Puppy Love!

On May 30, 2009 I became the proud "mama" of a bouncing (he literally bounces), 3 pound baby boy named Zeus. He now weighs in at 6.1 pounds and fills my mornings and nights with lots of play and affection.

Here is the photo that made me want to meet him:

Here are a few more recent photos that cannot even possibly begin to capture why I love him SO much:

Sigh, all prejudices aside he really is one of the MOST adorable puppies I've ever seen, and because of his adorableness I now know all of my neighbors and random people who walk by. He attracts A LOT of attention, and he's so friendly and playful that most people are smitten with him immediately. He's a sensitive little guy who gets his feelings hurt when other dogs do not want to be his friend. One of our neighbors Ginger, a Shitzu mix, actually bit him a few weeks ago. But he doesn't hold grudges and his initial sadness wore off after, oh 2 seconds or so. He is a persistent little chap who STILL tries to play with her when he sees her, but I am a wee bit overprotective and remind him gently that she tried to eat him, so no we will NOT be making her acquaintance! Popeye, the silver and black poodle who lives next door, is also a wee bit grouchy but he is warming up to Zeus little by little. Poor Zeus, he really doesn't understand how annoying he is to the elderly.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have LOTS of stories to tell about my "Adventures in Puppy Parenting". I'm convinced that I should write the sequel to "Marley & Me" because apparently I have his spawn.....

When What A Girl Wants Is What A Girl Needs

Sometimes a girl just needs a new car. Okay, I understand that the word "need" is a relative term, but when my 2002 Saturn began to burn oil, I decided that I would begin looking for a new car while the deals were hot. Because putting a quart of oil into my car every few weeks is not an enjoyable experience for me. It involves dirt and grease and it makes my hands smell terrible, not to mention I get anxious about my car dying and leaving me stranded on a dark street when I should be in the safety of my home. Besides, why spend $3,000 to overhaul an engine on a car worth precisely $3,000?

Case in point. Just before driving to The Woodlands to visit my brother and sister-in-law a few weeks ago, I wisely checked my car's oil level and discovered that it was almost empty. So there I was at the gas station, dressed in my work clothes, with the hood up on my dirty car, trying to put oil in the engine through a flimsy paper cone. Of course, figuring out where to put the oil was my first challenge, and unscrewing the lid was the second. I spent several minutes screwing and unscrewing the cap, but it would not budge. Then it dawned on me that perhaps I should just pull it off, and to my embarrassment off it came! I was muttering very unkind words as I drained that quart of liquid gold into my engine and then slammed the hood before locating my stash of baby wipes in a vain attempt to rid my hands of the oil and gas stains and smells.

Finally I was on my way for a mostly uneventful drive, although somewhere outside of Seguin, Texas, with Bon Jovi blasting on my radio I happened upon a white truck (ironically) with a hand-written sign that said, "Save White America". Seriously, it really said that. After 3 hours I made it to Houston and the dreaded tall bridge that lead to the toll road. I did great though and managed to talk myself over it without hyperventilating only to get lost (huge shock, I know) after making a wrong turn in The Woodlands. My brother was kind and didn't laugh at me as he talked me to his house and I only arrived an hour later than expected. :-) Thankfully all was well and we sat down to eat a yummy dinner (thanks Ann!) before settling in for a relaxing weekend.

We watched movies, and ate good food, and talked, and looked at photo albums, and researched dog breeds (more on that in a later post) and had a really nice time. And better still on Sunday my brother, ever the savvy shopper introduced me to www.edmunds.com and because of that I paid below invoice price for my new car. Thanks Ray!!!

At the time I was looking at Toyota Corollas (gray, black or white - NO silver) and we looked at all of the different prices with the options I wanted and I learned exactly how low the dealer could go on the price so I could get the best bargain. After driving home (and taking an unintended detour to Lackland AFB) I decided to look at cars on Monday. I researched Corollas but also looked for Camrys with a manual 5-speed transmission and to my surprise discovered that there were 4 of them in the city of San Antonio. I went to 2 different dealers and drove 2 Camrys, one silver and one black before talking the dealers down to BELOW invoice price on each car. Ultimately I surprised myself and chose the silver car and walked away with a brand new 2009 Camry, with all the options I wanted for LESS than I would have paid for the Corolla. Apparently no one wants buy a Camry with manual transmission - except me! So now I have a beautiful new car and amenities I never thought I could afford all because of one smart brother and a dad who went with me to help me haggle.

No more putting oil into my engine and looking and smelling like a grease monkey. This car should last me for years before it needs repairs, in fact I'll likely be driving it when my hair is as silver as it is! I'm thrilled with it and feel like I'm driving a Lexus, when I'm only in a base model Camry. My first grown-up car, and I'm only 39..... Like I said, sometimes a girl just needs a new car!

In Transit - The First 36 Hours

Finally, the big day had arrived, after a 3-year hiatus, long years spent wishing, hoping and waiting for the chance to return, I was once again leaving on a big jet plane headed for a holiday across the pond. Hours of packing, hours of planning, hours of obsessing, hours of........waiting in airports. Ugh.

High on adrenaline despite being hormonal and sleep deprived, I checked in and grabbed a few breakfast tacos before heading to gate 33. I was eager to get to Dallas and spend the day with my friend Cindi before heading to London later that night. After a 20-minute delay everyone boarded the plane and buckled up ready for the short hop to DFW. But then the captain made a fateful announcement, there was an electrical problem on the plane, severe enough that we could not fly until it was fixed. Ah but he had hopeful news, it should only take a few minutes to repair, I'm such a sucker that I believed him. Silly me.

Sure enough, after those "few" minutes were memories the passengers were asked to leave the plane and continue waiting in the terminal. I texted Cindi to warn her of the impending doom and settled in with my book, making fast friends with the other disgruntled passengers. Our updates were frequent but progress was agonizingly slow.

Excuse #1: The mechanic could not reach the defective switch because his hands were too big.
Excuse #2: Due to the mechanic's oversized hands he had to disassemble the jump seat.
Excuse #3: When he finally wrapped his GINORMOUS hands around the relay switch he discovered that he needed 2 switches instead of only 1.
Excuse #4: There were no additional relay switches in San Antonio, AA would have to fly one in on another plane.
Excuse #5: The second relay switch did not fix the problem.

After 4 hours I was thinking that if it took that long to TRY to fix the airplane I had affectionately nicknamed Humpty Dumpty, then I would not be flying on it. And finally the geniuses at AA (they're the cream of the crop I tell you, the best of the best) decided that PERHAPS they could fly us out on the plane that had been sitting empty at the next gate for 2 1/2 hours! Of course, they didn't make that decision until a severe thunder and lightning storm had rolled in and caused a power outage in the airport. I'm sure you can imagine that I was a WEE bit grumpy by this point, and hormonal, did I mention hormonal?

So finally, after almost every passenger had missed connections, and I had missed my chance to see Cindi, we boarded the plane and took off before the weather worsened. The trip was so bumpy that the flight attendants were required to stay seated, no peanuts or drinks for us. Unbelievably, when we finally landed in Dallas we circled the runway until a gate could be located for us, I guess they were fresh out. Then the pilot attempted to park, and I write that with a straight face because the parking system failed, so we had to wait to be towed the last 12 feet to the gate. Hey, at least the brakes worked and we didn't crash through the terminal.....

I settled in for a 5-hour layover and read magazines in between switching gates 3 times before the airline finally decided where we would board. I was nearly involved in a hit and run accident with a man (not a teen) who thought skateboarding in a busy airport was a good idea. Those of us who narrowly avoided a visit to the E.R. strongly disagreed. Oh, and I found a Proactiv vending machine. That's right, we have stooped so low as to sell acne medication in vending machines at airports. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity...

And then, I'm sure you'll never believe this, wait for it.......my flight to London was delayed. Huge shock I know. I almost fell over dead when they made the announcement. What? Delayed? You have GOT to be kidding me? That NEVER happens... What were the excuses? Well, the plane was late being towed from the hangar, I guess the scheduled time fell during the union break. Then we needed catering, bad airplane food must be on board before the unsuspecting passengers. And of course, we had "mechanical problems". Did they REALLY need to tell me that BEFORE I left on a 9-hour flight OVER THE OCEAN? But alas, the flight was uneventful. I watched a bad movie with one earphone, ate terrible lasagna and shifted uncomfortably in my seat all while trying to keep the lady in front of me from sleeping with her head in my lap. Gotta love flying coach!

As I awoke from my miserable slumber my eyes feasted on the greenery of Ireland below me before Scotland and England came into view. Upon landing I made my way through customs and walked what felt like miles of hallways before emerging into the largest airport I've ever seen. Heathrow was like a city and I was completely overwhelmed, thankfully the signs were clear and I easily found the shuttle to Gatwick Airport. Once there I watched the Scottish men parading around in kilts, perhaps there was some kind of convention? At least they were not trying to run me over with their skateboards, because skateboarding Scotsmen in kilts may have sent me over the edge! I did rather enjoy their lovely accents, and I have to admit that each time one of them took the escalator upstairs I tried to sneak a peak to discover if he was wearing his kilt properly....I never did figure that one out. ;-)

Finally, after 5 long hours of waiting I boarded the Easyjet plane bound for Basel and settled in for the short flight. Upon arrival I collected my luggage and tried to remember if I was supposed to exit through the Swiss or French sector of the airport. I chose door number 2 leading to France and was rewarded with Laurie and Emmalee's smiling faces, and in that instant all of my stress melted away and I knew that the past 36 hours had been worth all of the hassle.

39 and Holding

As I find myself staring down the last year of my thirties I wonder how I got here. How did I become the girl who no one loves? This birthday is hitting me harder than I thought it would because, even though I have a year to go, I've accepted the fact that one of my biggest fears is imminent:

I will be single when I turn 40

Gulp. It may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but it is the death of yet another dream, my most cherished one in fact, and it has shattered my ability to hope. Last year was unkind to me and all I want to do now is crawl under my covers and stay there for a really, really long time. I don't want anyone close to the gaping hole in my heart because it's too painful. I already gave up my dreams of children and a family to call my own, and even though it isn't the end of the world, being an Old Maid is not something I aspired to.

But hey, at least I can hog the remote, spend my money how I choose and set the thermostat where I want.....those are the "positives" my married friends point out to me. Yeah, FYI that's NOT helpful. I do, however, have Europe, and even though I often travel alone I enjoy people watching while sipping tea in an elegant cafe. I also love seeing art that I never see here, and glimpsing history that was left out of World History 101. It's a pleasant break from my life of boredom and I'd rather explore this beautiful world than not, even if I have to do it alone. Do you think it counts if I turn 39 in a foreign country? Can I choose to stay 39 until I get married? If so, I promise I'll give up the remote control without complaining, but money and the thermostat will take some serious negotiations!

We're Not In Kansas Anymore...

Thump, thump, thump, the sound emanating from the bass speakers in the low-rider in front of us should have been the first clue. The KISS 99.5 FM van should have been the second. And the vehicles, a mix of Mustangs, low-riders and tricked-out trucks should have been the third. We were definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Saturday was a beautiful, sunny day, one of those days that makes you happy that you live in South Texas, at least until summer. After a leisurely morning, and a long, flower-filled walk I waited for my friend Amy and her two girls to pick me up. We were headed to the local dog show, a free event that we decided to attend to find out if it resembled the "Best In Show" movie at all. Plus we wanted to DO something, and something different at that. So off we drove not sure what to expect, which may have been a good thing.

Once we arrived at the event, we were surprised when the parking attendant told us that it would cost $5, wasn't it free? We clearly looked puzzled, which caused him to peruse our vehicle, a huge suburban containing two almost middle-aged women, and two adorable girls in the back seat, one sporting long braids. At that point HE looked puzzled and decided to investigate the situation further.

Attendant: "Um, what event are you here for?"
Amy: "The dog show???"
Attendant: "This is the 'Tat Expo', the dog show is at gate E."
Amy & Robin: "Oh"
Robin: "Did he say TATTOO EXPO?"
Amy: "I think he did"
Girls: "Giggle, giggle"

At this point we had completed a u-turn and decided to stop and ask the attendant if he did indeed say "Tattoo Expo", surely we were mistaken.

Amy: "What event is this?"
Attendant: "The Tattoo Expo"
Amy: "Okaaaay, how do we get to the dog show?"
Attendant: "Take a left out of the parking lot, make a left at the light and then left at gate E"
Amy: "Okay, thank you!"

As we drove away we all broke into guffaws, we were clearly out of place. What could have possibly given us away? K-love on the radio? The suburban? The wide-eyed innocence of Amy's girls? Our lack of body art and piercings? Now, I'm not judging those who sport tattoos and piercings, but clearly 2 straight-laced, former BSF leaders and fresh-scrubbed girls did NOT fit the "Tat Expo" demographic!

When we finally arrived at our preferred event, after waiting for the Mustang driver to get directions to the Tattoo Expo, I knew we were in the right place. The Cadillacs, motor homes and, um the smell. We had definitely found the dog show. The girls bounded out and we made our way to an open arena filled with, well, dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. The humans were an afterthought.

After being assaulted with the lovely odor of wet dog and other disgusting smells I'd rather not describe in detail, we decided to watch the show. The sporting class was up so we took our seats and watched women dressed in pantyhose and heels, and men in suits parade their dogs around in complete silence because there were no announcers telling us what was happening. If you didn't happen to be in the know you were toast. Amy and I started asking the people around us and some were helpful and some would rather have been talking to their dogs. In fact, I thought I was having a conversation with a lady who kept talking after answering my question. I mistakenly thought she was talking to me, but nope, she was talking to her dog. It was kind of like that weird feeling you get when someone walks past you and says hi and you say hi because you think they're talking to you, and then you realize they have a blue tooth and they're really on the phone and you've just responded to someone who wasn't talking to you and who is looking at you like you're crazy.......yeah, kind of like that. Awkward!

So then we decided to walk around and we saw even MORE dogs. Most of them were being groomed for the main event, and I have to be honest and say that the smell was 100 times worse in the grooming area! We looked at Poodles, a weird, hairless Chinese dog, Labradors, Golden Retrievers, Pugs, Collies, Bulldogs, Sheep Dogs and even a Texas Chihuahua a.k.a. a Great Dane. That dog was 6-ft tall when he stood on his hind legs. And the slobber, ugh, so gross! We were terrified that he would shake his head and cover us in goo....

After about an hour we were getting hungry and thirsty but there was not a water bottle or snack stand to be found for us humans, there were, however, plenty for the dogs. There was "Bark Avenue", a nice little store selling fancy dog beds, frames, calendars, etc. The "Pet Deli" was exactly that, a deli for the dogs. "B.A.R.F." sold bones and other canine essentials. And there was even an artist willing to draw caricatures of your dog for a small fee. Worse still was the following sign on the bathroom door: "No Dogs Allowed", that could be taken the wrong way folks.

Finally we were longing for Kansas and food and drinks. On the way out we discovered one small table selling mixed nuts. But honestly, we were not even tempted when they offered us samples stating that they were for humans. Just the thought of the Great Dane walking by and drooling in those nuts almost made us B.A.R.F. :-) Instead we opted for Mexican Food and a relaxing afternoon at the park. Good times all around.

14,000 Days

Sometimes a day seems soooo looooong and sometimes it seems shorter than my mother. But in reality time doesn't move faster or slower depending on my mood. It stays the same. Tick-tock, tick-tock, 60 seconds makes the big hand move, 60 minutes makes the little hand move and before I know it time has run away from me and the day has slipped into a memory. Over 14,000 days so far and only God knows how many more are to come.

When I was younger my faith was kind of like my ticket to immortality, a way to be assured of an endless supply of days. Of course, it was also the best way I could think of to avoid all of that fire and brimstone the preacher was always talking about, but I digress. There's a popular CCM band that sings "Take me to the other side, cuz I wanna live forever" and I'll admit that living forever in heaven sounds pretty great. No pain, no suffering, mansions and streets of gold. Who would turn that down? It's just that focusing on the "living forever" part kind of misses the point of living NOW. And no matter how long or short the days, I'm still in the "now and the not yet" part of living. I haven't graduated to heaven yet, and BTW I'm perfectly fine with that!

There is still so much to learn before I am finally complete, and while I'm growing toward the woman God intended when he first imagined me, I'm still SO. FAR. AWAY. Salvation is much more than my personal "get out of hell free card." For me it has become more about reconciliation to my Creator; more about a vibrant, passionate and intimate relationship that quenches my dry and thirsty soul and awakens my numb heart to the experience of living. In him I live and move and have my being - what joy I get from a living, breathing relationship with Christ! It's amazingly beautiful to contemplate the mystery of reconciliation. But, part of reconciling involves looking back, which is something I normally eschew.

Popular culture tells us to never look back, to never stop thinking about tomorrow. But I've learned that the process of looking back, although painful, is helpful in determining why I do things the way I do, good or bad. I'm not talking about simply remembering, I'm talking about a serious in-depth examination of life. Many people never do this. They live convinced of their "rightness" about every issue or opinion, and try to convince everyone else of their "rightness" too. They live to control or fix others instead of themselves. Hm, I wonder how I know that? Ha! Now that I've decided to move beyond that kind of thinking I'm experiencing serious growing pains. Yet, time and time again the pain of examination leads to complete freedom and reconciliation with my Creator.

I've come too far to stop now, and I'm determined to complete this process and see where it takes me, no matter if I have 1 or 14,000 days remaining.

Inmate #107

So here's the deal. Apparently I'm off my rocker. And no one bothered to tell me until Saturday. You see, after a 3-year hiatus I will soon be strapping on my backpack and leaving on a jet plane for another European adventure. That sounds pleasant enough, right? Counting a few sheep in a sleeping berth while being rocketed to a former Eastern block country. Exploring the caves of the Karst Region of Slovenia despite claustrophobia. Taking in the studs ;-) at the Lipizzaner farm. Getting lost a million times in a foreign city. No news there, been there and done that and I've lived to tell about it each time.

But this time I was contemplating something totally different. And I have no idea why except that I've been a little bored of late. You know how it is, the same routine, the same city, the same ole' life without any excitement or adventure. So I've been reading my guidebook and looking up websites and generally trying to stick to a tight budget while paying for hotel, transportation, food, etc., with a devalued dollar.

And then I found out about Hostel Celica. It's a restored "detention" facility, a.k.a. former prison, which is apparently THE place to stay for backpackers trekking through former Eastern block countries. And we all know that I like to be different so my curiosity was piqued. How unique to stay in a "cell" that has been decorated by a cool, hip designer. The place has an art gallery. Laundry facilities. Cafe. Internet. TV room. AND, it's cheap - really cheap.

Of course, I overlooked the fact that it is state run. Anything state run in a former Eastern block country should invite suspicion. And I wasn't thrilled that I would have to share a bathroom, but I figured I could survive that for 3 nights. And being required to leave my cell open for the daily tours was disconcerting to say the least.... But the kicker was discovering that it was next to the city's hippest teen club frequented by those looking for drugs, sex and rock-n-roll - and um, well I'm NOT. Then there is the lack of sleep from the ongoing party next door, and nothing I could do about it except get grumpy and sick from sleep deprivation. Uh-oh.

Thankfully someone whose initials are LA ;-) pointed out my obviously flawed thinking by asking a few questions such as:

1. Do they allow cell phones? (please tell me you get the pun because that is funny!)
2. If so, are you allowed only one call?
3. If valuables are required to be kept in the safe deposit box does that mean it's only a minimum security prison?

Great, now I'm questioning my sanity. Can you say PROZAC? Ultimately I reconsidered and booked a nice B&B. MOSTLY out of concern for my safety but also because I'D NEVER live it down if I actually stayed in a former Eastern block prison! So now, instead of being Inmate #107, I will be plain, ole' boring Robin from Texas. I'll try to enjoy the real bed, breakfast, tea, Internet, telephone, room service, en suite toilet and shower..... Prison? Yeah, WHAT was I thinking?

Deep In The Heart Of Texas

It has been a long time since I retreated. Almost two years since I took the time to drive away from the distractions of city life and into the wide open spaces and gentle rolling hills of the Texas Hill Country. This weekend found me unwinding with each passing mile as I made my way to Laity Lodge, an amazingly sacred retreat center nestled deep in the heart of Texas.

In a way I was driving into my past. Transportedto my teenage years when I spent many hours on an old blue and white church bus, looking at the same scenery as we lumbered up the hill to the run down Baptist youth camp. It was old and dusty with the Frio River slicing through the winding, wooded paths. Alto Frio was its name, and a rather strange one if you think about it. For the uninitiated, frio means cold, or very cold in Spanish, but alto is most commonly associated with halt, although a quick google search reveals that it also means tall or high. I spent many weeks of my youth at that Tall, Cold River Camp.

So many cherished memories. Long nights in the bunkhouse with giggling girls; choking down terrible food in the mess hall and making sure I NEVER put my elbows on the table; kicking rocks and holding hands with a cute new guy because PDAs were strictly forbidden, and the reason we snuck down to the river (!); pulling pranks at the boys' dorm; silly "Olympics"; small groups; worship in the open meeting hall; and of course, rededicating my life to God at the nightly invitation offered at any Baptist camp worth its salt! Good times, good times all around.

But now I'm older, and those carefree days are long gone, as well as my nights spent in the rundown bunkhouses of Alto Frio (thank God!) I've graduated to a retreat center for grown-ups. A real treasure that serves nourishment for the body and soul in a serene lodge set in a canyon carved in two by the same river I swam in as a kid. As I contrasted the old and new memories this weekend I was stunned at how they intermingled. Hiking to the top of Circle Bluff I remembered how I used to stare at the canyons wondering if any Native Americans remained hidden in the bluffs. I found myself looking for arrowheads on my hike yesterday, something I have done my entire life whenever I'm outside of the confines of asphalt and highways. I also kept an eye out for jumping cactus and rattlesnakes, I find that I'm still allergic to both...

Dipping my toes in the frigid Frio River took me back 25 years to the laughter and splashing and freedom of playing at Alto Frio or Garner State Park. And the stars. Oh my, the stars! I forgot how much I missed them until I stared up into the inky blackness and looked at the twinkling lights as they blinked on and off. I used to imagine that they were diamonds and I'd wonder how they stayed suspended in the universe. If it were possible I would have stared all night just to burn the vision of those heavenly jewels in my eyes forever so that I would never forget the peace I feel when I gaze upon them.

Yet, as much time as I spent remembering, I found that I was also fully alive in the present. As I listened to a wise, impassioned professor teach old truths of the gospel in a new way I was captivated as I considered them from the context of my personal history. It was powerful and exciting and deeply satisfying to my soul when nuggets of truth finally burst through the soil of my heart, soil that has been tilled for 26 years. And later in the night as I lounged by a warm and cozy fire, snuggled up in a borrowed coat, listening to a beautiful poem, I was astounded as I contemplated the words of "Alive Together" and realized that God created me to be in that very place, at that very moment. I nearly wept as that truth took root in my heart, and I finally just rested in the experience of living. I'm pretty sure a few stars even winked at me as I walked into the quiet stillness of the night and gazed upon them while peace flooded my soul.

Today as I took communion the mystery of my faith was profound as I looked out the picture window to the canyon and river below, and marveled that the Creator of such beauty died so that I might know him. How grateful I am to have once again spent a precious few hours, deep in the heart of Texas, retreating from the works of man. I will spend my upcoming nights in the city remembering the handiwork of God, and waiting with bated breath for my next retreat into a diamond-studded, Texas night.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Cell phone etiquette is a funny thing, every one I know has different boundaries when it comes to their portable tracking device. And it should be noted that the things that bother me obviously don't bother several of my friends. For instance, I cannot stand it when I am at dinner with a friend and the ringing cell phone takes precedence over me. ~Commence rant~ Um, excuse me? Am I invisible once the phone begins ringing? Do I no longer matter? Is my company so boring or meaningless that you MUST interrupt our conversation and ignore me while talking to someone you can call later??? After all, people DID survive before they could be tracked down at all hours of the night and day. ~End rant~

Yet despite my obvious annoyance at the heretofore mentioned scenario, there is something that makes me even crazier, and that, my friends, is when people talk on a cell phone in a public bathroom. That is just incomprehensible to me. Do you really want your friend or loved one to be an auditory witness to your potty break....or mine? Really? Well, I certainly don't! But it happens all the time. I've tried to ignore the elevator talkers and the grocery store arguments I've witnessed via the cell phone. I've even tried to overlook the movie goers and airplane passengers who refuse to turn off their idols, er....phones. But I draw the line at cell phone bathroom talkers. It's. Just. Plain. Wrong.

Yesterday as I was taking a potty break a lady walked in mid-conversation and proceeded to keep talking while both of us were trying to pee. Was I wrong to wish for some privacy? As she was droning on and on at a decibel level sure to inflict hearing loss on anyone within a 10-foot radius, she proceeded to dissect a divorcing couple's marriage. Friends of hers apparently, although I use the term "friend" loosely since I would be livid if one of my friends did that to me.

So now I am privy to the information that Jack and Jill (not their real names) are in the midst of a nasty separation and that divorce is imminent. It's all Jill's fault too, at least according to the anonymous cell phone talker. Jack says Jill is a *!@#* and apparently this lady agreed. Of course, her own marriage is S O L I D as a rock because she and Carlos (his real name) do not suffer the same communication issues. That may change if he ever discovers that his wife is discussing their marriage while taking a pee in a public bathroom!

But even worse was the fact that in the middle of this conversation, she did the one thing I was dreading the most, yes ladies and gentlemen.....she flushed.....and then continued talking without skipping a beat. I was blushing and determined not to exit the stall until I knew for certain she was long gone. I was worried that my face would betray my horror at what she had done. Or that I would tell her off for making someone else an auditory witness to my potty break. There are still some things that should remain private. So, for all of you bathroom cell phone talkers out there, please for the love of all things human, let me pee in peace!

Do You See What I See?

Hopefully the answer is a resounding NO if you're observing me because I already see every one of my flaws in glaring detail. They are disproportionately HUGE, as if I'm looking through a magnifying glass with 900x magnification. I will spare you the gory details, mostly because I don't want you to start noticing them if you haven't already! :-) But I am puzzled as to why beating myself up seems to be one of my favorite pastimes.

For instance, I used to have this terribly abusive habit of standing in front of the mirror after taking a shower and making the most horrible comments out loud about my body. I would say awful things that I would never even THINK about someone else, let alone verbalize. It was terribly defeating to believe that I was the most horrific looking naked woman God had ever created. Perhaps it was even insulting to him, since I was made in his image and all. Yet even today, though I no longer abuse myself in that way, my pea-sized brain has difficulty grasping the thought that MY body is an image-bearer of God and therefore has any beauty to offer the world. It's especially hard to grasp when looking at myself naked, which I don't recommend BTW, although it does make one extremely grateful for fig leaves! BUT, I have been unkind to my body and the evidence is etched in every part of my flesh. And now that I'm no longer young and cute, nor sporting a trim figure it's especially hard to see any redeeming value in how my body looks.

So I think, okay I'm not beautiful, but I'm smart and have solid character, strong faith and a winning personality......except I don't. Sigh. Not really. I usually fake it, although a few lucky (they may say unlucky) ones have crossed over to the dark side and now see me in all, okay some, of my messiness, at least part of the time. But because I know how far short I fall I fear that my neediness or messiness will be too much trouble for them and they will walk away, or worse they will simply tolerate me, but not really love and know me. So I try to keep them from seeing what I see when I really examine my life. And in doing so I fail to be God's image-bearer, because it's hard to reflect truth when I'm lying...

I hesitated to even post this blog because it exposes parts of me I'd rather keep hidden, but I know I'm not alone in this. I have beautiful friends with gorgeous bodies, pure hearts, luxurious hair, merciful spirits, stunning features, strong faith and unmeasured talents. Yet I've heard all of them point out their shortcomings in varying degrees of self-abuse. But because I see them through eyes of love I honestly have no idea what they're talking about, I don't see what they see. Yet the women I know can list on demand every single flaw they have, whether real or perceived.

Do men do the same thing to themselves? I'm not sure, but as I was sharing dinner with friends last week I was joking about a pimple I had nicknamed "Mount Kilimanjaro". My male friend looked at me with a tad bit of impatience and said, "Girls, man! I didn't even notice it until you pointed it out!" I was shocked. How could he NOT see it? After all, I could see NOTHING but this GIANT pimple, which I was certain made me resemble Valerie, the horribly ugly witch in "The Princess Bride" when I would clearly rather resemble Princess Buttercup! But he was looking at me through the eyes of grace I am unable to afford myself.

Where do I go from here? Where does any woman go from here? How do we learn to me more gentle and kind to ourselves without ignoring the areas that need improvement? In my case there are multiple physical and emotional traits that could use some fixin', and while I'm sure you have some ideas, I'll ask you to keep them to yourself thank you very much! I'm well aware of my shortcomings, but I'm also aware that I have value because God says I do, not because I look or act a certain way. So how do I begin to live like I believe that? It seems to me that learning to love myself, or at least not abuse myself will make me better at loving others because then I will be free to offer all of myself instead of just bits and pieces. Until then, I REALLY hope you don't see the same things I see when you look at me!