Applying the Polishing Touch

For most of my life, I have never painted my fingernails. I've never had a manicure or pedicure. As a gardener, I'd just ruin it and as a nurse, it just wasn't allowed. Not to mention, it just felt weird to do. It just wasn't what a Mennonite girl did when I was growing up. Painting your nails was right up there with dancing, wearing make-up (or as Dad would say, "rouge") and wearing jewelry. So for most of my life, other than the few occasions that my little girls would paint my fingernails, they have been "au naturel"

My toes? They get a seasonal color when I feel like it. No one really sees my toes much. Well, except that one time I was helping an artist and dressed like an Amish mama picking berries with her small children. The gentleman at whose property we were picking berries at really thought I was Amish. I don't speak much Pennsylvania Dutch so I thought that would be a give-away, but instead it was the mossy green painted toenails.

During the month of training in Baltimore for the new job I am in, I decided to paint my fingernails. Somehow, it made me feel bold. More confident. But it was more than that. You see, when I would be in my hotel room in the evening, I could sit and paint them and then I'd have to hold still and be patient while they dried properly; otherwise, I'd end up with a wrinkly finish and marred nails.

I do not do "patient" very well. Not at all.

But for this, to get a smooth, shiny finish, I had to hold still. I had to wait. The results were worth it.
Not just in the red, gray, blue or brown finished nail, but in my thoughts. Instead of constant frantic movement and chaos, my thoughts slowed too and throughout the nail painting process, I found relaxation and calmness.

Is painting my nails necessary for those things to happen? No. But it was a nice surprise and it was an easy, inexpensive way to treat myself to something fun. Another benefit? I stopped picking and chewing at my fingernails which I tend to do when I'm bored or anxious about something. After a month of training, my nails looked better than they ever had.

I'm still a gardener but right now, it's winter. I'm still a nurse, but my role has changed and the polish is allowed. Maybe, as I polish (Definition: a substance used to give something a smooth and shiny surface..) I can polish ( Definition: refinement or elegance in a person or thing) some other areas in my life. 

Like that little thing "patience".  

Tonight, I am curled up on the couch watching Holiday Inn with Heather and I think a little red is just the thing. It sure beats running about the house cleaning or doing "just one more thing".

Staying Grounded

The last few months have been a bit of a whirlwind. I find myself spinning, barely getting my foot on the ground and then I am sucked back up into the whirling confusion of to-do's and schedules, fundraisers, dance classes and musical-theater workshops. Add into that just the normal day-to-day things that need to be done, like laundry and dishes, grocery shopping and food preparation and you get the gist of it. Life can be crazy and at times a definite tornado!

Just a glimpse of what I've been up to:

Taking Amy out on a Starbucks date before taking her to Ohio way back in September.

So when did my kids grow up? 

When? 

I'm still 25. 

They all have birthdays and sometimes we celebrate a boy turning 12 at Dawdy Haus. 

But I'm still 25. 

I treated myself to a Country Living Fair in Columbus, Ohio in September. 

It was glorious. 

I believe I'll be back...

...for my 25th birthday. 

I spent time with my kids just hanging around the house. 

They really do keep me young. 

Like "25 young". 

 Then October came in like a cartwheel 

and before I knew it, 

I was in Baltimore for interviews 

and then starting a new job. 

I had to get up early every day and I grew to enjoy my time in the car before I'd head in for training. 

God, the book of Proverbs and I had a date at the waterfront. 

I've been a nightshift person for so long but I think this morning stuff is contagious. 

I'm not totally a morning person yet but it is definitely growing on me!

During training, I had to tell myself this a lot. 

"Stay in your lane!!" 

While I need to know what's happening all around me, especially in heavy traffic, 

it is important to be responsible for what's going on in my lane,

both in traffic and in life. 

October cartwheeled away and then November somersaulted in and my girl Adrienne turned 24.

Isn't that impossible??

Especially since I am 25. 

We celebrated over lunch at Mountain City Coffee. 

It's our Saturday Mama-Daughter Date Place. 

November continued.

Training continued.

I'd come home on weekends and I just drank in my surroundings. 

Distance really does make the heart grow fonder. 

I even missed the cows. 

  And now, it is the Saturday before Thanksgiving. 

I have a wee break to let the tornado, cartwheels and somersaults subside. 

Today I had another date.

This time with Amy, home for a week before she ventures out on another journey that will take her far from home, but not from heart. 

If I've learned anything over the last couple of weeks and months, 

it is to appreciate the moments of life that make it worth living,
those Bible study in the car moments,
those coffee dates with the kids,
the birthdays, the every days,
even the work days.
In the whirlwind of blessed activity, reach out and grab ahold of what's there.
You might be surprised at what keeps you grounded.

1 Kings 19:11-12

The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. 12 After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

Love,
Dianne

From Noxious to Nostalgic

Walking out from workplace the other night I inhaled the nighttime air deeply. With the beginnings of   Autumn peeking about, the smell of crunchy leaves and drying corn is just to hard to resist. I reached my car, pulled open the door and dropped into my seat with another deep inhalation, more of a "I'm headed home!" kind-of-a sigh.

I nearly gagged.

Closing my door, I quickly checked the bottoms of my shoes. I must have stepped in dog poop. Or cat poop.  Maybe a dead bird....Nope, all clear on the shoes. What on earth was causing this wretched, eye-watering stench? Ugh.

I popped open my door again and looked on the ground. Nothing.
I checked my shoes again. Nothing.
I closed the door. This time, no deep inhalations. I tried to only breath through my mouth.
I couldn't stay sitting here; I might as well start the drive home.

As I drove, I kept trying to identify the offensive odor.
Was it the garlicky bag of chips that I'd stashed under the passenger side sun visor?
No, I had eaten those and thrown the bag away.
Did Ryan leave a half-eaten sandwich under my seat? I pulled over and checked. Nothing.
This was going to  drive me crazy!

Okay now: think! It was fine, just fine, this morning when I drove to work. So, did an animal crawl into my car, under the hood during the day and die? It just didn't make sense. All I knew was that I was headed to Wal-Mart and I needed to get an air freshener along with the other groceries we needed.

My shopping done, I headed back to the Stinky Car. A lot of times I just toss the purchased items into my back seat but this time I popped the trunk. When I did, an almost visible wave of stench waved from my sun-heated trunk.

I nearly gagged. Again.

There, on its side was a yellow gallon jug of milk from two or three days ago. It didn't explode exactly, but no longer able to contain its contents, it leaked about a half gallon of sour, spoiled, rotten, foul (you get the idea) milk into my trunk. The rest of the milk was one lump of a curdled mass and I really hoped that wasn't what Little Miss Muffet was eating when the spider sat down beside her.

I am not sure if knowing the cause of the smell made it better or worse. I have memories of my best friend's family car when we were kids; someone had spilled milk in it and the smell seemed to linger for years. That actually was a nice thought because I always liked going home with her in her car so in that sense I kept thinking the noxious aroma I was being assaulted with now might actually fade to a nostalgic remembrance in years to come.

In another sense though, this was like a black cloud of stink that no matter where I went in my car, I couldn't escape. You know, like how you can get away when you drive by a roadkill skunk or a farmer's field with freshly spread manure. You have a minute or so of stench that makes your nose wrinkle and your throat clench but then, it's done. You drive on.

When I finally got home I promptly evacuated and ran into the house and grabbed a box of baking soda. You know, to absorb the smell. Especially since I completely forgot to purchase air freshener when I was at the store.

The smell must have burned a few of my common sense receptors.

Love,
Dianne

Doing the Happy, Sad, Proud, Nostalgic Dance

The last couple of days have been happy, proud, a little sad, and a bit nostalgic, full of emotional ranges that in some ways I can't even express. One minute I am on the very brink of tears that aren't completely sad and not completely happy either; then the next minute I am smiling and the tears have gone back into hiding. That is, until the next minute rolls around.

All summer this family has been gearing up to send Amy to REACH, an outreach program that involves three months of Discipleship Training and then six months in Thailand. I am proud of the choices Amy has made and my heart beats in peace with every step she takes. She is in God's hands and I do rest in that.

That does not mean that my heart isn't just a little sad. The apron strings are slipping and with each knot that comes undone, another of my little chicks is venturing further from the nest. And I mean, Grantsville and Salisbury is one thing, but Thailand is quite another. I have to spin the globe to see where she she will be.

And then there are these two: Heather and Ryan. 

Today was their first day back to school. 

Heather is a Junior and in October can get her official I-can-drive-alone Driver's License. 

Ryan is in the 6th grade; his class is starting to switch a few classes 

in preparation for high school next year. 

And there is only two of them. Not five. Sniffle, sob. 

Happy, sad, proud, nostalgic. 

For the record: I did not pick out anybody's First-Day-of-School outfit. 

Sometimes when they look back at years past, I hear comments on their attire. 

"My shorts were so short". (Aaron)

"We look sooooo 90's." (my girls)

"Oh my goodness! Look what we were wearing!! Gasp!" (all of them)

Ryan's sandal things with socks. That was all him. 

(Someday when he looks back and wonders "WHY??" I will have it in writing.)

I told them to look like how they really feel about going to school. 

I got this: 

Then I said, "Okay now, show me how you are going to look going into the school." 

I got this: 

Yes, my house is going to be quiet today until about 1:30pm (it was a half-day). 

I'd walked up the driveway with the two of them. 

We'd taken the required pictures. 

We'd paused and said a prayer for the day. 

Then they saw the bus and would I please, please, please be headed back down the driveway before the bus actually got to our driveway because they are in 11th and 6th grade and 

really, really, really don't need their mom to walk them to meet the bus. 

So I smiled at them and briefly considered ways to embarrass them. 

But in the end, I turned down the driveway towards the house,

 but I couldn't resist just one more picture of them with the bus. 

Happy, sad, proud and nostalgic. 

Happy: My kids are healthy and independent. They do crazy things like wear socks with sandals and tell me jokes like this one: "Where does the President keep his armies?.....In his sleevies." 

Sad: My kids are independent and don't always need their mom. 

One by one they are leaving the nest. 

It is how it is supposed to be but it still makes me a little sad. 

(I'd probably be really sad if they all just decided to never move out. Ever.)

Proud: They are growing up and want to serve God. They are best friends, teachers, and missionaries. They take care of the ones God has placed into their lives. 

Nostalgic: I miss piggy-tailed hair, primary colored backpacks and elementary art projects. 

90's clothes were cool. You know it. 

Like my kids. 

Cool. 

Goodbye. 

See ya later alligator.

In a while crocodile.

See you soon baboon. 

Love, Dianne

Rainy Rescue

A day like today, with a little bit of rain took me back to a time earlier this Spring when there was A LOT of rain and a new baby that needed rescuing...

"Mom, Mom, come quick!" came the voice of my own baby as he ran into the kitchen, breathless and a little bit muddy. I eyeballed the tracks on the floor, raising my eyebrows just enough and he gave me a one-sided grin and stepped onto the rug by the door. 

"Hang on there buddy and slow down. Now, what's up?" I asked. 

"It's The Belted Cow and she had her baby and she was sick and Dad gave her medicine but it isn't helping and now she's out in the pasture and her baby is with her but she can't get up and she needs water and I don't know what to do with the baby because it's probably hungry and the mother is too sick to feed it." 

Grabbing a sweatshirt I followed him out the door, pulling it on as we trotted through the wet grass. Stopping at the fence, Ryan adeptly got it open and nobody got an electric jolt. I was just thankful we didn't need to gingerly step over the charged wire or have to roll on the saturated ground to get under it.

We slogged our way to the back part of the pasture where the poor mama cow was laying on the ground. Her baby, all black and shiny with a white-tipped tail was wobbling about on newborn legs and came over to meet us.

Ryan and I did our best to get the mama cow water and hay, trying to make her comfortable as best we could.  The baby needed milk and the mama wasn't able to do her part. Our goal was to get the baby to the barn where we could get her dry and feed her. I tried to convince Ryan to put the baby on his shoulders and carry it. He thought I was a little weird.

Instead, we allowed the calf which Ryan dubbed Tippy (because of the white-tipped tail) to slobber and suck on our hands, fingers, pant legs, sweatshirts, etc as we walked. We took turns and at times it took one of us being the lure and the other pushing gently on Tippy's behind to keep her moving.
Apparently walking and trying to eat is quite the task.

After many minutes of the push and pull, stop and start, all the while dodging the cow pies that littered the pasture and going around the prickly thistle patches, we made it to the barn. Ryan mixed up the powdered milk replacer and warm water and Tippy was soon guzzling her breakfast, her fuzzy white-tipped tail waggling happily.

I was happy too. In spite of the now drying slobber that left my hands both sticky and stiff, my muddy and wet socks, the bedraggled sweatpants bottoms, and rain-washed hair, I was happy.
Yes, this is part of farming and I think I rather like it (even if I didn't smile much when Ryan took my picture).

"Hey Mom. Thanks."
"Hey, you're welcome. Anytime Buddy."

Love,
Dianne

Be Bold, Be You...Wear Red Shoes

A long while ago I wrote just a little blurb about Red Shoes. The simple fact was that I wanted a pair that was comfortable and classy; I just wasn't having any luck in finding the pair. Then, in a little catalog that I thought looked like one that my Grandma would get in her mailbox, I found the perfect pair of Red Shoes. 

Sometimes those Granny Catalogs with elastic-waisted pants, velour pants and floral housecoats are full of hidden gems, like Red Shoes. (Never underestimate the Granny Catalog.)

So, this morning, I was getting ready for church and as I eyeballed the dresses in my closet, I thought about how "putting on my Sunday best" isn't really what it used to be. When I was a girl, it was about the little white socks edged in lace, a pair of white sandals in the summer, black shiny shoes in the winter, and always about pretty dresses. I looked at my dresses and realized that nowadays, I usually go for either "dressy" jeans (is there really such a thing?!) or dress pants. 

I'm a little hesitant to wear a dress. I think I can blend in better with pants. I don't make a statement if I wear gray or brown or black. Besides, I really do like those colors and they are, more or less, my comfort zone. But today, I wanted to be bold. I wanted to dress the way I feel on the inside. Vibrant. Ladylike. A little sassy. A little vintage. 

I pulled out a dress that I've had for about two years. Initially, the zipper was broke so that was my excuse not to wear it. But I had fixed it and now my excuse really was null and void. Not to mention, it was sleeveless and today was hot and sunny. 

Sliding it off the hanger, I held it out to decide. Then before I could think about this too much I slipped it on over my head and zipped it up. 

Yes, this was feeling good. Shoes...shoes...shoes...now, which ones? 

"Come on Dianne, you know you want to wear the Red ones. You knew it when you pulled that blue and white polka-dotted dress with the red belt from your closet. Just do it! Quit worrying about what you think "someone" might say. You don't even know who "someone" is. 

The Red Shoes found their way onto my feet and as I stretched down to work with the buckles and straps, I was reminded of Grandma. I think of her when I have to bend down to tie my shoes, pull on a pair of nylons, or paint my toenails. It's not that it is difficult, but it is more difficult than it was when I was half my age. Now, double my age and I am almost Grandma's age: 92. Now, every single morning she puts on a pair of super-duper extra-strength elastic hose. When I help her, I sit on the floor and work to get them on her toes, then over her heels, then up her legs. Let me just say that it is a workout. "Torture Tights" is how they should be marketed. Seriously. 

If I didn’t wear the shoes more often now, maybe I never would. Someday my flexibility may not be so flexible and my fingers not so nimble. What was I waiting for?

I went to church this morning. I thanked God that He made me uniquely me. And after church when Aaron and Lisa-Anna came over, we had a photo session. I’m not comfortable with being in pictures. I have a hard time looking and feeling natural and I tend to find all my perceived flaws. Today though, I did not want to do that. I wanted to take my gummy smile, the crooked way I tend to hold my head, my neck wrinkles, my generous curves and thank God that He made me who I am, inside and out.

And if wearing Red Shoes reminds me to be thankful that I am God’s creation, then so be it.

 

 Love, 

Dianne

Inner Beauty=Outer Beauty

The day before yesterday I turned halfway to 90. 

I am not sure how I feel about that yet. 

It would be easy to say that I am starting to feel old,
but I don't want to say that.

Instead, I want to quote Sophia Loren.
"Nothing makes a woman more beautiful
than the belief that she is beautiful."

That is easier said than done.
At least for me it is.

I sometimes think that I like to complain about how I look,
that I somehow enjoy the self-pity of a dead metabolism.
(I like to blame a lot of things on "being in my 40ies".)

And then there's that word I've heard a few times in the last few months:
"Perimenopause"
The word does not do too much to make beautiful happen.
This may have something to do with associated words such as:
lack of energy, joint soreness, back pain, breast pain, 
heart palpitations, dizziness, thinning tingling skin, 
weight gain, urinary urgency or incontinence, heavy night sweats and 
yes, hot flashes.

I don't know about you but now I need coffee. Or chocolate. Or both.
(And that birthday cake...already devoured.)
"Oh Ms. Loren, please remind me again of your wise words!"

I share a birthday with another beautiful woman.
Marilyn Monroe was born on June 1, 1926.
She was only 36 when she died but I would have loved to see how
this woman would've waltzed through the next few decades.

She dealt with insecurity.
She did not have the "ideal" childhood or life.
This woman struggled. A lot.
Yet, somehow she exuded confidence and I believe based on some of her quotes
that she believed that she was beautiful.
I think it is that confidence, more than any sex appeal, that made her so radiant.

"We are all of us stars and we deserve to twinkle."~Marilyn Monroe

So, I've quoted two movie stars but there is more to beauty than that.

See what I mean?
My outward self was meant to waste away. It's just the way it is.
But when I renew my inner nature every day,
I am beautiful and it doesn't matter if I am 10, 20, 45, or 92.

In spite of the scattered gray hairs,
the wrinkles that aren't just there when I smile or frown but are now permanent,
the shoulders that are a little more rounded,
and all those above mentioned perimenopausal things ,
I am beautiful.

God said so.
In that I can be confident and twinkle.

Love,
Dianne

Being A Mama

There are days that being a mama is so easy and wonderful,

...like when it's early in the morning and your 11 year old wants to snuggle for a little while, even if it is just for a minute, before school. And they do it just because.

...and then there are those moments when someone needs prayer because an 8-inch thick portfolio that is basically someone's college life in a binder is due and needs to be presented the next day within a thirty-minute time frame and needs to be acceptable to graduate and the family prayers together while standing in the kitchen.

...or when your oldest daughter has worked her tail off and you see the joy on her face when what she has been striving for is within her grasp. (Yes, she PASSED!!!)

...like getting a text or phone call from your college chick who is in another state and she says she is looking forward to coming home for a while.

...or when your family gathers on a Sunday evening for a campfire and a walk in the pasture to say "Hey" to all the cows.

...and then there are those moments of crazy laughter together over things like double chins and turkey necks, fuzzy pink pajamas that shed fuzzy pink balls on everything, skirts taking flight on windy days in parking lots, and random donkey calls.

There are days that being a mama is not so easy and wonderful,

...like when your littlest has another headache and you wind up sleeping on the floor so he can have the couch and when you put a cool cloth on his forehead and give him a bucket "just in case" and you worry more than you'd like to admit.

...or when one of them has studied for a test and misses passing it by one lousy question and she has to wait a little while longer for her driver's permit and she feels stupid and the tears just won't stop coming and no matter what you try to say, it just can't make it feel better at that moment.

... and those days when you look back at all the field trips, concerts, ball games and recitals that you've missed because of a career and while it was sometimes necessary to work, it doesn't always take away the guilt that you feel.

...or the times that my kids have needed me and instead of serving with a glad heart, I have sighed audibly and made them feel less than important.

Being a mom is one of the greatest joys of my life; sometimes though, it brings pain because I love so deeply. Would I go back and change how I have done things? Make different choices? Yes. I think most of us would. Sometimes we wish we could go back and change the day before. But, since I can't, what I can do is embrace being a mama, at this stage, at this juncture of my life. I am reminded today that being a mama isn't just when they are newborns or toddlers. They don't just need you when they are in the preschool years or elementary school. Whether or not they admit it, a parent is important when they are teenagers and even when they are into adulthood. Hey, I still need my mama!

(And in case you might've forgotten, Mother's Day is this Sunday May 10th. Let your mama know that you love her!)

(To my children: This is not a hint or anything.
By the way, I love dogwood trees. And rose bushes.)

Love,
Dianne

My Saviour's Love

I sat in church today and as I looked around I saw faces.
Faces that radiated joy.
Faces that were calm, feeling peace.
Faces that were edged with fatigue.
Faces lined with physical pain.
Faces that reflected the hurting heart that no one could see.

We were all under one roof, worshipping God in a variety of ways:
~watching the little ones as they sang about building their house upon the Rock,
~putting money into an offering basket for Nepal to help with providing basic needs,
~listening to the Word of God as Pastor Joe taught from the book of Revelation,
~participating in Communion as we shared the symbolic broken bread and poured-out wine,
~singing Jesus Loves Me and realizing it is not just a children's song.

All of this was good, very good. And then we sang a song about My Savior's Love and my heart swelled with emotion and my voice broke as i sang the words, overwhelmed with what those words were saying.

1. I stand amazed in the presence
   Of Jesus the Nazarene,
   And wonder how He could love me,
   A sinner, condemned, unclean.
   • Refrain:
     How marvelous! How wonderful!
     And my song shall ever be:
     How marvelous! How wonderful!
     Is my Savior’s love for me!
2. For me it was in the garden
   He prayed: “Not My will, but Thine.”
   He had no tears for His own griefs,
   But sweat drops of blood for mine.
3. In pity angels beheld Him,
   And came from the world of light
   To comfort Him in the sorrows
   He bore for my soul that night.
4. He took my sins and my sorrows,
   He made them His very own;
   He bore the burden to Calv’ry,
   And suffered and died alone.
5. When with the ransomed in glory
   His face I at last shall see,
   ’Twill be my joy through the ages
   To sing of His love for me.

~Charles H. Gabriel, 1905~

How can I not be amazed at the love that my God has for me? A sinner, condemned, unclean?

Ephesians 3:16-21, NIV I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.

Love,
Dianne

Off-Key Crowing (Not to be confused with Off-Shore Rowing)

Hello Old Friend, it has been awhile. The last time I visited was February and it was snowing and cold. Today though, the sky is crayon-colored and definitely Sky Blue. While I can't exactly say it is warm warm, I am sitting in a favorite spot on the front porch without a jacket. The rooster is nearby and I am hearing his periodic off-key yet proud crows which proclaim that he is quite happy about the day.

I really think I could learn some lessons from that rooster. You know, like when I awaken in the morning, I need to rise from my tangled nest of covers and proclaim in an audible voice, "Today is a good day to be alive! Now, go forth and live!"

Lately, I've been more of a mindset to stay under the covers, burrowing deeper and not wanting to deal with whatever comes my way. I am overwhelmed by phone calls, appointments to make, appointments to keep, the to-do list that has become so long that I don't even want to start it, and taxes that were due and too much paperwork to retrieve out of thin air because of my foolishness in not backing it up and losing 1 1/2 years of work. My hair was starting to stay in a permanent stand-on-end position because I keep running my fingers through it and pulling up in frustration. I have been feeling nauseous on and off most days and the knot in the pit of my stomach just seemed to never want to go away.

I don't handle stress very well. Sometimes it is better than other times, but lately, no.

I need to go back to the basics and at the very core of it is God. When I let life take over, I let my time with God fall to the back burner and I am ashamed at how easily I let that happen. My daughter, Amy, and I were texting one evening and I admitted to her how I have been falling (and sometimes pulling) away from God. She told me to get back into the Word. I listened and I asked her to keep me accountable. Send me a text every now and then and just ask "Did you read today?" or "What did you read?".

While I have begun to get back into the Word of God, I can't say that all the stress just dissipated. In some ways, I feel it more. There is a battle going on and I need to hang on to the One who created me, who loves me even when I lose my focus, mess up, and fall down again and again.

So, I sit on my porch and I think I'm going to give it a name. I learned that my Great Grandma had a little room situated off the back of her garage that she called "The Elijah Room" and this was where she studied and read the Bible. I want to look into why she called it the Elijah Room but for now, that's what I'm calling my porch. It'll be my Elijah Room, my room (when the weather is warm) to study, reflect, renew and de-stress. And to prepare for battle.

Today, what did I read? I read in Exodus 4:10-11 where Moses was talking to God and he was telling God why he was not suited for the job God was calling him to do. God pretty much said, "Hey, Moses, who created you? Did I not make you to be the way you are? And I am not calling you for this purpose? Get your head out from under those covers, go forth and live."

Yes, I paraphrased and took a little liberty with that, but there you have it. When I am nervous, tense and anxious and feel like my role, my tasks are too big, too hard and much too much, I am not only underestimating myself, I am underestimating God. He believes in me and I have to trust that He knows what He is doing.

I may need a reminder now and then, so when you see me, just ask how I greeted my morning. Was it with an off-key, yet ready-to-face-the-day crow or with silent grumbling.

Cock-A-Doodle-Doooooooooo,
Dianne

P.S. It is good to be back.