Thank God for Dirty Dishes

Thank God for dirty dishes
For they have a tale to tell.
While others may go hungry,
We're still eating well.
With Health and Home and Happiness,
We surely shouldn't fuss.
For by the "stacks" of evidence,
God's been very good to us.

A plaque with that saying on it hung above our kitchen sink as I was growing up. I didn't even realize I'd memorized it until it popped up in my mind one day after I was an adult. Since then, I've used it in devotionals, children's sermons, and classes. This morning I used it to get myself in a better frame of mind.
I'm thankful for vacuuming because it means my house is carpeted.
The clouds this morning, and rain forecast for the weekend, make the sunny days brighter.
Not getting news about my writing endeavors means - I still have a shot!
Spending money on weddings and college, means my kids are in love and getting an education.
There, that's much better.
And always, I'm so thankful Mama and Daddy are grateful people who would not only have a plaque like that hanging in our kitchen, but that they lived it everyday.

What kind of pumpkin do you pick?

Lizzy made me gift for Mother's day this year, which sits on my desk. It's a 12 x 16 painting, lots of bright colored stars and flowers make up the background. Then she painted some of the words to the Taylor Swift song, Best Day, in black.
"I run and run past the pumpkin patch, oh look the sky is gold. I hug your legs, fall asleep on the way home. You're not scared of anything at all. You were on my side even when I was wrong. I know I had the Best Day with you."
And yes, we did go to pumpkin patches when the kids were little. And I always knew which kind of pumpkin each kid was drawn to. Big, Small, Tall, Stemmed, Round . . .
This weekend, with the kids and fiances here, we talked a lot about them as children. Carrie said at one point, how cool it is to see the same traits in them as adults, that Mike and I talk about them having as children. We are born with certain traits, abilities and preferences, aren't we? And throughout our life we reject who we are, enhance who we are, embrace who we are and attempt to change who we are. Then just when I get it set in my mind, something shifts and I'm someone else. I barely got used to being an empty nester and now I'm going to be a mother-in law!
There are lots of reasons to believe in God or to need to believe in God. However, I think it's the idea of being known that strikes deepest in me. To be known without all the world's labels.
To just be known - and loved in spite of it!

Peyton Manning and God

Is peace attainable, or is it granted? Or is there a certain state which must be attained before peace is possible? Peace in the midst of chaos? Peace in the middle of anxiety? One passage in the Bible says God's peace "transcends understanding."
There's that sign, "If you are able to keep your head while all others are loosing theirs . . . you must not understand the situation." Is that the secret to peace - Ignorance? So does it follow that being anxious means you're more knowledgeable? I believe we often attribute weighty thinking to weighty countenances. And happy, content folks are labeled "naive" or "polly-annish."
Peace for me comes from knowing God is crazy about me and he has a plan. Peace for me comes from the knowledge that God is big enough to take my griping and whining. (like yesterday's blog). Peace for me means doing today, what I'm supposed to do today. When I try to control and manipulate yesterday and tomorrow - I'm way out of my league. It would be like me stepping into the Indianapolis Colts huddle and telling Peyton Manning what he should've done last play and what he needs to do next. Got the picture?
Hopefully, Peyton would be as nice to me as God is when he lets me have my say, smiles, points me back to my place and says, "Thanks, I think I've got it."

Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me - remember the Hee Haw song?

Active hope is tiring. Only thing is, it's the only thing I've got.
Blue Ridge Novelist Retreat is this week. Last year it was fantastic. Fifty writers in the North Carolina mountains talking constantly about writing. Much published authors teaching exhilarating classes and becoming "real" as everyone shares meals and worship. This year, with two in college and two weddings around the corner, it just wasn't in the budget. I felt good about that sacrifice--until I started seeing facebook statuses from my friends at the retreat.
Why keep doing this? Just so I can say my computer memory is more full of original writing than yours? Honestly, that's about all I have to show for it. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of not knowing. I'm tired of keeping on, keeping on. Calling myself a writer, because that's what I do. But if there is no one to read what you write . . .
There's this deep terror that I'll be in this same place in 10 years, or 10 months, or 10 days, or even for the next 10 minutes.
I wish I could be more noble and say it doesn't matter. That just being able to write is enough for me. But I want validation for my time, my learning, my work. I want something to base my writing hopes on. And sometimes I just want to not think about it, stop networking, quit working out scenes, stop the writers e-mail loops, not try and figure out a way to learn more.
But not today. I'll go downstairs and write - at least today. I believe I have enough hope for today, but as for tomorrow . . .

Paid by the Smile

When a friend was getting ready to become a full-time stay at home mom (SAHM) after the birth of her second child, I told her one thing that's weird is how you start liking Mondays. Monday's become like Fridays for everyone else.
For me, Friday leads into the biggest performance time on my job as a SAHM. One main thought, and benefit, of me staying home was to make the weekend more fun. Trying to keep mundane chores from taking over the weekend was my goal. Grocery stores, laundry, vacuuming did not belong on Saturday or Sunday. As I wrote in a previous blog, each week I wanted to have the house clean and stocked by Friday afternoon, so I could relax during the kids nap time, have a glass of wine, and enjoy the beginning of the weekend.
I love the weekend but it takes work and planning to make it relaxing and stress-free. That work and planning is my responsibility as a SAHM. Sunday dinner after church doesn't happen if you don't buy the groceries for it earlier in the week and plan for doing the prep work. Snacks for watching the game or a Disney video don't magically appear. Not worrying about cleaning the bathroom or kitchen can only happen if someone worried about it earlier.
And by Sunday evening, the house is worn out. We've had all the fun we can stand. The kitchen is decorated with stacks of dishes (some clean), dirty clothes lie about in heaps, left-overs fill the fridge and I'm ready for them all to go back to school and work.
And Monday morning, I sit with a cup of coffee and it feels like Happy Hour. Whew. When my family has had a great weekend, I know I did my job well.
Payment in smiles isn't bad.

Home again, Home again . . .

Getting ready today - all three kids and the two fiances' will be here this weekend! We haven't seen Lizzy since we left her there in August, so we're extra excited about that AND we get to see both rings! Carrie's mom and Casey's folks will be here Saturday night for dinner. We're thinking we can squeeze it in between the Georgia and Tennessee games.
It's fun getting ready for the kids to come home. I actually went down all the aisles at the grocery store yesterday. I rarely do that anymore. Mike had to straighten up his office/guest room and I guess I need to check the bathroom down stairs.
Favorite foods are in the plans for today, chicken casserole for Lizzy tonight, unbaked cookies, pumpkin bread all are on my to-do list today. Tomorrow there are ribs and a turkey breast for the smoker and, of course, champagne.
I've got the fall decorations up, pumpkin spice candles, a cinnamon broom and Mike has hung his decrepit skeleton in front of the garage. I'm hoping he can't find that lighted tombstone the kids drug home from someone elses garbage one year. (It's plastic with lights inside and a string of orange bubble lights draped over it's top.) Can anyone say - tacky? But if it makes Mike happy, and it does, then so be it.
Home sweet home - a full house tonight when we go to sleep.
Having them leave is hard, but having them come home is wonderful compensation.

I'm watching . . .

Rush Limbaugh responded yesterday on his show to questions of why he hasn't written any more books or done another television show. He said television requires set up and planning out, where and when you need a picture or prop, so it's confining and gives him less freedom. As for writing he said he can't write as fast as he can think, so he looses the flow. He finished by saying he knows speaking is his best format, hence why radio works for him.
I think about a blog before I sit down to write it. Scenes in my books play around some in my mind before they appear on paper. However, I need my fingers on the keys to make it happen. Doing this daily blog has really taught me that. My thoughts can only go so far and then I get that itch. That itch that says I need to put my fingers on the keys for things to continue. Now, I've seen it happen so often that it's a real thing to me. I need to see and read the words before the final thoughts can form.
Before I started doing this blog, I don't think this connection had been made in my mind. I think better and can express myself better when I'm writing.
Is that what is all around us? Folks who express themselves best through flower arranging, music, cooking, car repair, cleaning, building, teaching, caring and every other possible thing?
So, for those around us, helping them identify in what way they express themselves best is important. But that requires me paying attention and then speaking up. How cool!
To be on the lookout for people expressing themselves and to then acknowledge it. Excellent!
Life just gets funner and funner - doesn't it?