Whatever Works

A recent conversation between myself and Kale went a little something like this:

Kale (holding his index finger up in the air): "MOM! I have a booger!"

Me (calling from the other room): "Then get a tissue."

K: "I can't reach them."

M (running toward the box of Kleenex): "I'll get you one"

K: "Never mind. I just wiped it on my shirt."

What's worse? I was totally okay with this.

We're Back...

Us on Lake Superior in Duluth, MN.

...and I'm pooped.

It was so nice to visit all of Jake's family, but I am glad to be home. My body's schedule is totally out of sorts, and before I will have a chance to get back into my groove I have to jump back in the car for another trip. I'm driving up to Missouri Friday to pick up my Granny to bring her home with me for a visit.

I am in definite need of a slow-down.

Family Matters

Jake and the boys and I are off to Minnesota on a Red-Eye flight until Monday (bleh - I hate cold weather). Jake's Grandmother isn't doing well, so we're going to go see her and spend some time with her while she's able to visit and enjoy the company. As a bonus, the boys and I get to finally meet the rest of Jake's family.

It's so sad how, in general, we never make it a priority to visit our extended families and it usually takes a tragedy or serious illness to motivate us to drop what we're doing and go see them. Jake and I have been together for over 7 years, and there is still an entire leg of his family that I have never met. The same goes for him as well. In fact, Jake, Jacob and Kale just met my Grandfather this past summer for the first time, and Jacob is even named after him! I also have a slew of relatives back in California that they have never met, either.

We all get so caught up in our own little 'Bubbles' that we lose sight of what is most important. Mostly, I think we take for granted that there will be plenty of chances to get together, when in reality, it's the complete opposite.

This weekend, pick up the phone and reconnect with your loved ones. And if you live close enough, drop by and sit a spell. Forget the errands and the laundry and the sink full of dishes. They'll still be there waiting for you. Your loved ones won't always be.

Kale isn't the only one who is in desperate need of a haircut

I Heart Play-Doh! The only thing? The mess!! And the squishing of the different colors!! And the tiny dried-up bits that end up on my freshly-mopped floor!!

Then I stumbled upon this glorious Play-Doh creation at Target a while back. It's All Play-Doh Fun, All the Time Sans Mess at the Hart House.

Go grab it. You'll thank me when the kids are playing contently so you can have some peace and quiet already! And the whole set fits neatly into a large zip-lock bag for storage. How about that for a bonus?

Consider Yourselves Warned

Never, under any circumstances, pretend you are going to bite off your child's nose when it is (unknown to you) full of snot.

I am no longer craving 'something salty'.

"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" - said by Jake when he got home yesterday

After getting this, this, this, and ALL of this done (yes - that's right. I said all of it. Pure bliss, my friends. Pure bliss.), I thought surely I could enjoy doing this.

Kale thought otherwise and had me up after 2 minutes.

Seriously. Can a girl sit down for more than TWO MINUTES and just enjoy Oprah already??!! Sheesh!

At least Jake was happy when he came home to a clean house. He just thought he had walked into the wrong one.

Thank You!!!!

I can't come up with words to describe how humbled I am at the amount of comments, emails, and public praises I've received in regards to my last few posts. I just wanted to say a big huge Thank You for all of the wonderful words of encouragement and love you have all poured out on me. It was difficult at best to step out of my safe spot and be able to be so real and so RAW. As I said, there were things I wrote that I had never told anyone before. I am just so thrilled that some of you were able to find healing in what you read. I certainly did by writing it all out.

Hopefully after the weekend I will have recovered from the coma those posts put me in and I can fill you in on all of the antics around the Hart House this past week. Until then...

All About Me: IV From Orange to White

You will want to read these first:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Moving to Texas was based purely on my economic status. I couldn't afford to move back home to San Diego, and I was NOT staying in Oklahoma (bleh), so I opted for the closest civilization. Plus my Aunt and my dad also lived here, so I knew I would have a support system close if need be.

Back in Oklahoma I had taken up the family business of bar-tending. It's what I knew and what was comfortable. As soon as I was settled in Texas I got a job waiting tables at one establishment donning some very short orange shorts, and a second weekend job at a trendy cigar bar.

My life was wheels-off and I was heading nowhere fast.

I had lost my virginity when I was 14. Yes. 14!!!! I always had sex with my boyfriends, because I thought that was what you were supposed to do to keep them around. By the time I reached Texas, I was a seasoned veteran. And by this time drugs and alcohol (lots and lots of alcohol) were also in the mix. When I wasn't working, I was partying. And sometimes I mixed the two together to liven things up. I was having sex with anything that walked all the while telling myself "It's just sex. It's my body. I'm in control of this."

Fast-forward to age 21. I had been living with a boyfriend for over 2 years. He was a Dallas cop and a complete jerk. He didn't hit me (only because he loved his job too much) but he was really great at thrashing me with his mouth. I finally decided to move out and move on.

God was orchestrating something amazing, and I had no idea.

By this time I had cut down to one job (still donning my orange shorts) and was living in my own apartment. I had been broken up with my boyfriend for a few weeks and had absolutely no intentions of getting involved in another relationship.

So I thought.

One night late in October of 1998 I was working (as usual). A guy comes and sits down at my bar. He's really handsome (okay - unbelievably hot), has a nice smile, some tattoos and earrings, and muscles on top of muscles. My first thought: Big Dumb Meathead.

I get him a beer and start a tab for him. Moments later one of the girls I work with walks up to him and introduces him as her brother. We make small talk and he leaves to take his sister home.

The next night, while working again (I worked too much), in walks Big Dumb Meathead. He sits down at my bar and we start chatting. After getting him drunk, I give up on him asking me out, so I had to do the asking myself.

We had our first date a few days later. After a week of dating, I knew he was "The One", but I always vowed I would never get married and most definitely never have kids. I was simply okay with shacking up with him for the rest of my life (or until he got sick of me and left).

6 weeks after we started dating, with my head in the toilet with uncontrollable vomiting, I realized I was 2 weeks late. LATE!

After regaining my composure and getting my head out of the toilet, I ran down to the corner and bought a home test. It was positive. All I kept thinking was, "Crap! What am I going to do with a kid? I can't be a mother to a baby."

I called Jake to come over and just handed him the test. I was still numb and in shock and I couldn't even talk.

He just got a big, goofy grin and said, "We're going to have a little wrestler!"

Bleh!

Abortion and adoption were never an option, so I knew I only had 9 months to get used to the idea of being a...MOM. I could hardly even say that word. Bleh, Bleh, double Bleh!

It wasn't that I didn't like kids, because I LOVE kids - other people's kids. I never wanted to subject another human being to the kind of life I had been through. Plus, I had NO IDEA how to be a mom. My mom was always at work and I was always left alone or with a sitter. I had no example to go by.

A few weeks later I met Jake's mom for the first time. She had flown down from Pittsburgh for Christmas.

"Hi! I'm Minnie, your son's PREGNANT girlfriend who has only been dating him for 8 weeks! Merry Christmas!"

She was shocked at best. She didn't have much to say. Who could blame her? Her sweet, innocent, All-American boy had fallen prey to a fast, easy harleton who wore orange shorts for a living.

After the shock wore off, we got to know each other and I soon realized how gracious she was and how Jake's ENTIRE family was about to accept me with open arms. I even had a phone shoved in my face with his grandmother on the other end congratulating me on our upcoming arrival. It was too much for me to handle. Did people really behave this way? Where was the screaming and fighting and antics? Where were the slamming doors and "I'll never speak to you again" vows?

The following month was my 22nd birthday. Jake took me out for dinner and when we got home he proposed. All I kept thinking was "No! I can't get MARRIED! I'm already PREGNANT. Why do you want to make it worse and get MARRIED!?"

But I didn't say the things that were flying through my over-loaded brain. Instead I smiled and accepted, but planned to put him off as long as possible. What was the point of a piece of paper? It would just end up getting ripped up anyway.

Fast-forward 8 months to August 17, 1999 when my life changed forever. My son, Jacob came barrelling into my life with a vengeance.

What was this wet stuff coming out of my eyes? What was this thumping in my chest? What was this feeling going on in my gut? Was it....emotion? Love? FEELINGS?!

I never expected to fall in love so hard and so instantly with that 8-pound ball of rolls and fat. But I did. Completely and without hesitation.

After Jacob was born there was this "empty spot" that I had never felt before. I had a great relationship with Jake, a beautiful new healthy baby, a nice house, two new cars in the driveway, and I made really great money at my job. I didn't understand what could be missing.

Jake knew what the "empty spot" was. He said we needed to find a church.

HA! Yeah, RIGHT! I'm not darkening the doorway of a church so I can rub elbows with a bunch of hypocrites and get looked down upon by all of those 'goody-goodies'. No thank you.

But he was insistent, so I gave in.

Over the next few weeks we visited a few churches that met my every expectation. I was bored, people looked down their noses at me; it was a colossal waste of time. I could be sitting at Blue Mesa sipping on all-you-can-drink Mimosas and grubbing down on Sunday brunch right now!

Then, of all places to hear about church, I overheard a girl at work going on and on about this church she had been going to (yes - girls who wore orange also went to church and raised families and led good, clean lives. Just not me.). She was talking about the awesome band and music, and you could show up in your jeans and flip-flops, and the pastor was COOL! I interrupted her conversation and asked where this place was. It was only 15 minutes from my house!

That Sunday as we walked in this huge building, I was awe-struck. This was a church? But it's so cool and contemporary. Then we walked through the doors of the worship center. WOAH! The service had just started. They were singing a Police song! There were lights! Auditorium seating! People with tattoos and piercings mingled in with the normal 'curchy' people!

I had no choice but to sit back and listen to what they had to say, because every preconceived notion I ever had of 'church' had just been blown right out of the water.

We came back. And kept coming. But I still didn't 'get it'. I still had no idea who Jesus Christ REALLY was. I knew he was some dude that died on a cross a long time ago, but that's as far as it went. My heart had been so hardened that all of the preaching about Him had fallen on deaf ears. I was still partying and going out after work. I still wasn't married.

Then we went to a Newcomer's Membership class early in 2000. One of the pastors, Tracy Barnes, was talking about God and how He knows all about us because He created us, and He wants to have a relationship with us. But we can't do that until we accept His Son, Jesus into our lives.

I was still not getting it. To me, it was something for 'good people'. I certainly was not worthy. I had made too many mistakes in my life.

Then they had an information card you had to fill out. One line of questioning stated: "Tell us your story" and it had about three lines under it.

They want me to tell them my life story on three little lines? SKIP!

They had several counselors come over to everyone and go over any questions, etc. Mine was a nice man with red hair and a gentle voice. He read over my information card and said, "Oh, you can't leave this blank."

"Well what am I supposed to write?"

"We want to know the story of when you accepted Christ."

I was still not getting it. "Accepted Him for what?"

Clearly he had an idiot before him, but he never for an instant made me feel that way. He explained to me that God wanted me to have a personal relationship with Him through His Son. He had sent His Son to live a sinless life and die - for me.

ME!? Oh no, you see, I'm not a good person. You don't understand.

It didn't matter what I had done, or even what I was going to do, he explained. God wanted me where I was and He wanted to forgive all of my sins; past, present, and future.

So I prayed with him for God to take my life in His hands.

But I still didn't really get it. We left and were walking to the car and the tears just started coming and they wouldn't stop and I had NO IDEA WHY! Jake thought I had gone crazy. He had no idea that I had just prayed to receive Christ. He wasn't the only one who didn't have a clue as to what was going on.

A few months later my fear of the marriage thing was gone and I took the plunge into marital bliss.

All About Me: 3.0 (are you getting sick of ME yet?)

For my entire childhood growing up, I was an only child to a single mother. We moved around a lot. In fact, I can't remember how many schools I went to during my elementary years. Before writing these posts, I had always thought I had moved from Missouri to San Diego when I was really little, but after researching it, I came to realize that I was much older. Like 8 years old.

That may not seem like a huge revelation to you, but it was for me. It put into perspective how much I have blocked out or put into hibernation in my brain. It has always bothered me that I haven't been able to remember much from my childhood, but I think I realize now that it was a defence mechanism that kicked in so I could just survive.

Anyway, as I was saying, we moved around. In fact, on average, we moved to a different house / apartment / trailer every six months or so. My mom never owned anything of her own. We never lived in anything nice or big. To put it into perspective, one of my old bedrooms when I was a teen was as big as my closet is now in my house. I had a daybed and a small chest of drawers, and that only left about 18 inches of space to walk around in. Literally. But I never thought twice about it and I was never embarrassed to bring people home. Our places may have been small or humble, and even run down at times, but our place was always clean and well-kept.

So we moved from Missouri to San Diego when I was 8. My happiest memories are from there. And who could blame me? There was no imminent threat of an abuser, I had my mom all to myself - no boyfriends to share her with, and we lived an insanely short distance from the beach.

When I was 11, my mom reconciled with her second husband from Missouri (they had married when I was little and divorced when I was 4). He wanted her to move to Kansas where he was living at the time, but she wanted to move to Texas. Kansas was too small for her, and Texas was too big for him, so they met in the middle - literally. We ended up moving to Owasso, Oklahoma. I was thrilled (NOT!). Not only was my mom reconciling with her drunk, truck-driving ex-husband, but she was moving me from beautiful, sunny San Diego to Butt Crack Oklahoma.

Needless to say I didn't settle so well with the move.

My mom was an amazing woman, though. She was a bartender and she regularly held two and three jobs to make ends meet. On top of her jobs, she managed to take care of all of our cattle and horses we maintained on our land, as well as toting me back and forth to the ice skating rink before and after school every day. If that weren't enough, she also managed to head to the library every two weeks and bring home a stack of 4 or 5 books to which she would read each one in it's entirety by the time the due date would roll around.

When my mom was 33, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was floored, but didn't really fully understand the gamut of the whole situation. She had a full mastectomy on her left breast and underwent the routine chemo treatments. All while continuing her heavy work load.

She went into remission and soon after we moved out of the place we were living with my step-dad. The reconciliation lasted all of about 2 years. He was SOOOO worth leaving San Diego for.

Back on our own again, life went on.

2 years later, just after I turned 16, my mom kept battling this ongoing stint with bronchitis (or so that's what the doctors were saying it was). After two months of dealing with a bad cough, she found out her cancer had returned, but this time it had spread into her lungs and into her lymph system.

Her doctors gave her 18 months.

She refused to go through chemo again, so she opted for experimental treatments in Scottsdale, AZ. My Grandfather (her dad) took care of the medical expenses and travel and did everything he could to keep her alive.

We found out in March that the cancer had returned and by June she was gone.

I was devastated. I was pissed off at God (REALLY pissed off at God. In my mind, how cruel was He to take away the only person I had?) I was pissed off at her. I was pissed off at everyone around me, including myself for not making the most of what little time we had left together. I took for granted that my mom would always be there for me. I took her for granted and never told her how much I appreciated her and everything she ever did for me; for all of the countless sacrifices she made for me.

After her funeral, my dad asked me to move in with him. I just kind of laughed and gave him the "Are you serious?" look. Instead, my mom's cousin, Sandy and her husband, took guardianship over me and I moved in with them for the next year.

Having grown up always being by myself and fending for myself with no rules or boundaries and being able to come and go as I pleased, it was completely difficult (to say the least) to move into a home with rules and structure and a traditional family order in place.

I lived with them through my junior year of high school and moved out on my own during my senior year.

In an unconscious attempt at avoiding my own problems, I took on the problems of my boyfriend, Brian. He was from a broken home and had been abused his whole life. His dad had kicked him out of the house for being caught with drugs. That was the real reason for the move. So he could have a place to stay and I could support him. I worked two jobs and finished high school while he dropped out, took up dealing (and using) Crystal Meth and Weed, and became extremely violent and abusive over the next year.

I survived being thrown down a flight of stairs head-first, having one of those old, metal, stream-line phones smashed into the side of my head repeatedly, having a gun held to my head, waking up on several occasions to him trying to smother me with a pillow, and the usual beatings where he would punch me, kick me, smash my face into the carpet, and toss me against the walls.

The final straw was being punched in the stomach repeatedly in an attempt to cause me to have a miscarriage. He was successful.

I moved out, leaving him homeless, and got an apartment with a roommate. But after too many threats, one too many nights of coming home to find him hiding in the bushes outside of my apartment, and a very scary occurrence of walking in my apartment to find an extremely large knife sticking in my couch cushion, I decided to move to Texas.

All About Me: Part Deux

After my parents divorced, my dad soon moved back to Texas when I was about 4. I don't remember much about him moving, just that I missed him tremendously and I felt a huge sense of abandonment.

When I was 6, he remarried and a few months later they had their first of three kids. As I have stated before, my step-mom and I have never had a healthy relationship. She has always treated me with a sense of resentment and has never made me feel welcomed or comfortable around her. The same goes for her family as well (with the exception of one sister who has always been warm and loving toward me). I guess I was always an annoying little reminder that my dad had a past; that she wasn't his first true love.

I do have to consider where she was coming from, though, because in recent years I have come to find out that she has been compared to my mom by my dad's family members from day one. She and my dad have been married almost 25 years, and she is still compared to my mom, so I guess the ability to NOT hold resentment toward me was difficult for her, to say the least.

Nonetheless, the way my dad and step-mom have always carried themselves where I was concerned has been painful for me at best. I got to see my dad once a year and that entire visit was never spent alone with my dad or even hanging out as a "family". I always felt like an outsider in their home. Never part of them. And as I got older, I was pretty much their built-in babysitter when I would visit, thus causing my resentment and hatred toward my half-siblings to increase.

As the years passed, I dreaded my annual visits because it was always a huge slap in the face for me that my dad had chosen to move on and start over with his 'new family' leaving me behind to fend for myself. I in no way doubt that my dad loved me, but he certainly did not have the capability to show emotion toward me because of how much pain and difficulty came along with it. So rather than drudging up years full of painful feelings, he basically shut down towards me. It was almost like all or nothing with him. His new family got the 'all' and I got the 'nothing'.

The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back for me was when I was around 15. My mom was in her second battle with breast cancer, this time a losing one. My dad was fully aware of her condition and imminent death. I was working two jobs while going to school so we could pay rent, because my mom could obviously not work. Not once did my dad call to check on me. Not once did he drive up to visit. I only lived a three-and-a half hour drive from him.

To this day, that is still a hard pill for me to swallow, especially now that I am a mother. It was proof that he had completely cut off all emotion toward me. After that, I was done. I wanted nothing to do with him.

Years passed with countless other disappointments and hurt feelings. When I was 18 I stopped contacting him and when I moved I never told him how he could reach me. Several months later (maybe even a year - I'm not quite sure on the time frame) he tracked me down and we had a long, much-needed hashing out over the phone. They had spent my life holding my actions against me, even though I was a child, and I had spent my life building a wall of resentment and pain toward them.

That's what amazes me. Not one of my parents ever looked at me and saw a child. They never looked at me and saw a little girl that they needed to protect. I have never been able to understand that. But I digress...

Eventually we made amends and have been able to forgive and move on. Today we have a good relationship and we talk often. There are still issues that arise on a regular basis due to things that are said and done on my step-mom's part. And as my siblings grow, there are always those constant reminders of how differently my dad treated me. Things that I was not able to have out of spite, they are freely given, and so on. But as I grow in my walk with Christ, I am able to just walk away from those situations and not let them consume me any longer. I have realized that yes, in fact, things are going to be different for them, and that's okay.

Once again, I just have to have complete forgiveness and pity upon my dad and step-mom for their actions and let God take care of the rest. He has a tremendous plan for my life and carrying these things with me would only sabotage it.

All About Me: Part 1

My mom and dad grew up in the same small town in South-West Missouri. They dated the entirety of their senior year and got married the following December after graduation at the ripe old ages of 18. Thirteen months later on January 22, 1977, along came me. Eighteen months after that, they were divorced.

I know. You never would have seen that one coming. You're overwhelmed with shock and awe at my storytelling. Just try to suck it up so we can move along, kay?

Where was I? Oh, yes, the shocking revelation that my parent's marriage fell apart.

So my mom was a bit on the rough side. A real spit-fire and a force to be reckoned with if you crossed her. She was one of those naturally drop-dead gorgeous people that could look completely stunning even at her worst. And the best part was, she had no idea how pretty she was. Her only downfall - she was born without the "Mother Gene".

Here she was, 20-years-old, divorced, with a kid to take care of. She had no time or patience to deal with a kid, so in her eyes the best way to handle the situation was to treat me like an adult. She was a newly-single mother who now had to work two jobs to make the ends come close to meeting, so I got left with my Grandmother and my mom's Step-Dad all the time.

This is where my drama starts.

My Grandma also worked all the time, so when she had to go to work, I was left in the loving care of my mother's Step-Dad, Ed.

Over the years, from as far back as I can remember, he thought it would be a grand idea to molest and rape me on an on-going basis. I was handed the all-too-common cowardly line of "Don't tell anyone. This is our little secret. If anyone finds out, they'll be mad at you and they won't love you anymore." So, I kept my mouth shut. My whole life, in fact. My husband was the first one I shared my dirty little secret with.

I have stopped trying to understand what it is that would possess a person to do such horrific things to an innocent child. I will never understand why a grown man who is supposed to love me would make me perform sexual acts for him at the age of 3, 4, 5, and so on. Why he would force me to look at graphic pornographic material and make me copy the things the women in the magazines were doing. He even made up fun games like Kissing His Pee Pee - that one was my favorite.

I remember a time when I was about 4 or 5. I guess my mom had started taking me to daycare part time. During nap time, they had us all spread around the room lying on cots. Keep in mind, I had no idea that what was being done to me was wrong. I thought it was what grandpas and grand-daughters did. I also had been made to think that masturbating was okay as well. Well, needless to say, I had to endure the humiliation of being caught masturbating with myself on my cot and being subjected to a horrible scolding from a teacher, all the while not understanding why I was even in trouble. My Grandpa was the one that picked me up from daycare that day. As we were pulling in the driveway I told him what had happened. He, of course, made sure I didn't tell anyone Our Little Secret. When he was assured our secret was safe, he made me demonstrate what I was doing when I got in trouble.

A fine, upstanding, Christian man, huh?

As I got older, and as the abuse continued, my little mind was warped and confused. I have memories of experimenting things with my friends when I was as young as 6 or 7. At that age you are just starting to discover your body. I had been so brainwashed that I thought there was nothing wrong with showing my girlfriends what the ladies in the magazines were doing, and wouldn't it be a fun game to do that, too? Even as I write it, I am still shocked that it's me I'm talking about. It almost feels at this point like it was just a bad dream, but, unfortunately, it wasn't.

I don't know how no one clued in on what was going on. I guess I never really showed any signs to anyone, and even if I did, they probably just brushed them off and never thought twice about it.

After Jacob was born, all of those memories that I had stuffed away in a vault somewhere came forcing back like an out-of-controll freight train. I summoned up enough courage to tell my Grandmother when Jacob was about 10 months old. She, of course, was quick to ask me if I could just forgive him so she could go on living her life as if nothing had ever happened. I was also asked to please keep it a secret, and if I had just told her sooner, then she would have been able to leave him and support herself. But now that she was unable to do that, she would have to stay with him because she just couldn't afford to live on her own at this age.

Two years ago this coming May I was able to face him after years of not speaking. At that beautiful moment, God helped me to forgive him and let go of all the pain I had been carrying around with me my whole life. Here he was, reduced to nothing more thn a shruken, frail, little man. All of the pain and turmoil I had allowed him to cause my marriage, because I could no longer stand to be touched without feeling dirty or violated, was finally lifted from me. The feeling of having o keep it a secret to protect my grandmother is gone. I have long ago told her that I would not allow her to make me keep it inside. That made her nothing more than an abuser herself. I am still not free of many of my issues that have been caused by so many years of abuse, but I am well on my way to a complete healing. Ed is by no means able to see my children, but I certainly have no hatred in my heart for him. Instead, I have nothing but pity for the man. Nothing I try to do or say to him to gain revenge will ever amount to the level of consequence God has to offer him. So I hand it over to Him on a regular basis. Sometimes daily. That's the only thing I have the power to do. Everything else is in God's control.

The Break Is Over, Now Open Up The Floodgates

So I took a break. A much-needed one. Not because I have drama or anything, but I have just felt completely exhausted lately. Never-mind the obvious reasons why I would be feeling overly-fatigued: husband, kids, house, ministry, blah, blah, blah. There's more to it. I keep contemplating asking God what it may be, but I'm terrified to because I know that as soon as I do He's going to open this huge flood gate and all of this crap I have locked away nice and safe is going to come oozing out at break-neck speed.

Okay, so maybe I have some idea of what my problem may be, but I really don't feel like dealing with dramatics right now. I feel like stomping my feet on the ground and screaming "I don't wanna! I don't wanna, wanna, wanna!!" Because, well? I'm pretty content with hanging out with my family right now issue-free. If that's wrong, then I don't want to be right.

God has been prompting me to share some things for several months, but I have, of course, been arguing with Him as to why that is necessary. In true Minnie form, I have argued until I've reached the point of exhaustion, so I am giving up and giving in to His promptings. I am letting down my guard and sharing things I have never shared before. I still don't see the relevancy, but I know God has a reason for His INSESTANT NAGGING ALREADY! :o)

So sit back, grab a good cup of coffee, and spend the week getting to know All About Me. I'm going to be learning things right along with you. Oh! The fun we're going to have. I can hardly wait. (I hope you know I'm totally saying this with clenched teeth.)

I have one rule, though. I don't do so well with gushy, so take it easy on me with the comments. If something I say has helped you in some way, or if God has spoken to you through me, then great. Let me know. But promise me you will not poor out pity or tell me how sorry you are for me. God orchestrated my life to happen the exact way it did, and I know His plans are perfect. I am not sorry for anything that has happened in my life, and neither should anyone else.

That said, here we go.

*So as soon as I wrote out the title, the sky just opened up and it started POORING DOWN RAIN outside. How freaky is that?

Taking A Break

Things at the Hart House have gotten out of balance as of late, so I am taking a short blogging break to get back in the groove of what's important and what's not-so-important.

Of course, if something funny happens or if I have something profound to say, I'll be sure to post.

Until then...