Today marks the last day of Sound Man's weight loss competition at work. I'm so excited for him! PLEASE go see him to find out how he and his partner, Keith, did!
(Here's a hint...he and I are going on a date tonight with his winnings!) WOOT WOOT!
More about what else he plans to do with it later...shh...it's a secret....
Check out Katy Lin at The Great Adventure to see why she started MHR Fridays!
I have sooooo much going on right now - edjumakating my Kiddo, carting Momma back and forth for radiation, working on Worship Team stuff (we're recording ANOTHER CD on September 12th! WOOT WOOT!), etc, etc, that I have had no time to get a battery for my camera. That's my excuse for not getting a post up with pics and I'm sticking to it. So, in light of that, I will do what everyone does in blogland and repost an earlier post. This one makes me laugh every time I read it. And since today while I was in rehearsal with some of my favorite peeps in the world, we started talking about our Atlanta trips and I was reminded once again about...well, I'll let you read about it....
May 8, 2008
I have mentioned many times about my trip to Atlanta (or, as Scarlett O'Hara says, "AtLANta") where I fell in the parking lot of North Point Community Church. I've put off explaining it for long enough. You deserve the story. Maybe. Anyway, here goes...
A year ago, we (meaning a bunch of friends from my church and I) were on our way out of one of the sessions of the Thirsty '07 conference being held at North Point. It was the absolute best conference I've ever been to. Such a place for soul rest. Time to drink in the beauty of Jesus. Worship led by the likes of David Crowder, Matt Redman, and my fav-o-rite of all favorites, Chris Tomlin. So as we were leaving that place of worship, rest, and healing, I noticed that part of the parking lot had been cordoned off by little orange traffic cones. They looked a lot like these:
Heading for the vans, we stepped off the sidewalk very close to the traffic cones. I, obviously, a little too close. After seeing the traffic cones and subconsciously telling myself, "Stay away from those things...they are there to let us know not to go near them," I suddenly feel something wrapping itself around my foot. At first, I thought it was my purse, which tends to get in my way (that is another post in and of itself). Then, when I realized it wasn't my bag, I thought, "What in the world? I need to get away from this thing." Then, it was as if time stopped. I realized I had tripped on one of the neon orange traffic cones that were there to keep people off of them. And I began to fall.
I fell forever. I tried to right myself, but just couldn't get my feet right. I kept falling. I noticed the blue of the sky and the green of the trees. I fell some more. I recited the Gettysburg Address. Twice. Ten minutes later (okay, it was really just seven) when I finally landed on the asphalt of the parking lot, I was laughing so hard at myself that all my friends were standing over me wondering if I was okay (and laughing their heads off once they realized I was okay). I was fine, my foot was just a little scraped. And my pride was more than a little bruised.
So there you go. Full disclosure. I feel cleansed.
I have no idea what happened to the little orange traffic cone. It was probably helped back to its post by its little neon buddies. After they finished laughing at it.
My son is taking piano lessons. This week his first song to work on was the children's song, Alouette. You know, the one sung in French. As he was playing this morning, I was singing away...
And so on. Just a pretty little French song, right? Well, I don't speak French, so when my inquisitive 9 year old son asked me what it meant, of course I had to look it up. Here's what Wikipedia had to say...
WHAT? It goes on to say that it was sung as a French Canadian song that trappers would sing as they paddled down rivers to pass the time. Skylarks were eaten as game birds during that time, so evidently they were hungry as they traveled downriver. Although after finishing this song, I can't imagine anyone being hungry. Here are the other additions to the verses, added one on top of the other, like we do with "The Twelve Days of Christmas".
I left the translation for that last line out. You can look it up if you want to. But since I have peeps from Australia, and possibly even Great Britain, that sometimes read my blog, I will refrain so they don't think I'm cussing (or I guess they'd say "cursing", but hey, I'm from the South) on my blog. And only the Lord knows what kind of freaks I'd get on here if they happened to Google that phrase.
You're going to look it up, aren't you? So now that I have now ruined this precious little song for you I'll say that I figured if I had to learn about it, so did you. That's homeschoolin' for you. You're welcome.
I was going to go eat lunch now, but...um...(turning green)...I think I've lost my appetite.
When your Mother has to have 10 more rounds of radiation because she's broken two more ribs due to the cancer.
When your husband finds out he has to have a root canal.
When you wake up feeling like you're having an asthma attack, but you don't have asthma.
I so needed to read this joke today...sorry if it offends...but it made me laugh my tail off.
Have y'all seen that acronym? GRITS? It stands for Girls Raised in the South. And I am proudly a GRITS. That sounds funny but you can't really say I'm a GRIT because then it would just be Girl Raised in the.... See? It's not grammatically correct, but this time I'm okay with it.
Having rambled on about that, let me say that during my adult life I have almost felt like an impostor in my own country. Now, don't get me wrong...I can talk the talk with the best of them, and I do lurve pinto beans and corn bread (and turnip greens and corn bread? Oh. My....love that, too!). I even like grits (the real thing this time) on occasion. But there was one Southern staple that I just didn't like. Couldn't make myself like, no matter how I tried.
Tomatoes.
(insert collective gasp from all other "good" Southerners out there)
I know, I know. Just call me Ouiser Boudreaux. But trust me; I have tried to like them, and have even made it to where I can eat them if they are cooked in something; I even like chunky tomatoes in my spaghetti and chili. But if you get a tomato near my hamburger or club sandwich, heaven help you. I don't even like to take them off the sandwiches because tomato slime always lingers. I thought I was destined to be the Southern girl with the dirty secret. (Okay, it's not so secret...there are plenty of servers in restaurants who have faced my "displeasure" at having a tomato tarnish my good food)
Then, Momma came to stay with us for a couple of weeks. She had been craving a BLT for a month, and nothing the hospital had could even compare. So, we planned our menu around having bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches one night. Sound Man got it all prepared, even cutting the tomatoes really, really thin. I think he was being optimistic that I might actually try one.
Well, lo and behold, I actually wanted to try one. So, I put mayonnaise on my bread, layered lots of lettuce and bacon, and gingerly placed a thinly sliced tomato on my sandwich. And took a bite.
You know what? I. LIKED. IT. No, I mean, I reeeeeeeally liked it!
This was taken after I had eaten half the sandwich and realized I HAD to blog about this astonishing revelation!
I ate this second half, then ate another half of one. I couldn't believe it, and neither could my husband or mother. They didn't give me too hard a time, for fear of jinxing the whole thing.
Now, just 'cause I've fallen for the culinary delight of a good BLT doesn't mean I'm going to stop ordering my Mexican pizza at Taco Bell "with NO tomatoes, PLEASE!" Or I'm going to go totally crazy and start eating tomato sandwiches (bread, mayo, tomato, a little sprinkling of salt) like my husband does when his dad gives him some fresh tomatoes from his garden.
But I've made progress. There is hope for me yet.
I am really excited about a new website that has been in the works for a while, called (in)courage. Y'all, reading the list of ladies associated with this site is like reading through my blog list. Please head over there to find out from them (they do such a better job than I would) why they are, who they are, and what they are about.
As their name implies, they want to encourage us as women of God...give us hope and more ways to connect with His heart...something my heart longs to do more and more!
They asked us to tell them what encourages us. Just a simple post, right? As I have thought this over the past few hours, I have been overwhelmed when I think about what and who encourage me. How in the world would I be able to narrow it down? My friends? My Women's Ministry peers? The Worship Team? My family? YOU???
My husband had been out with a friend "man-shopping" (my new made up word for when men go out and hunt for...hunting stuff...completely boring for us non-hunters) and called to find out what the plans were for dinner. I told him I was stressed, the kitchen was a mess, and I just didn't feel like dealing with it right then. "Okay, tell me what you want and I'll get it." It was then that I knew what I would write about.
My Mom has been here at my house for over a week, and while I love having her here...would rather her be here than anywhere, it is draining playing the part of incompetent nurse. I am having to do things I never, ever thought I would be strong enough to do. The thing is, I'm really not strong enough. If I were to try this by myself, I'd end up an emotional heap most days. There have been nights when all I could do was cry, hoping I didn't wake my husband. But, of course, I would. I mean, having your bed shaken with the uncontrollable sobs from the person next to you is not very conducive to sleep. And though I would apologize profusely for waking him up (trying not to get him wet in the process), he would take my hand and tell me it was alright...it would all be alright....
And don't think he saves this for just his sleep deprived moments. He has cooked supper most nights since Mom has been here. He has cleaned more in the past week than I think I have in the past two months. He has made a grocery list and has actually braved that most horrible abyss...Wal-Mart...just so I wouldn't have to worry about it.
He has calmed me down in moments I thought I was going to lose it. He has repeated over and over that I am strong enough for this. He has welcomed his mother-in-law into our home with open, loving, welcoming, protective arms.
Why God blessed me with this man, I don't know, but I am so very grateful.
My sweet secret guest blogger, Sound Man, baked me a delicious cake for my birthday, which seems like it was a month ago, not just a week. He asked me what flavor I wanted, and I decided in a strange fit of weirdness that I wanted carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. NOT normal for me. When Momma made me cake, I usually asked for yellow cake with homemade fudge frosting. Momma would make a sheet cake, poke holes in it, and pour the warm fudge frosting over it, soaking it into the cake's holes and covering the rest of the cake. Why I didn't ask him for the same thing, I don't know. But I'm glad for the departure.
Mmmmm...I can still smell the cream cheese frosting. But...something's missing. Can you tell what it is? Well, not that I wanted any, but we didn't have birthday candles. So, what do you do when you don't have birthday candles?
Well, you do what any self-respecting husband would do! You use a Yankee Candle! I giggled hard when I came to the table and saw this at my place...
Then my family sang "Happy Birthday" to me, and I blew out my candle.
Wanna know what scent the candle was?
Buttercream. Not kidding. We were fresh out of Cream Cheese.
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11: 28-30
I am ready for some soul rest. The past week has been soul-wearying. Even with Kiddo at camp, Momma was still in the hospital. She's here at home with me now, so we're both getting more physical rest, but I need the soul rest only the Savior can give.
This song by Kari Jobe never, ever ceases to bring peace to my soul, whether I'm listening to it or singing it. It comes straight from the Word. If you need some rest for your soul, or if you just want to usher in some peace, listen.
