Silver and Gold Have I None

But what I do have is the Gift of Encouragement.







And I freely give it to you. So, take it.







I insist.







No, really.







I SAID TAKE IT!







*sigh* Ministry can be so hard.





God has given each of us special gifts and He wants us to use them. I hope this encourages
you to never give up and to press in and share what He's given to you. In other words, stop being lazy. And selfish. And dumb. I love encouraging you!






People need time. Time to think and ponder about the great words of wisdom offered that day. I understand. After I've encouraged you, take all the time you need. 5,4,3,2,1...Ding! Time is up. What do you mean you still feel sad? That's impossible.

Sometimes people have to be persuaded to accept encouragement. And that's okay. Just grab them by the back of their neck and talk through gritted teeth. Later, they'll appreciate what you've said.

See?

That look right there is what I live for. To spread joy everywhere I go.

Sometimes you get angry glares. Ignore them and encourage anyway. I find at moments like these a song, sung with strong emotion at the top of my lungs, can bring the joy.

But I must warn you. There are always the doubters. They don't believe a word you're saying. They don't want to hear your songs. They don't want encouragement. Do it anyway. But just know...

You've got to know when to hold 'em...know when to fold 'em...know when to walk away, know when to run...

I have a feeling I'd better run when she sees these pictures of herself on my blog.

The Prodigal Returns

The long lost daughter finally comes home. Like the prodigal son, she's come to her senses and decided to see if perhaps I will take her in and maybe allow her to be treated as one of my servants...and yes, I will. I've got a large pile of ironing just waiting for a servant to show up.






OR... It was nothing like that. She went to Europe for 3 months for college, but oh, how she missed me! She's my baby. I know these things. I can tell by the look on her face exactly what she's thinking. Like a mother knows and understands her newborn's cry, I know and understand her every expression.

*Lost, ...somewhere in the European countryside...

Oh, Mother, they're making me wear a tight squeezy hard hat. And I miss you so. When can I come home?

Here it's obvious she's missing me. Mother, I'm tap dancing for you...do you like it?

Yes I do my love.

Halt. What's this?? A gorgeous desolate road in the hauntingly beautiful Irish countryside that I've never seen but my daughter has? Something seems wrong, terribly, terribly wrong. Would it annoy you if I threw in one more terribly? 'Cause I think it might make me feel better. Terribly, terribly, terribly wrong. Yes, that's what was missing.

and here...look at my baby. Her eyes... the longing for home.

Oh, this one pains me. She's crying out, "Mama". It's so hard when you can't get to your child and they need you.

I know darlin'. It's exciting! You're home now. Come let Mommy hold you.

If You're Lucky, You're From Texas

The Proud Texan, One of the Millions...(dad, you look good.)

I'm from Texas. And dang proud of it. Every Texan I've ever met is dang proud.

Why is this? I thoughtfully pondered as I stroked my double-chin... Immediately I knew why. These are the lessons I'd been taught since I was but a child upon my daddy's knee.

1. We're the biggest state in the whole dang country, dadgum!



2. We own the Alamo.



3. We're the originators of big hair.



4. All the good artists are from Texas. And the most intelligent people, not to mention the pretty people are from Texas. Have you seen what the rest of the country looks like?



5. We are friendly and we fix stuff. "Hi ya'll! I'm fixin to kick yer ****"



6. We are The Dallas Cowboys.



7. The Texas Hill Country is just as purty as ol' Europe.

I haven't lived in Texas since I was 20 years old. But I'm still Texan. And my children are half Texan. They're dang proud too.

My oldest daughter promptly informed her Colorado teacher in third grade that she was "half American, half Texan." Her sisters nodded their heads in firm agreement.

This happens through brainwashing. It starts before birth. Pregnant women all across the state rub their bellies and whisper, 'Hi you purty little Dallas Cowboy cheerleader' or ' big handsome football player'. We can't wait to meet yew...

If you've ever met a Texan you know I'm telling you the truth.

"Hhhhhhhiiiiiiiii. I'm from Texas. Where're you from? Dang, I'm sorry..."

Ima geta ridder of er, Part Two...

Previously, I discussed my LOVE of cleaning out, throwing away, selling anything not tied down or gold plated. And I heard the *gasps* of horror that went 'round the world. I have extremely sensitive ears...huh? what'd you say?...







Breathe...Don't worry. I haven't gotten rid of anything important... Besides, my children are used to it. They carry everything they want to keep in little suitcases clutched closely to their bodies at all times.



Need proof? Of how sentimental I am?






I still have HER. My handmade Besty Ross doll given to me at my fourth grade birthday party by my best friend, Holly Bashford. Handmade by her mother. Only thing is, she was my best friend, but I wasn't hers...it still hurts...

My daughters scream in fear everytime they see this doll. "Good Lord Mother, you've kept the voodoo doll, but threw away the clothes we came home from the hospital in?" OR

"Good Lord, Mother, you've kept the voo-doo doll but got rid of the dog and the cat?" OR

"Mother, where is my bed?" *can you say craig's list?

They hate my little Betsy Ross doll. They think she's scary looking.

Oh, ggggiiiiirrrlllllsssss...I'm waiting for you.