She's A Killer

Over the weekend, my sister went to one of those 'Murder Mystery' parties. The theme was a Class Reunion Of '85. The pictures were sooo good, I just had to share them with all of the internet. She's more than likely going to kill me.

Every person was assigned a character. She was the Drama Queen. She just won an Emmy for her role in a Soap Opera. She was instructed to attend the party with her Emmy in hand.

Have you ever watched that show, "Toddlers and Tiaras"? Watching my sister get ready for this event was kinda like watching that show. You can't believe what you're seeing, but you can't pull your eyes away. You simultaneously can't decide if it's horrifying or just super weird.

Her gown came from the Goodwill, as well as the shoes. Thank heavens she wore some fancy leggings. One should always keep modesty in mind when there is murder involved.

Her Emmy appears to be a bobble head, but I'm sure it's made out of real gold. I'm just sure of it. Oh, and her earrings were long enough to touch her shoulders. I was worried that she would shake her head at the party and they would swing enough to make her tip over.

Apparently, it was revealed during the party that she was the killer. Which, when you look at her outfit, isn't all too surprising. One glance at all those sequins is enough to strike anyone down. Shield your eyes.

Spread It 'Round

Texans love the Lord. Which is very cool, because I do too. But, until I moved here, I had no idea that you could so openly talk about Him. Religion doesn't carry so many boundaries here. "I'll pray for you" is just as common as asking what neighborhood you live in. There is somewhat of a moral compass that ticks beneath the surface. I'm sure there are some who find it annoying. I find it to be fantastic.

As a new Texan, over 3 years ago, relative strangers would discover how sick my dad was. They would offer to pray for him. They always asked me for his name, just so they could make sure it reached heaven's ears when they said a prayer. This happened often. And every time, I simply marveled at the gift.

Yesterday, I was thinking about all those offers for prayer. Did they change the outcome of my dad's story? No, that wasn't His plan. But, I do think they softened the edges of the harsh reality a bit. All those prayers somehow gave me a soft place to rest when the grief was too heavy.

I've had a particular friend on my mind. Well, she is actually more of a friend of a friend. But, her story has reached me. She's in the midst of hard stuff. Not the average hard stuff. More of the world shattering kind. And as I've thought of her, I've thought of those prayers and all the strangers who each sent my dad's name to the Lord.

We all know someone who is struggling. Maybe more than one. Or, maybe that someone is us. Either way, I think there is strength to be found when we pray for one another. No matter our religious beliefs, those words spoken are sent as a sacred offering. We can't change the details of anyone's story. We can't fix what's broken. But, we can always offer strength through our whispered words.

So, I pray for the one who I know is struggling. I pray that she might find stable ground to stand on in order to know which direction to take. We can pray together. I think there is strength in numbers. The offering isn't grand and can't be tied up with a bow. But, it's given with heart and hope. And those kinds of gifts are always the ones to reach heaven first.

Continuous

Am I the only one who feels like my life is one continuous loop around the dishwasher? I started to unload it this morning, and it felt like the movie, Ground Hog Day. Every morning, I ask the girls 18 times to get up and then I'm standing at the dishwasher. Again. Unloading and then loading. Again. It seems to never end.

My life is one perpetual dish washer. Anyone else relate? Can I get an "Amen!"?

The Days Are Numbered

OK. What I'm about to tell you is earth shattering. So, prepare yourself. I'm serious.

Kellie vacuumed the kitchen. Without me asking. Did you catch that? Without. Me. Asking! She just cleared out all the chairs and cleaned the floor. It's unbelievable, right? I don't think I've ever, I mean ever, had a child perform a household chore that I didn't have to yell, fight, scream and kick to get them to do it.

There is only one explanation. It's the end of days. This is the first warning. So, whatever it takes, get your life in order. Read your scriptures, start saying your prayers and making good choices, because the end has to be near. There is simply no other possible answer.

I'll but sure to keep you posted if I see other warning signs. You know, like TWO of my children actually listening to my voice when I speak. I'm not holding out high hopes of anything that miraculous, but I'll definitely let you know.

Which Voice?

Lately, I've been thinking about listening. Not the obvious, physical kind of listening, but more of the voice that speaks inside ourselves. Do I listen to the voice that speaks the loudest? Or, do I concentrate on the singular one that is quiet and blends into the background?

You see, the voice changes. Sometimes it's kind, sometimes judgemental, sometimes it praises and most of the time it carries guilt. The voice is always loudest when guilt is involved. And not the big kind of guilt, it's the small, almost invisible kind. That's the one I tend to listen to the most. I know I shouldn't, but it just draws me in.

I tend to listen at the end of the day or when I'm driving in my car. I review all the mom things I've done that I wish I could reverse or words I wish I hadn't said. And then there are the things that I know I should be doing, but have yet to get to. The voice brings those to memory so quickly.

As I sat in church today, I heard a different voice. The one that is soft and blends into the background if you don't concentrate to listen. It's not loud or flamboyant, and it never carries guilt. Maybe a gentle nudge, but never guilt. I also realized that this voice can also be felt. It brushes my heart with kindness.

That is the voice I want to listen to. It's the one I want to always hear. But, when I step away from church and quiet reflection, it's hard to find. My normal, busy life seems to muffle it's sound. I tend to lose my grip on the effort required to hold onto it. Maybe the whole point is the difficulty involved. The greater the work, the deeper the blessing.

I think we should all listen together. What if that makes it easier to hear? What if we collectively decide to ignore the voice that tends to make us feel like 'not enough'? And instead, we agree to listen to the whispered words that build, restore and strengthen.

Are we perfect? Not at all. Do we make the right mom choices or always keep our patience? Definitely a no. But, our imperfections do not define the voice we listen to. They are simply steps in our our redefining. They are turns we take on a path to growth.

Let's listen. And, let's hear. The words aren't complicated or hidden. They are quietly spoken over and over again. We just have to be willing to reach out and grab them. If we all hold on together, we just may be able to increase the volume so that it's the only voice we ever hear.

I'm Sharing

I don't like to share. It's hard for me. What does that say about me? Um, let's not discuss that. I don't share dessert. Like, ever. It's one of the commandments (in fine print). But, I really get selfish with my twins. My sister claims she gave birth, therefore they are her twins. I really just see that as a minor technicality.

Today I've decided to share a wee bit of Riley with you. It's so selfless of me. Deep down, I feel like she is this secret from heaven that only a few of us know about. I'm letting you take a peek. Again, I'm a giver. Why am I being so thoughtful? Because Riley offers a happiness that just needs to be shared.

Her physical limitations are many. She has cerebral palsy, a life threatening heart condition, brain damage, and I could go on, but that list does not define her. She has this gift that is heaven sent. I really can't form it into words to even define it. You look into her eyes and you just know she sees more than we see. She smiles and you can catch a view of heaven.

She doesn't talk. But, she laughs. Oh, how she laughs. There is nothing quite like it. You hear it and it makes you giggle. Really. It's one of her many gifts she gives.

So, I'm sharing her laugh. Watch and feel happy. And, if you look closely, you'll see a little piece of heaven tucked into that smile.

Enjoy.

Point Of View

Has my life actually reached the point where I am putting Spray N' Wash on doll clothes that no one plays with anymore? Really, truly?

Well, yes, yes I think I have.

Note to self: Figure out a way to make better use of my time.