot so make like a boy scout and be prepared.

7. Find a BSF class and go join it ASAP. It's gonna change your life in a few years, and honey, the sooner the better.

8. I know someone told you that Campus Crusade were a bunch of weirdo bible thumpers, but they are really nice. You should check them out for yourself. Never know, you might end up a weirdo bible thumper yourself one day.

9. Cole Haan driver shoes will not always be in style. Hard to believe, huh?

10. Banana Republic and the Gap are going to get much more fashionable (and much more expensive.) Then you'll just buy your t-shirts at Target. And in 2009, Harold Powell will go under. It's crazy times ahead.

11. That new invention, CDs? That you play on your brand new gigantic CD player? In twenty years, you will have all your music on a teeny tiny little computer called an iPod and listen to it through little bitty speakers. But you and your husband will still frequently refer to it as a Walkman. (And no, his name is not Eric. Eric's a jerk. What'd I say? RUN.)

12. Speaking of men to run from, don't vote for Clinton. (If you do, future husband not named Eric will tease you mercilessly.)

13. Some girls just do better living alone than with a roommate. You are one of those girls.

14. Mostly, little girl. You need to quit trying to find your sense of self worth in boys. They are so unworthy of your heart. And even if they were worthy, they are too young to even know what to do with it. Please seek Christ - he is the only Man that you need. Please. You will save us both a lot of trouble if you can decide now that Jesus is better than a boyfriend. The Lord has already written down every day of your life in his book - learn to sit back and enjoy the show. It's gonna be great. It's gonna be better than you ever dreamed.

15. You were right, you really don't need algebra.

Love, Missy

It's not too late to join - what would you say to your 20 year old self? Link up at Beth's!

Soon you too will be blue, Pinky

Maggie has a habit of choosing one toy and becoming very attached to it. Said toy will go with her to school, to every meal, and snuggle with her all night long. It waits for her on the floor outside the tub. They are inseparable and should she lose it, uh oh. The entire world is put on hold until her BFF is found.

For, about three weeks. Then, as quickly as she fell in love, she kicks it to the curb. No tears. No closure. No promises to stay friends. Just, next.

I prophesy an interesting adolescence.

Her latest love, a little backpack that came filled with McDonald's toy food, lasted a good month, which I believe is a record. I think it is because Maggie believes that the golden arches spell "Maggie." She lays claim to every McDonald's we pass as her own (if only that were true, then you could go out of state to college, Mags!) So the backpack was dearly beloved and worn everywhere until she just woke up one morning last week and adios, a-bolsa.

I had noticed that her heart had grown cold towards Micky D and last night when it was time for bed, she began asking "Where Pinky? I need Pinky! Where Pinky?" Problem was I had no idea who Pinky was.

Eva Rose, Maggie's designated interpreter, was just as mystified. We held up any obvious suspects: the pink blanket? No! Pink teddy? No! Pink dolly? Noooooo! Maggie looked in the playroom for Pinky and the bathroom for Pinky, to no avail. The tears commenced.

Now there are quite a few pink items in this house and it was getting late. Finally I convinced her that we would find Pinky tomorrow, and poor Maggie went to bed alone. And so did Pinky. Somewhere.

This afternoon, I heard Maggie cry triumphantly, "Pinky! Here Pinky! I find Pinky! Yeaaaaa!!"

I hurried to see who Pinky was.

Hmmm. "That's Pinky?" I asked. "Yaaaaaaaaaa!" she cried and did a little happy dance around the kitchen.

"Look, Eva Rose. Maggie found Pinky."

Eva Rose looked. "That's weird."

I agreed.

Meet Pinky:


(Obviously it was a pyjama day.)

Welcome to the family, "Pinky". But don't get too comfortable. Your new girlfriend has a serious fear of commitment.

Medicine

First off, I have to make a comment. If you are one of those people who likes to do crazy things just for the challenge of it, I have the next adventure for your to-do list. It requires the skills of an Olympian, the perseverance to run the Boston Marathon, and the courage to climb Mt. Everest. Not to mention the faith of a skydiver.

Here it is: get in a minivan, and then go try and park between any two of the fleet of SUVs packed into the ridiculously tight parking spaces at First Baptist Church on a Beth Moore Tuesday night. If you succeed, you will indeed experience the thrill of VICTORY.

Not a good mommy day. Not. A. Good. Mommy. Day. We are on Day Nine of someone in this house having the sniffling/sneezing/coughing/aching/fever/whiney/cranky/bratty/tantrum throwing crud, including myself.

And I'm done. DONE. I'm so over it. Any Florence Nightingale that existed in me has hightailed it to a sterile Sandals in the Bahamas. There is no patient, loving, feed-the-poor and tend-the-sick mommy left.

So today when Shep's fever meant one more day of canceled plans, and one more day of kids complaining about canceled plans, I was grouchy. Just plain mean. Squeeze a little PMS on this crab salad and there was no turning back.

Walker called from his waste of a day of jury duty. "How you doing?" "Bad." I answer. Because he doesn't have enough to worry about what with his breadwinner-y duties and all. I didn't care. "I just want to run away. I do NOT want to be a mother today."

I didn't pray to God to help me be nicer because you know what? I didn't even want to be nicer. I wanted to be all by myself, to lie on my couch and watch my Judge Judy and not have to referee any fights or dole out any Motrin or wipe any poop from any heinies.

I was surviving until noon when I thought I might get to do that. All four kids down, except Eva Rose. For two hours we fought over her napping. Why oh why would she not lie still and let the Benadryl take effect?? Finally she did and it did. Four kids down. DVR on. I had won.

Except, of course, for the guilt that then began to wash over me, for not playing Candyland or planting flowers, for yelling and fussing and spanking and threatening. For being a mean mommy and a whiney wife.

So my longed for rest time turned into a recap of my shame.

Eva Rose woke up, came up to me in the kitchen. "I love you Mommy. You're the bestest mommy in the whoooooole world."

Me? The one who griped at her all morning? How can she even say that?

I hugged her back, this precious, beautiful, strong willed child, and said, "I'm sorry I was grouchy today."

"Oh, when you yelled at me? I forgive you Mommy. I love you soooooo much. You look so beautiful today."

Oh, my God, this love, how can it be?

Tonight I did not want at all to go to Beth Moore, which is precisely why I went. The very last song they sang before her teaching is one that I can never really sing, because it is one on a list of songs that chokes me up every time. I just mouth the words, and try not to cry.

I love you Lord
and I lift my voice to worship you,
Oh my soul, rejoice
Take joy, my King
In what you hear
May it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear.

And I think, how on earth can my whispered voice, the song of a selfish giver, an ungrateful taker - how on earth can my voice be sweet to his ear right now? How?

And yet I know, amazingly that it is. Because he loves me, forgives me, and thinks I'm beautiful. Even today.

Oh, my God, this love, how can it be?

Amazingly, never once have I felt compelled to photodocument the shaving of my legs

There are some things about men that you just never know until you marry one. For instance, men are almost as obsessed with hair as we are.

It's true. I have heard Walker discuss it at long length with his friend Reagan. Conversations like, "You know John Durie? Elder?" "Oh yeah. Great hair. Greaaaat hair. That man - (sigh). Good hair." They have even been known to email each other hair updates regarding their personal hair heroes, as BooMama would put it.

Walker's hair hero? This guy.


First Runner Up, or shall we say, Vice President:


(Walker swears that hair knows no politics. Pure coincidence, claims he.)

So, it is no surprise that the obsession extends to the face as well.

Ever so often, usually after an extended holiday (eg, Christmas) Walker will grow a beard. I hate it. Why? For the same reason I hate kissing cacti. It hurts. Now, that is a hypothetical of course, because I have never actually kissed a cactus. And for the two, three weeks that my husband is covered in a prickly display of his manhood, he receives about as much lovin as the aloe vera on my kitchen window sill does.

Eventually he decides that The Testosterone Show has run it's course, and, hopefully, misses his wife's kisses, and he shaves it.

Only he can't just go shave it like a normal person. Oh no. The demise of the beard warrants just as much fanfare as its growth.

And so, last week, he handed me the camera and asked me to engage in some photojournalism. Of the stages of his shaving.

However could I resist.

Before:

Here he is, displaying his man fur in all its glory.
That look in his eyes is loneliness. I am serious, each whisker is like a teeny tiny needle on my delicate skin. His choice, I tell him. Repeatedly.
He's lonely, but he's proud.

Stage 1. He just shaves the chin.
Kids, meet your friendly neighborhood drug dealer.

Stage three.

Bow, chicka bow bow.
We call this look: creepy longshoreman.
Very, very creepy.


Stage four, complete with costume change.
Words can barely express.
But, let's try.
"Walker, Texas Nazi."

Finally, FINALLY, the after.


Silky smooth cheeks.
He is rewarded with a kiss.

Hello my Spectacular Sistahs! (I could say Spectacular Sinning Sistahs, but, nah!) I am so excited to dive into Chapter One with you!

If I didn't know any better, I would say Lisa gave me the hard chapter on purpose. Oh my skull. I have prayed for wisdom because sorely I needed it.

I must say however, how much this book excites me, because of the topic of God's sovereignty. I spent twenty-five years with my behind in a church pew every Sunday, never once hearing the phrase "God is sovereign". Perhaps you are like me in that respect.

But I was just (tearfully) explaining to my husband, knowing that God is sovereign over all: the good, the bad, the joy, and the pain, is, for me, the source of the abundant life that Christ came to give. Knowing the one who loves me and died for me is in complete control of EVERY. THING. has been my peace that passeth all understanding, even and especially when I am in the valley of the shadow of death. I knew the Lord before - but now I adore him, trust him, and find my joy in him. All because of an understanding of His sovereignty.

It is my prayer that every one of you will come to love the idea of and embrace the power of God's sovereignty as we work through this book together! (This very book that the Father ordained before the creation of the earth for us to now study together!!)

Please click over to The Preacher's Wife for this week's questions!

Girls Night Inside Out

Now, I have traveled across the country and across the state for a little estrogen companionship of the Jesus Bloggy type. So when Proverbs 31 Ministries had a shindig just a short drive in my minivan away, I was pret-ty thrilled.

I had already planned to go to this, to see Lysa and Renee, wonderful speakers whom I have already been blessed enough to see at She Speaks, and hear Ayiesha Woods, whose CD I gave away here not long ago and Jason Catron, who my son now thinks is way cool (more on that later.) And, bonus, Kate from Jon & Kate Plus 8. We love that show. We, as in, even Walker will wander onto a girly channel like TLC to watch a show about someone whose life is more chaotic than our own.

But then on Tuesday, I received an email from Linda. She said that she and "another blogger" would be coming to Houston to this event, depending on how far I lived from the airport, could they sleep in my twin beds surrounded by stuffed animals and matchbox cars?

Linda and I have emailed enough in the past that I was 95% sure she was not a pyscho. But Mystery Blogger #2? I hesitantly agreed while wondering if I was making a decision that might end us up on the evening news. Who was Blogger #2?

My fears were confirmed! Linda emailed me back and said that Blogger #2 was none other than this RAVING LUNATIC!!

I have not been so excited about a slumber party since my tenth birthday. Too bad we were so incredibly exhausted after a very long evening (Proverbs 31 makes sure you get your money's worth.) By midnight we could only stare bleary eyed at each other over Diet Cokes and Whataburger Taquitos, so we canceled Light as a Feather Stiff as a Board, nor we did not wrap even one boy's house in toilet paper.

The event was great, of course. I saw old friends and got to meet fun new bloggers for the first time:

(You know, y'all, I am not short in my own brain. In my mind's eye, I am about 5'6. Then I see a picture like that, and good grief, did I descend from Pygmies?? I've had this body my whole life, yet, the shock never ends.)

Let me name drop a bit now, as I am getting so good at it. These tall ladies would be:

Lindsay from A New Life. She is a new blogger who needs to keep it up - she's so got the gift. And the picture at the top of her blog is SO CUTE.
Paula from Wrinkled Shirts, who has a very cute blog with lots of giveaways (hint hint)
Sandy from God Speaks Today. Sandy and I have just recently fallen in blog love and did very girly squeals of surprise to see each other. I wish she lived in Houston not only because she is precious but also because then she might let me borrow that green sweater dress.
Me in a stunning purple paisley shift dress. Hold on to that thought.
Vern, whom I mentioned before earned 37 jewels in her crown when she sat next to the most obnoxious man ever to fly coach. Like, he should be on the Master Terrorist List because listening to Donald Duck impersonations cross country could lead fellow passengers to acts of desperation.
Renee Swope, who is just very cool and sweet. I am mindlessly fiddling with the button on the back of her jacket as this and 32 other identical photos were being taken. Renee, I hope I did not weird you out.
Linda from Mocha with Linda, fellow Texan and girlz from the hood. As in, we grew up in the same part of formerly-nice-now-kinda-scary Houston. Linda is as wonderful IRL as she is on her blog. And she left me a giftcard to Starbucks. For a mocha. (get it? love it.)
Lysa TerKeurst, who is, well, Lysa TerKeurst. If y'all have not heard her adoption story, get your Kleenex and go (maybe I've mentioned I love adoption and anyone who adopts?) And her testimony is on Focus on the Family right now, which caused me to burn 500 calories on the elliptical because I could not stop listening. It's good for the soul and the cellulite.
Lisa, Blogger #2, whom I love so much. And who slept on what I noticed this morning was a very lopsided mattress. And who, with Linda, had to wake up at an obscene hour so that she could catch a 7am flight and was nice enough to leave me drooling in my warm bed.
Melanie, whom y'all might have heard of. Since she and I share the same state I am being blessed to see her pretty regularly. And I am so glad she did not catch her hair on fire the next morning, because Mel has really good hair.

This is me and Lisa, taking a break from our discussion of the Blog Guilt we carry daily from not reading enough blogs.


I even sit short.

Ok. The dress.

My favorite store is Banana Republic, therefore, for every birthday etc, Walker gives me a Banana Republic gift card. For several years, I would get pregnant before I could use it. Then Christmas would roll around, and my mother-in-law would give me one. Then I would get pregnant...long story short, I have accumulated a TON of gift cards for Banana. I feel rich. It's quite heavenly.

I have been hoarding them until I lost the Ike weight and thanks to our Fit Friday checkins, I went shopping recently and caught a sale. And got this silk paisley shift dress. A dress which makes me feel quite pretty, with my black leggings and cool green necklace. So I wore it yesterday.

This week has been beyond exhausting for a variety of reasons, so I took a little power nap before the event last night. I slipped off my silk paisley shift dress so that, well, it wouldn't look like I slept in it. Then I slipped it back on.

Sleepily.

So. Later. I'm at the event, talking to Lisa and Linda and Mel and Amanda, whom I also got to meet for the first time (and who so does NOT look like she is about to pop out a baby any minute. I look like her before I even take a pregnancy test.) So, at an intermission, I'm sitting chatting, and since Renee was not next to me, I fiddled with the hem on the seam of my own dress, which in retrospect should have been a sign.

Suddenly Linda leaned in and looked at me with one of those looks. The ones you get when someone is about to deliver very bad fashion news to you, along the lines of flies unzipped or skirts tucked in pantyhose. Or, if you're wearing white shoes after Labor Day (winks to Lysa.) My heart held still as she looked into my eyes and announced:

Missy. Your dress is on inside out.

Yes. Yessssssss.

My pretty silk paisley shift dress. Backwards.


Now when Melanie posts on Fashion Friday that wearing clothes inside out is all the rage, I just want you to remember where it started.

(And how glad was I that my tag said Banana Republic and not Faded Glory?)

On bitter pills

Today is the 36th anniversary of Roe v. Wade.

Roe v. Wade was decided in 1973. The date means a lot to me, because I was born in 1970 to a very scared, very desperate 17 year old girl, when abortion was still illegal.

I don't know what my birthmother might have done if she had a "choice." I suspect she would have been against aborting me. But she had parents who might have been very much for it, and who might have persuaded her to "take care of" her problem. Or her punishment, as our president would refer to me.

We'll never know what she might of done, will we? I only know what she did do. While the rest of her friends - and my birthfather - went to prom and graduation ceremonies, she carried me to term, at great, great sacrifice to herself. And then she gave me up for adoption to a infertile couple who were ready and able and aching to be punished with a baby girl. And for that, really, how do you say thank you?

Thank you, R. Love you.

So y'all, this issue is a little personal to me.

It is very personal to my friend Leila too, who has a gorgeous blog that is all about redemption called Write from the Heart. Leila was once a scared, desperate young woman who made the wrong choice and has lived the rest of her life regretting it. And she asked me if she could post about it here today. How quickly do you think I said yes?

Please welcome Leila.

“This is what I have to do.” I kept saying that phrase over and over again to myself on the hour drive to the see the doctor. The doctor who would watch me swallow the pill that would halt the Creator’s creativity happening inside my womb.

I will never forget sitting in that clinic. In my heart I knew this wayward child of God did not belong there. As I sat staring into the pages of a magazine not being able to see past the constant tears that filled my eyes, I listened to two young ladies talk about how this was not their first abortion. To them this was a quick fix for something they were not ready for and by the sound of their laughter there was no chaos happening within their hearts.

I tried to silence the pleas that I knew was the Holy Spirit begging me to leave. That day a life temporarily uninterrupted would win for when the time came for my name to be called, I got up and followed the nurse. That day I chose convenience over Christ, selfishness over trust. I put aside any belief I had against abortion and did the unthinkable. I went from “I would never” to “I can’t believe I just” in a matter of moments.

I lay on the table so I could have an ultrasound done. “Just a tiny dot” is what the technician called my baby. Then I was led into another room for a brief, emotionless explanation of what I was about to do. I passed a young woman in the hall that was assigned to hand me my pill after my paper work was finished. She applauded and looked like a little child about to open a birthday gift. “You’re my first medical abortion!” I just stared at her as the tears stung my eyes. Inside a war was waging as I was desperately screaming to myself “Just leave! It’s not too late!” and this young lady was celebrating that she could add this experience to her resume.

My last stop in that clinic would be the one with the doctor and the excited young nurse. Since I was not further than 7 weeks along I was eligible to have a “medical abortion” where swallowing the pills they gave me would cease all growth. It would abort the earthly future that God had planned for this baby…His child.

I walked out of that clinic that day and as I drove past the praying women on the sidewalk I left much behind. I was childless within an hour of arriving at that clinic. The fear of my marriage ending from what caused the pregnancy would overtake me, for this was a consequence of an affair. I will never know what God would have done in the lives of me and my loved ones if I would have walked out of that clinic still pregnant.

Eventually I told my husband what I had done and my confession was met by much love and grace. Forgiveness only the Savior could give was granted and our marriage was made stronger.

I have no idea if this is something you have done also or maybe you are in a situation that you think abortion is the only choice you have, but I want to encourage you to trust God. Don’t believe the lies the enemy is trying to fill your head with. No matter what your situation is trust Him. Married or single, just give Him a chance. When it comes down to it if I would have trusted God and turned to Him with my marriage, I would have never broken my vows. I would have never lied to my two friends that saw me through what they thought was a miscarriage.

I never thought I would have done what I did, but that is the cool part about Jesus. He really is One that can be taken at His Word. When you ask forgiveness…He gives it. When you seek Him…He will be found. When you surrender…He will take all your “ugly” and make you usable. When you give your heart to Him…He will mend and not break. When you trust in Him, you will discover why the disciples never gave up their following.

He is worth this journey and even though every motherly and God-seeking part of me wants to go back in time and choose trust over convenience, I know God will do as He says and use this for Kingdom gain.

The aftermath of an abortion offers anything but a life of convenience. What you might think is a quick fix may do just that. I will tell you this though, the day your choice hits you, every piece of you will scramble to undo what cannot be undone. It’s a pain in your heart that is unbearable and one that you cannot change. The day I chose to take my baby’s life, I missed out on giving God opportunity to show His greatness with the mess I had made of my life.

The day I repented He was given another opportunity and so now I watch as the King uses this unworthy Christian wife and mom of 3 for His glory. Now I watch His greatness unfold and even though it doesn’t change the choice I made, it gently covers my shame with His love and grace.

If by sharing my choice changes one woman’s mind from choosing abortion to choosing to trust God with her situation then to Him be all the glory. The life saved because a mother chose God over a quick fix is a life that will be used by Him.

Do I deserve the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ? No way…but He knows I’m willing to share Him with others.

This is what I have to do; it’s what I want to do.

Jeremiah 32: 17

"Ah, Sovereign LORD, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you.

Many Blessings,

Lelia Chealey

Thank you so much Leila, for bearing the deepest parts of your heart.

Now, invisibles, let's go.

Care Net crisis pregnancy

Feminists for Life (whose motto is, Women Deserve Better Than Abortion!)

Child Advocates

Become a Foster Parent

Because Shep was Bam-Bam

Walker and I were driving just now and talking about Ike. He is in a very, very destructive stage that not one Naptime child bypasses, so he just tiptoes through the house banging brooms and sticks around, on a mission to destroy. He's hairy - the child has a unibrow y'all (he came by it honest - that's all I'm sayin.) He is freakishly strong. And he has a language delay, like Maggie did (sigh) so he communicates, mostly, by grunting.

It occurred to both of us simultaneously who our sweet baby is -

Please, please, please pray for Lily

I received this email this morning - please pray for sweet Lily!!

It was a rough day for Lauren and John. Lily Margaret had a bronchial spasm this morning that sent her sats plummeting. Even the optimistic nurse all but told them to say their goodbyes. Lauren said it felt like her heart was in a washing machine today...so many emotions and stress throughout the day. They sobbed and prayed at the foot of Lily Margaret's bed. The day ended on a more positive note....the sats slowly came back up. At the day's end they were in the 90%'s, and the physicians seemed much more hopeful. Lauren said that right when you feel like you're going to get through it, God puts you back in that position of dependency. There are so many questions! Why? How long? Will she make it? Will she come through this unscathed by oxygen deficiency? Please pray for strength, peace, and trust for Lauren and John. Please pray for healing for Lily Margaret.

Imagine the potential

Today, Barack Obama will be sworn in as President of the United States.

I, like many of you, am not thrilled about it.

I don't know if Obama will be better for the economy, I certainly hope so. If he was not tough on terrorism before, I have to believe a meeting or two with the NSC will change that. I am pretty sure he will raise taxes, but that is to be expected. I defy his stand on gay marriage, but let's get real - we only have our own straight selves, with our divorce rate and cohabitation and illegitimacy statistics, to blame for the disintegration of marriage in our country.

Those issues do not keep me awake at night.

What does keep me awake in the dark and make me sick to my stomach is his pledge to make the Freedom of Choice Act his "number one priority" as president.

More than the economy, more than the war, more than terrorism, more than education, more than poverty, more than any other issue, he has pledged to make it as easy as possible to kill any unborn child with absolutely no restrictions.

There are ways to fight this, which you can view here.

To be honest, I am not terribly hopeful. I think that Obama fully intends to dance with the pro-abortion proponents who brung him and has a worshipful Congress eager to twirl around him in a choreographed praise dance.

So I am devastated. But I am not surprised. It's politics y'all. It is a man-made institution, and all man-made institutions will gravitate towards sin, especially politics. Big fat shocker.

What has surprised me, and saddened me, is the hypocrisy I have seen arise out of this from - step back - my fellow Christians.

Now I was a vociferous opponent of Obama to anyone who would listen. I did not, however, blog about it because I did not feel that this was the forum. And I sure didn't want the comments to start. I am taking a big risk by being as blunt as I am being now and I do NOT want this blog to cease being a safe place for people to come and a comment war would ensure that. I have dear friends whom I know are believers who voted for Obama. Even though I don't understand how they got around the abortion issue, I know their hearts. I am not saying that you cannot be a Christian and vote Democrat - I used to be one myself. I am only voting Republican by default and have about as little faith in elephants as I do in donkeys (because hello? It's politics.)

What got me so irritated, however, in the weeks leading up to November 4, were the emails that I received from so many of my Republican brothers and sisters in Christ all riled up about Obama.

Because after I read each long eloquent email, my thought was,

What have you done to prevent the 11 million abortions that have been performed since Bush was elected?

What are you going to do to fight abortion the other 364 days of this year?

When was the last time you sacrificed your time or comfort to help an abused, unwanted child?

When was the last time you lovingly presented an alternative to a desperate pregnant woman?

What are you doing to be the hands and feet of Christ to half a million born children in foster care today?

My friends, we must realize that government will never usher in the Kingdom of God.

N E V E R.

NEEEEEEEEEEEEVER.

It is not the job of government to usher in the Kingdom of God.

This is our job.

When Jesus walked on Earth he was amidst a culture as base, obscene, immoral, depraved and godless as our own, if not more so. And not once in the gospel did he say, "Beloved, vote/campaign/email for the candidate who will care for the widows and the orphans."

That's our job.

I believe that we can extrapolate widows to mean many single mothers. And y'all, the orphans outnumber the non-orphans in our society today. Did you know that if only 7% of professing Christians would adopt a child, there would be no more orphans in the world?

Every crisis pregnancy center in this country is in need of volunteers, and money. Every one.

I am actually a little excited about the opportunities created by Obama being elected. I think that the Church has gotten a little lazy in the past eight years, thinking we had an "in" in the White House. We need to be awakened and I think an Obama administration will be a great alarm clock.

Let's go.






* Any incendiary comments will be deleted.

"God made evil commit suicide." Uh huh. Wanna read more? You bet you do.

I am so delighted that today starts the Spectacular Sins book study!!

Lisa is taking this week. Please click over there for the questions.

(blow hack sniff)
(moan)

FIT FRIDAY - two days late

I am so sorry I did not get Fit Friday up but first we had a sick computer. And then it appears that our computer passed his nasty virus on to Walker, and now me.

My eyes hurt. My throat hurts. My back hurts. And I am overwhelmed with snot.

I am going to go ahead and post Mr. Linky in case y'all do want to link up -

Me: Had one of those weeks where I did not make it to the gym once. Not for lack of trying - something came up every day. And now I am sick.

Hack hack blow.

How about you? (hack)

1. Jenn @ Life in Return

2. Leslie@UnderConstruction

Powered by... Mister Linky's Magical Widgets.

Walker said to title this "Random Missy-laneous"

You know, I can sing okay. I mean, my voice is not embarrassing or anything. It's also not fantastic. I know this because not one of my friends has ever asked me to sing at her wedding. Or even to sing them happy birthday, for that matter. When we are sitting around the campfire at the beach, no one says, "Wow, Missy, you know what would make this evening perfect? if you would just sing a little Natalie Merchant! Please Missy, make our dream come true!"

Ain't happened once in my whole life.

And that is why I would never put on my best halter top and go before Randy, Simon, Paula and Whatshername, and try and belt me out some Celine.

It's kinda like how I once had a friend who was, well. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer. And he told me he wanted to go to school to be a, um, what's it called? His girlfriend filled him in. Oh yeah. A neurosurgeon, yeah.

Those are the moments when you just smile and say, "Ohhhh. Yeah. Good luck with that."

Segue to: Beth was wonderful last night. It is being recorded, so of course every time they panned I stood up and waved my arms as wide as I could and did the hook 'em horns sign.

Not really.

I did almost nod off when she was talking about how Christians should not be boring and considered the irony of that. But it was certainly not her fault - it was the fault of two preschoolers, both of whom have been sleeping a good twelve nighttime hours since they were four months old but who have lately begun alternating their wakeups so that I feel like I have twin newborns in the house. Very big very verbal twin newborns who jab me in the cheekbone while the rest of the world slumbers.

My father, born in North Carolina, raised in Tennessee and Texas, is the king of hilarious Southern sayings and my favorite is when he referred to a constant complainer by saying "If it ain't her arse, it's her elbow." Only he didn't say arse because the majority of his sayings were rated PG-13. Lately, between the hours of midnight and 4am, if it ain't Shep's arse, it's Eva Rose's elbow, and oh my skull I wish they would cut it out.

To which my dad would reply, "Melissa, you can wish in one hand, and (poop) in the other, and see which hand gets full first."

I just want one full night's sleep. Just one.

"Well, Melissa, people in hell want ice water."

Either way, I am headed to bed. Because my children have been promised a trip to Costco tomorrow and if Melissa doesn't get some sleep, Melissa will not be able to find her (arse) with both hands and a flashlight.

Good night.


PS - Could y'all please say a prayer for Lily Margaret? She is the daughter of Lauren and John, who opened their home to us during the hurricane. Lily is not quite a month old and in the hospital with RSV, pneumonia, a collapsed lung, flu...the list goes one. None of us who love them are sleeping very well. But there is power in the prayers of righteous women - please lift her up! Thank you!

Ask me how excited I am?

Guess what starts tonight...

The Inheritance

Pretty giddy!

Brain mamage

So, as I mentioned, we are back at our old church. And despite the long drive there and back, I am enjoying it. Getting communion every week is such a blessing. And we see lots of old friends every week.

Which causes me a wee problem.

I joined this church when we got married and we left soon after Maggie's baptism. Which means that I was incubating one kid or another for the majority of my season there.

And pregnancy makes you stupid. Trust me on this one. Dumber than you have ever been. For instance: once I went grocery shopping, came home, opened up the minivan to unload it and found it surprisingly empty. Drove back to Kroger and there were my groceries, still in the cart in the parking lot.

That stupid.

Recently a study came out that finally confirmed this. Someone, surely a mother tired of her husband's wisecracks, received some grant money and poured herself into research to prove that we are not making this stuff up. And I betcha a dollar she had trouble with her pregnant subjects remembering to show up for their appointments.

Maggie's pregnancy was the worst. During that time a couple we knew invited us to their home for dinner, we'll call them Jon and Sabra, since, well, those are their names. Just the four of us, no children, no distractions, looking each other full on in the eyes and talking for several hours over baked chicken.

Two weeks later, we were at church and it was time for communion. There was a man holding out a tray of wine, and he looked so familiar. I stared at him while I stood in line to go forward, trying so hard to place him. Nada.

When I sat back down, I whispered to my husband, "Who is that guy I got communion from? Don't I know him?" Walker snapped his neck towards me and he had a look on his face that I have never seen before or since. It was abject horror. "That's it! You are going to a neurologist! I'm calling and making you an appointment tomorrow! Something is seriously wrong with you!"

"Wow, ok. Who is it?"

"That's Jon! Jon! You were just at his house for dinner! That's Jon!"

"Oh," I giggled. "I knew he looked familiar."

I didn't call a neurologist. By March 2006, Maggie was three months old, my hair started to fall out and my brain grew back. Till I was pregnant again, anyway.

Therefore, if we met briefly between the years of 2002-2007, and if you approach me now and hug me and say, "Hi Missy!! So good to see you!" Well. I will hug you, and put on my best fake look of recognition and ask how you have been! Oh my gosh! You look great! Love your shoes! How was Christmas?

And somewhere in the very back of my hippocampus a sad little neuron will call out HELLLOOOOOOOO and be answered with only an echo. I will not have the foggiest idea who you are.

So do me a favor, pretty please?
Wear your nametag.

sniff

I walk into the nursery and lift him out of his crib in the semi-dark and hug him close, his fuzzy little head nestled into my right shoulder, its place, where it fits perfectly. He's such a momma's boy. His momma loves the fact that he is a momma's boy. I can tell he is in a snuggling mood so I stop, and sit on the edge of the big bed with the green quilt and rock him and he is still as I rub his back and kiss his head and stare at his hands resting on my arms and I inhale him like I always do but - something is different this morning -

I inhale again. No. I sniff down by his ear, then along the nape of his neck - no, it can't be. It was just here - I turn his head and try his left ear, the left side of his neck. I rub his hair, in an attempt to stir it. Furiously, I sniff and I sniff and I sniff...

And I accept the fact. It's gone. It really is gone.

The sweet, salty, precious, treasured scent is gone, and it's gone forever.
My baby no longer smells like a baby.

I rock him and rub his back and kiss the top of his fuzzy little head and feel a bit sad, in the semi-dark, on the green quilt atop the big bed in his nursery.

Fit Friday - the great reveal

Wow, here we are. Time for The Reveal.

What idiot said we had to post pictures today??? Ugh. Because according the the scale at the Y, I have gained back every dumb pound I lost, minus maybe one.

Okay, here I go.



Yikes.

And I felt really bad about it. Until I looked at this one from when we started in October:



And there is a definite improvement. No one asks me when the baby is due anymore.
And so I feel a little better about myself.

Until I look at this one that a friend recently posted on facebook from New Years Eve 2003 .


And then I feel like slitting my wrists. Or my tummy. Why didn't I just ask Santa for a little lipo for Christmas??

That was four months after I gave birth, by the way. And I was pregnant, although I did not know it yet. (I think Eva Rose got her first champagne that night.)

So, one thing is perfectly obvious. It's the kids' fault.

Obviously, I do not win my own gift card by a longshot. But y'all leave your links here, with all your stats. If you think you are a winner, SELL YOURSELF girl. Work it. A pair of shoes at Target is resting on it.

Some of y'all have asked if we can keep Fit Fridays going. YES. Obviously I need to and I am still 496,382 Fitlinxx points away from my free massage.

But we kind of need a new name, so if anyone can think of one, leave a comment or email me. I am too depressed to think up one myself right now.

Next week, we can start over with our new goals et cetera.

So how'd y'all do?

** Because I haven't heard from a lot of y'all, I am going to leave this up for a couple more days.

That would be fried peanut butter and plantains, senora

Today Rosann, my high school partner-in-crime, sent me this email:

Today is Elvis Presley's birthday. You could break out the skillet and make a pan-fried peanut-butter & banana sandwich but wouldn't it be more fun to make nachos with bilingual Elvis?

ENJOY!

You say you want a resolU-U-tion we-ell you know

I really have not done New Year's Resolutions in the past. I mean, maybe one or two. I think I am just too tired after Christmas to actually think hard and get motivated and I certainly can't recall actually keeping any.

So, for some reason, this year I have been thinking hard about the multitude of ways I want to completely and utterly remake myself in 2009. Extreme Missy Makeover, Home Edition.

If only we can get Ty Pennington to come over and shout "Move! That! Butt!" instead of move that bus.

Excuse me while I camp on that image for a moment.

Okay I'm back. Mostly.

The problem is that it's like January the SEVENTH and I haven't really started any of them yet. I also forgot to make black eyed peas on New Years Day. Add those together and I could get discouraged that 2009 will be the year of the abomination of desolation, but I will not. I will press on. I will survive. Nobody left my cake out in the rain (huh?)

One time I cajoled my boss to pay for me to go see this big ole conference thing where Zig Ziglar was the keynote speaker. Have you ever seen him? Oh, my, he's just great. If T. Boone Pickens went to seminary. Anyway, The only thing I remember from that conference is that he said that if you make a list of goals, and write them down, you have this (insert statistic here) higher chance of actually achieving them.

Well I think if you make your list of resolutions and BLOG about them, then the Blog Fairy Missyposa will guarantee that every stinking one of them is met.


So here goes.

1. Walker and I have declared 2009 The Year of Our Marriage, and that has a list of it's own resolutions that I will include in a separate post.

2. To rebuke the nightowl in me in the name of Sanity and be in bed by 10:30pm, as opposed to 12 or 1am like I usually do.

3. To wake up each morning before the kids and...

4. Read through the bible in a year

5. To keep working out until I no longer feel fat (maybe I'll be hot by the NEXT holidays.)

6. To read and comment on at least three blogs, um. Daily. Yes, daily. But after commenting on 3 to get off the Internet instead of just sitting there until see resolution #2

7. To read Pilgrim's Progress. And consider reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand.(How's that for a wimpy resolution? I promise to think about it. Maybe I'll even look for it on Paperback Swap. But don't pin me down to anything more than that.)

8. To again start taking the plethora of vitamins and supplements that I have gotten lazy about taking every night.

That's it. All should be doable.

Really. They should. Doable. Do.Able. Able to be Done. Especially with blessing from the blog fairy!! Right??

A friend of ours Alex posted his on facebook and one was "To finish one book before starting another." I thought that was pretty brilliant, but I am not going to commit. I am just going to think about it. And clap my hands three times, and turn around, and throw some glitter in the air...

So what are yours? And if you posted about it, leave a linklove in the comments.

Spectacular Sins Book Study

January 19 is the date that we have chosen for us to start the Spectacular Sins book study. I told y'all before, you can go thru my little Amazon store button right up there to order it (and I get a wee little kickback...baby Momma needs some new shoes!)

My sweet friend Lisa will be spearheading this, and her blog will be the headquarters. I work for her. If you don't read Lisa's blog The Preacher's Wife, you should. She's fabulous and hysterical. I wish she were married to my preacher. Even though he's already married and that would be polygamy and the feds might get called and send their kids to foster care for months before deciding it was a big mess...but I digress. (Did I ever mention we tried to be foster parents for one of those FLDS kids? Oh, we were jonesing for an FLDS kid. I went to a seminar and everything.) Anyway. Where was I?

Oh yes. Go to Lisa's blog and register here so we will know how many people are going to join us. She has a post explaining how it is going to work.

This book is wonderful. John Piper is so brilliant but so readable and has packed so much into 128 pages. Please join us in studying God's word!

Naptime in syndication

My husband sent me out shopping tonight. I know, he's awful, huh? I really wasn't in the mood though because I am tard and it's cold outside. Brrrrr. I might post my finds later, unfortunately the pickings were a little bit slim. All those greedy people hit the 75% off racks and didn't save much for me. Selfish.

So, even though I am already blowing my New Year's Resolution of getting to bed by 10pm, I am going to rerun a post because I alluded to it in my devo yesterday and because, due to a very sweet email for a certain Sarah, I just re-read it. I couldn't include it in the year-end recap because technically it is from 2006, not 2007, and I am such a rule follower, you know.

Just don't ask for my driving record. Ahem.

So here it is - the way I met my husband. I wrote this on his 34th birthday.
He's 35 now but he's still wonderful.


Happy Birthday Ton O'Bricks
or Thank You God, for Making Me an Old Maid




My sweet husband turns 34 today. He has been my sweet husband for almost five years. I love this picture of him because it sums it up. It's been a silly, disheveled, exhausting time. And very very blessed time.

Recently, at a girls night out, a friend of mine mentioned that she never even really thought about marriage, much less her wedding, until she met her husband. I asked her to repeat herself to make sure I had heard correctly. Never? And Elizabeth was no child bride - she was around 30 when she got married. Never even thought about it?

I was not one of those girls. Pathetically, I was the opposite. When I did get married, it was just a matter of pulling together the details of the wedding I had been planning for years. All I had been lacking was the groom.



My aunt and uncle were one of the first on the planet to buy a Mac. My mother and I were visiting their home in Austin and as they showed off this little (and they were little, remember?) miracle of modern science, I was just dying to get on it and play around. After all the grownups were in bed, I stayed up until the wee hours toying on Word, fascinated with the ability to center text and choose different fancy fonts. Here's the ridiculous part - again and again I sent my future wedding invitations, complete with some dorky 14 year old boy's name, to the squawking inkjet printer.

In high school, I tore out dresses from the Bride's magazine in the school library and carried my two top favorite in my wallet. I still have them - one is not too bad. The other is hideously 80s, with lots of beading and brocade. Blech. In college, I told my roommate, "Ok! We're seniors now! Only nine months to find a husband! Ready, set, go!"

Well, it didn't happen by graduation (shocking. Wasn't desperation sexy to 22 year old guys?). It didn't happen for a very long time after that. My stepmother used to tell me, "I am praying that God will not send you a husband until you are 30" and every time she said this, I had to resist the urge to claw her eyes out. And she said it a lot. Being single at 30 was not in my plan. I dated several guys, but the relationship always ended, sometimes painfully. As often happens, God's plan and my plan were not merging and I was growing increasingly frustrated.


At one point when I was about 27, I attended a party. There was a cute guy there, and we began chatting. Now at this point, I was wondering if every male I locked eyes with was Him. This particular guy seemed nice, funny, good looking, with decent FEP (future earning potential). Could be Him, could be Him. But after talking for a few minutes and it became apparent that he was most certainly not Him. I can't remember what he said to me, I only remember that it was incredibly offensive.

Driving home, the tears were making it too blurry for me to see the road, and I felt a desperate urge to pray. I parked the car in front of church in Montrose and sat on the steps under an old column, and sobbed. Something about the latest disappointment caused the floodgates to open, and I poured it all out to the Lord. I couldn't believe that I had thought that guy was nice - and he very obviously was not. The frightening truth was that I had zero discernment when it came to men. Who was I to try and choose a husband, when I couldn't even tell the who the decent guys were at a party? I was terrified that if I did get married, it would be to the wrong person, and then I would be in an unhappy marriage - which I knew was a fate worse than singleness. The disappointment combined with the fear overwhelmed me. I confessed that I needed God to not let me, in my infinite lack of wisdom, have anything to do with husband choosing. I begged him to choose my husband for me. I prayed as I cried, "And don't be subtle God. Please be very very obvious, because you know I will miss it if you aren't. When you send him to me, please let it be so blatant, that it just hits me over the head like a ton of bricks."

I pulled myself together and drove home. For a while after that, I would pray for Ton O'Bricks, as he came to be known in my mind. Eventually the memory and the moniker faded.

Five years passed. Still single. Still wanting to be married, but not desperate - and not unhappy. God used those years to strengthen my relationship with himself significantly, and sent some older wiser women into my life, particularly one named Barbara, who gave me an entirely new understanding of what God intends marriage to be, and what qualities "Him" needed to display. While I did want to start my family more than anything else, I praised God that my stepmother's prayer had been answered. None of the men I had known in my 20s had been suitable candidates for a marriage to mirror Christ and the Church, not by a long shot. I thanked God a million times for his protection. But, now, I was 31, so anytime he wanted to get the show on the road...


Very long story short, I began dating someone. A good guy, one Barbara would approve of. We dated several months, we were both willing to get married, but it just wasn't going well. We constantly misunderstood each other, constantly disappointed each other, despite our best efforts to the contrary. It was just so difficult.

I often complained about the relationship to another guy who had grown to be a very close friend. His name was Walker. One day I realized I was in love with Walker. A week or so later Walker told me to break up with Guy#1 and date him. Two days later I broke up with Guy #1. And two days after that, Walker accidentally told me he loved me, then tried to back out of it, then, in the most romantic bumbling way, said, "Oh, let's just get married." I said ok. We gazed into each other's eyes, completely flabbergasted, laughed, cried, and he went home and I went to bed, in a bit of a trance.

Then I woke up. The next morning I went to work and the reality of the previous night began to hit me. Many emotions bombarded my heart and head. I was elated, yes. I had waited for this day for two decades, and I had yellowing Mac printouts and tattered magazine pages to prove it. But I was utterly shell shocked. I survived the morning on auto-pilot and waited till lunchtime when I knew I could go to the sanctuary at the church school where I taught and fulfill another desperate need to pray.

Sitting alone in a pew, in the semidark, I tried to sort through the tempest in my brain. I thought I knew exactly how Rebekah had felt, in Genesis 24. The girl was just going to the well, minding her own business, and boom, she's engaged to Isaac. She may have been happy, but I can state with a good degree of certainty that her head was spinning like a top.

I knew I loved Walker. I did feel that we were supposed to get married. But I felt very overwhelmed at how quickly it was happening - and, I confessed, a little irritated, yes, ok, irritated, that God had completely left me out of the husband selection process. I was alarmed at my own impudence over his sovereignty. But I needed to be completely honest with him about it. For years I had tried to manipulate several a man into marrying me. I was trying to make a relationship work with a completely different guy just two weeks ago. "I was just out watering my camels God, and then along comes Walker, out of the blue, and he just falls on me like a ton of bricks..."

As soon as I prayed the words, it hit me. Ton of bricks. Walker was my Ton O'Bricks. That prayer I had prayed years before, the one I had completely forgotten about, God had not only remembered but had answered down to the detail. My prayer became one of gratitude and joy - and a complete sense of peace flowed over me. I got up, went back to work, and emailed the church for available dates.

Six months later, we had an absolutely gorgeous wedding.

According to Plan.