Coverboy Joe

Here's the magazine cover Todd designed for Joe's 60th birthday! He made up the title of the magazine, Golf Quarterly. Joe made his hole-in-one on Aug. 24, so that's the date on the magazine. Todd actually took Joe's head off our last church directory picture and put it on another body (to cut me out). Didn't he do a great job? I love Tiger Woods threatening him!

We took Joe's mom to Cabot today. We met Ginger and Todd at Colton's for lunch and then split up. Ginger and I took Granny to see her burned building and her trailer. She has lots of posters up, and it looks cute and cozy. Todd and Joe actually went shopping (for golf shoes). Then we went to their house for awhile. Todd, who is a designer, as you can see, has framed some of the photos Ginger took in London and Paris, and they look great! They're going to Italy next, so she'll get more. Jody may go with them, and possibly Tyler (Todd's daughter). Jody went to Australia awhile back. I don't know HOW my kids got to be such world travelers. It may be because my mother went to China when they were young, and she used to always tell them they could go anywhere they wanted to when they grew up.

Hope all my bloggerbuddies are having a nice weekend. Church will be awesome tomorrow! I emailed Darrell some scriptures God put on my heart this morning, and I told him I was a compulsive emailer and didn't ever expect a reply unless I asked a direct question (Mark knows the drill!), but he emailed back nonetheless. He'll learn! (Right, Mark?) I really AM a compulsive emailer, although now that I have a blog as an outlet, I've cut down a lot. Anyway, Darrell said: Hello Kathy, Thank you very much for the encouraging Scriptures. We are really wired for tomorrow. Our God is a Mighty God! I'm gathering up to travel now. See you! Darrell Bridges I'll be glad when the vote is over and he can settle in where he belongs. Not that God has spoken any kind of direct word to me about him. I just figure that if the elders think he's the guy, he's bound to be the one, considering all the prayer everyone has put into this....

"Let the glory of the Lord rise upon us!"

This morning I woke up early and read my Bible and prayed, hoping God would give me a Word to give me peace as I drove to my teleconference at Arch Ford Co-op near Conway. Nothing seemed to speak to me, so I got ready and left the house. I had to be there very early, so it was still pitch dark, and frankly, so was my mood!

Then it happened! As I was listening to "Revelation Song" on our Night of Worship practice CD, the sun began to come up! When the song said "streaks of lightning, " little streaks of pink and yellow light appeared and layered the sky, and when it said "rolls of thunder," a little fog rolled in over me, just for a moment! (Ok, I know that sounds a little bizarre, but that's what happened! It wasn't like a normal white fog, it was black and filmy. I didn't see any more of it the rest of the trip.)

I had to turn off my music and sing, "Let It Rise!" I was soooo glad I'm a believer, because it would have been awful not to know who to THANK!

If that weren't enough to praise him all day for, then God spoke a Word to my heart, anyway--the one that says, "The Sovereign Lord has given me an instructed tongue...He wakens me morning by morning, wakens my ear to listen like one being taught." (from Isa. 50: 4 and 6). I knew he had taught me everything I needed to know in order to present my material, and I knew he would give me the right words to say, and I had peace and joy!

The day went great, my words came out right, nobody asked me any questions I couldn't answer, and at the end of the day, I drove back home with my CD blaring "I Am Free!!!"

I just opened up my Bible, and guess what it says in the very next two verses after I stopped reading this morning (Isa. 60:1-2)?!

Arise, shine, for your light has come,

See, darkness covers the earth

And thick darkness is over the peoples,

But the Lord rises upon you,

And his glory appears over you.

Wasn't God sweet to show me his glory today?! Thanks for praying for me, bloggerbuddies! God heard your prayers and answered above all I could have asked or even imagined!

I Wasn't A Chicken Today!!!

Author Tony de Mello tells about a farmer who put an eagle's egg in a barnyard nest. The eaglet hatched and grew up thinking he was a chicken. He scratched for worms, clucked, and only flew a few feet into the air.

Years passed. The eagle grew old. One day he saw a magnificent bird circling above him. Awestruck, he asked, “Who is that?”

A chicken said, "That’s an eagle—the king of birds. He belongs to the sky. You and I belong to the earth." The eagle believed the chicken, and he died a chicken.

How we see ourselves is how we live. Do we scratch the ground when we really belong to the sky? Do we walk—or will we soar through the high calling of our daily work?

Today I worked hard on my teleconference, trusted God, and had peace! Tonight I'm not even going to THINK about Friday, because tonight I have special plans! Lisa has praise team practice, so tonight after church I get to take my girls home (to their house) and read to them and say prayers and kiss and hug around on them and put them to bed and watch them sleep.That always blesses me!

If you prayed for me, thanks! Today was MUCH better than yesterday! Friday will be fine! I love you, bloggerbuddies!!!

Mary and Martha

This is a little part of something by Charles Swindoll. I’ve been a Martha lately due to lots of stress at work, and I MISS JESUS! So my friends, would you pray that I’d be more like a loyal lapdog and less like a chicken with its head cut off?

Understanding the rarity of the moment of just being in His presence, Mary sat like a loyal lapdog basking in her Master's shadow. She didn't view the day as a project to tackle but as an intimate moment to enjoy.

Because Martha’s anxiety had gotten the best of her, she missed a potentially life-altering encounter with the Savior. The stress she brought onto herself strangled her ability to relish Christ's words and experience the quiet benefit of His presence.

He gently addressed her, "Martha, Martha." He didn't deliver a thundering lecture, wagging His finger in Martha's face. He didn't throw open the family Bible and shame her into reading ten verses aloud. I'm convinced He felt compassion for Martha. He could have even wrapped His strong arms around her and whispered, "You are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her."

Jesus pinpointed Martha's trouble. She had allowed the anxiety of the moment to cloud her attitude and steal her joy.

Mary had chosen a better way—the way of life and peace found at the feet of Jesus. For the rest of her life she would be able to remember those precious hours with her beloved Savior.

In The Message, Eugene Peterson captures Jesus' words in today's terms. Consider Peterson's rendering of Matthew 6:34. “Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.”

I've been worried about Friday, and today is only Tuesday! Friday I have to do a live teleconference that will go out to audiences in every Co-op, and the whole idea has been freaking me out! But I'm SURE it'll turn out fine, just like everything else I've worried about the last 11 years in this job has turned out fine! And then I'll run into that psalm that says, "There they were, overwhelmed with dread when there was nothing to dread," and I'll realize it was nothing to dread and I wasted my time dreading it!

The day I started my job, I walked into the main office and saw this poem hanging on the wall:

Yesterday He helped me,
Today He did the same.
How long will this continue?
Forever, praise His name!

You'd think 11 years of the faithfulness of God would be enough proof that I'll survive Friday, wouldn't you?

Pray for me, my friends! I want to rest in Jesus and enjoy his presence like Mary did!

Speaking of Gray Hairs....

"Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you."

I posted the scripture this morning, but I think I'll add something tonight by Liz Curtis Higgs that really relates to gray hair. I had to break up with my hair stylist after many years, because she really couldn't cut hair very well. I'm glad I switched to Chandra but I did feel like I was cheating on Mary for a long time!

My mirror is mocking me again. You call that a haircut? Looks like you stood too close to a weed-eater! Six weeks ago, it taunted me: Having chemically dependent hair is one thing, but that color belongs on a fire truck! In fact, every time I return home from the salon, my reflection sings the same refrain: Is that the best she can do?

I've known her longer than I've known my husband. Our paths crossed in 1984, and I've faithfully sat in her chair ever since. When Carol switched salons, I followed her across town. "Wither thou goest, I will go," I assured her.

Who wouldn't declare lifelong loyalty to someone who combines her amateur therapist skills with the latest techniques in blunt cutting? Carol patiently listened through my career and dating woes, nodding sympathetically as her scissors snipped away. Those were the perm years—natural color, unnatural curl. Then when hubby-to-be Bill came into my life, Carol and I dumped the perm in favor of longer locks to please my sweetie. Months later, it was Carol who styled the tresses of my wedding party, and Carol again who gave me a pedicure the week before my first child was slated to arrive, so I'd have fashionable toes in the delivery room.

Our relationship isn't one-sided, either. I sang at Carol's wedding and rejoiced when she began taking college courses at night. We've laughed, cried, and compared notes on husbands, kids, and cleaning services. You can't simply walk away from that kind of dual commitment over something as frivolous as a few frizzy perms or doubtful dye-jobs.

Women spend a minimum of forty-five minutes in a salon; two hours with color; three hours for a perm with a manicure. Toss in a facial or a wax job, and we're approaching half a day with our smocked sister.

Bill was aghast the first time he saw a credit card receipt from a visit with Carol. "Sixty dollars?!? You look the same as you did this morning. Can't you find someone less expensive?"

Less expensive, sure. But that's not the point. Carol and I are friends. Girl buddies. Partners in the fight against dark roots and stray chin hairs. She's seen me in no makeup. Who could say "Sayonara" to a soul sister like that?

But last month I came frighteningly close to committing hair-care infidelity. Just the memory of it makes my scalp itch. I was having my photo taken, and arrangements were made for my makeup and hair. After the cosmetician did a bang-up job on eyes, lips, and cheeks, it was time to put my thinning red (this year) hair in the hands of a stranger named Steve.

Steve the Stylist rested his hands lightly on my shoulders, and my stomach tightened. I felt like a nervous teenager on a first date.

"Is there a particular way you'd like me to style your hair?"

Yes, I wanted to say, Carol's way! Instead, I gulped. "Nooo, just make me look ten pounds thinner and I'll be happy."

His graceful hands danced around my head, comb in one hand, industrial-strength hair spray in the other. I watched in amazement. I was getting thinner! Wow, Carol never parted it like that. How did he do that lift-and-poof thing on the side? Fascinating!

Steve finally whipped off my plastic cape with a flourish. "There you are, Liz. What do you think?"

I think I'm in love. No, no, not with you, just your hands. Are you this good with scissors? Know your way around a bottle of peroxide?

I realized the dangerous path my imagination was taking me down, and mentally swatted away the little voices saying, He's the one! He's the one! Leave Carol and cleave to Steve!

When he slipped me his card and suggested I give him a call sometime, I stuffed it in my pocket, mumbled a red-faced "thank you," and hot-footed it for the door.

Whew! That was close. I'd resisted temptation, but barely. How could I even think of breaking up a friendship in its second decade, just for the thrill of a zippy new 'do? Sure, Steve might have some fresh ideas for my stale tresses, but what would I say when I saw Carol at the grocery store sporting a new color or cut after being absent from her chair for six months? Even without a big red "A" on my chest, she'd know: I'd been unfaithful.

I knew I should have tossed Steve's business card in the circular file, but couldn't resist tucking it in my Rolodex, "just in case." In case Carol moved away, or quit the business. Or was eaten by sharks. Otherwise, I would not defect to Steve. Would not, could not.

But my fingers kept flipping past his name. Hmmm. Would Carol notice if I did one little color weave with Steve? Maybe a teensy trim, between real haircuts? If I timed it right, she'd never be the wiser. I reached for the phone and dialed Steve's salon. The receptionist was sharp, cool, professional. Yes, Steve had an opening on Tuesday. A weave? Of course, no problem, two o'clock is fine. See you then, Mrs. Higgs.

I almost slammed the phone down. What was I thinking? As the calendar marched toward Tuesday, I spent more time on my hair than usual, trying to convince myself to undo my risk-filled liaison. It's not that bad a cut, I told myself. In fact, it's a very good cut or Steve couldn't have styled it so nicely.

Tuesday morning dawned gray and menacing. Cowardice leaped from my heart and into my fingers as I dialed the Other Salon's number and cancelled my appointment, muttering a feeble excuse about my too-full schedule.

I waited for my racing heart to slow back down to normal, then hit the speed-dial button that instantly put me in touch with my regular salon. My salon, Carol's salon. Home.
"A cut with Carol at two o'clock? No problem, Liz. See you then. Hug the kids for me."

Ahhh. I hung up the phone in blessed relief, silently slipping Steve's card in the wastebasket. No more flirting with temptation; I'd stick with a place where everybody knows my name.
Especially Carol.

PRO GOLFER WITH SUPERMODEL

I found the perfect birthday card for Joe! The front has a picture of a really BUFF guy playing golf, and it says, "To my husband, the pro golfer." Inside it says, "From your wife, the supermodel."

Yes, here we are in all our glory! Joe is wearing his "Old Fart" hat and carrying his cane (those are gag gifts on it). And there I am in a shirt in a size I never dreamed I'd ever wear!

And you know what? We're just as happy as we can be! Funny how unimportant appearance is when you get our age.

So, my young girlfriends, someday your struggle with your self-image will be over, and you, too, will be perfectly contented! The main thing you discover as you age is that people really don't care what you look like. You think they're looking at your body, but they're really looking at your heart. I think my heart is in good shape because I love God and people lavishly, and that's all that REALLY matters!

Happy Birthday to Joe!

It's hard to believe, but tomorrow night I'll start sleeping with a 60-year-old man! (When I tell Joe that, he just says, "Rub it in!" He'll be able to get me back in 3 years, though.)

We had his birthday dinner at the Marina tonight with his Hardees buddies, their wives, and also our daughter Ginger (who took this picture) and her husband Todd. If you know them, you might recognize Ross and Ann McCarley, Dean and Kay Pitts, Bob and Rutha Freeman, Paul and Cheryl Castleman, and Don and Cheryl Cowell. We had it all--gag gifts, funny cards, a nice prayer by Bob Freeman thanking God for friends, and an awesome ice cream cake made by Lisa E. (everybody wants the recipe, Lisa)! Oh, and note the magazine cover on the table that Todd designed. He promised to email me a copy I can post later.

We had a lot of fun (for old farts), and I'm very grateful that Joe is healthy. My dad died of a heart attack at 60, so that number makes me a little nervous, but I recently read in the Bible where Hezekiah was going to die and God decided to give him 15 more years. So I asked God for 15 more healthy years for Joe. I know that sounds morbid, but we're still pretty shaken up about Dickie dying at 56.

It's really weird knowing that most of your life is over, but on the other hand, eternity is ahead so it's really no big deal. I think I'd miss my kids and my younger friends (you know who you are!) but then again, I'd probably be so excited about being in heaven that it wouldn't matter if I had to wait awhile to see them, and it would be great being with Madeline again.

OK, time for bed, which might be interesting!!

(Oops, my kids are going that read that last comment and say "Eeew!" Well, we're not dead YET!)

Heaven On My Mind

I've got heaven on my mind tonight because I went to a funeral today.

Dickie Jones was someone I've known since we went to college together here in Clarksville. I remember living in McLean Hall, an ancient dorm (even then!) with windows that actually had removable screens. One night Dickie hoisted Joe up to my second floor window so he could give me a kiss, and then he yelled up and said, "Hey, Kathy, do you want to be Homecoming Queen?" Well, I was much more the hippie type (after all, it WAS the 60s!) than the "queeny-type," but I said, "Well, OK, I guess," and the next thing I knew, I was wearing a floor-length gown and a crown. Bizarre, huh?

Dickie was younger than I am. That'll make you start thinking about eternity. So in the spirit of my mood, I'm going to post something from John Fischer again. He's comparing the five purposes we learned about during our 40 Days of Purpose, to our purposes in heaven:

For starters, worship is a no-brainer. Of course we will be doing that! Most of the biblical pictures of heaven have the saints and angels gathered around the throne worshiping God. In the same way, fellowship will be sweet. This is, in fact, the main reason we were created: We were an idea in the mind of God and we were made in his image so he could relate to us and us to him, and then us to each other. And this fellowship will be enhanced by the removal of the barrier of sin. There will be nothing to hide; everything will be out in the open. We will know and be known.

But what about growth? How will we grow spiritually in heaven? Of course some of this is speculation, but I would imagine growth would come in the form of experiences and adventure in God’s vast universe. And I would venture to guess that universe wouldn’t be static, either.

And why not think that we will still be serving one another? Are we going to get to heaven so we can be served? Will we each have our own personal valet? Will the angels wait on us hand and foot? I would guess that we would just keep right on serving each other, only doing it perfectly and working together with the same gifts and the same interrelatedness we found on earth. And even mission plays a role, if you believe that God’s work in the world continues into eternity.

The way I learned it in Sunday school, it seemed that once we get to heaven, everything will be over. Nothing more to do. Does that sound like God – the God who doesn’t waste any of our experiences here on earth but uses everything to mature and perfect us? Is this all so we can sit around on clouds reminiscing?

“If the master returns and finds that the servant has done a good job … [he] will put that servant in charge of all he owns.” (Luke 12:43-44 NLT) Don’t lose sight of the fact that the little things you do now will turn into big opportunities in eternity.

I'm really missing Dickie tonight. I'm also missing the E's, who have gone to Branson. However, I'm holding their dog for ransom, so I'm sure I'll see them tomorrow. As for Dickie, I can only hope. I wouldn't feel so sad if I knew for sure...

Holding On For Dear Life

I didn't write this, but I could have!

It's an excerpt from a longer piece by John Fischer, who writes a daily newsletter for Purpose-Driven Life.

In an interview once, a pastor asked me to put my relationship with God on a scale of one to 10 – 10 being warm, close, and in fellowship. I thought about the apparent arrogance of putting this at a 10, but then I realized 10 was the right answer, not because I had arrived at some superior spiritual status that warrants it, but because I live a life of such quiet desperation that I am constantly in relationship with God out of necessity. I am conscious of God all the time because I have to be or I fly apart at the center. I have nothing to hold onto without him. I know myself well enough to know that if I am not living my relationship with God at a “10,” I am living in some form of lie or denial. My need for him is the bedrock truth of the matter.

If some of you find this alarming, then read Psalms, because I have just described the essence of David’s sentiment as expressed in his prayers and poems. Over and over again, his soul cries out to God, he is in a dry and thirsty land, he waits patiently for the Lord, and the Lord hears him and brings him comfort.

You don’t have to be perfect to be a “10” in your relationship with God, holding on for dear life will also do the trick.

Surprised by Joy

Evidences of Healing--

1. This morning a new co-worker apologized for talking about her grandchildren yesterday, and it took me awhile to figure out why she was apogizing.
2. A couple of days ago when I was so tired that I could hardly think straight, I said I was brain-dead.

Five years ago when my granddaughter really WAS brain-dead before we took her off the ventilator, I could not have imagined ever hearing that term used lightly or being able to hear about other people's grandchildren without pain.

But today I am healed, and I am happy.

Just wanted my friends to rejoice with me!

Blessed be the name of the Lord!

This is for Spring

Spring posted a great comment that I didn't see until just now, for some reason. She was talking about the speaker we heard at Girlville Diner. This is Spring's reflection:

"She said, "Nothing you will ever do will make God love you more, but nothing you will ever do will make God love you less." I know, it's a very simple concept. But I don't think I knew that. I think I have been under the illusion that if I made all the right moves, was a servant, and faithful, that God would love me more than He does right now. The other side of that is that if I screwed up too bad, He might not love me as much. Not that He would stop loving me altogether, just less."

Spring, I thought that for many years after I became a Christian, too! In my MIND I understood God's unconditional love, but somehow I still felt like I was on a treadmill trying not to disappoint God.

I'm posting this awesome song by DC Talk that blesses me every time I hear it. Since you're a musician, I figured you'd like it, too. It's well-worth 99 cents at iTunes!

"What If I Stumble?"

Is this one for the people?
Is this one for the Lord?
Or do I simply serenade
for things I must afford
You can jumble them together,
my conflict still remains
For holiness is calling,
in the midst of courting fame
Cause I see the trust in their eyes
Though the sky is falling
They need Your love in their lives
Compromise is calling

What if I stumble,
what if I fall?
What if I lose my step and
I make fools of us all
Will the love
continue?
When my walk becomes a crawl
What if I stumble,
and what if I fall?

What if I stumble,
what if I fall?
You never turn
in the heat of it all
What if I stumble,
what if I fall...

Father please forgive me
for I cannot compose
The fear that lives within me
or the rate at which it grows

If struggle has a purpose
on the narrow road you've carved
Why do I dread my trespasses
Will leave a deadly scar?

Do they see the fear in my eyes?
Are they so revealing?
This time I cannot disguise
All the doubt I'm feeling.
Everyone's got to crawl
when you know that
you're up against a wall,
it's about to fall

I hear you whispering my name
you say
My love for you will never change
never change

What if I stumble?
What if I fall?
You never turn in the heat of it all.
What if I stumble, what if I fall?
You are my comfort, and my God.

Movie Review--Everyone's Hero

I'm posting this movie review from CT at the Movies for three reasons:

1. Mark took Emily and Samantha to it and said it was good.

2. The end of the review reminded me of the story Kev read Sunday.

3. I couldn't think of anything else to blog about.

Everyone's Hero
Rated G

Can you, for the sake of a warm-hearted animated kids' movie, accept a talking baseball? Before you answer you should know that, besides the audience, only the protagonist (ten-year-old Yankee Irving) can hear the ball (or see the eyes and mouth that suddenly appear on his … er, face). You should also know that the ball's name is "Screwie," and that he's voiced with vaudevillian gusto by Rob Reiner. I should probably also mention that the ball's eyes roll as much as he does, and he frequently bickers with Darlin', a talking baseball bat (naturally).
Superfan Yankee Irving (Jake T. Austin) and his new pals Darlin' (Whoopi Goldberg) and Screwie (Rob Reiner)

Sound a little corny? It is. But, judging from the reactions of the children in the theater, Screwie is a homerun with the under-ten set. If there are some kids in your life, Everyone's Hero may make tolerating a little cornball (sorry) humor worth your while.

The film is set in Depression-era New York. Times are tough, but Babe Ruth and the Yankees give the locals something to cheer about as they head into the 1932 World Series against the Chicago Cubs. No one loves the home team more than Yankee Irving (voiced by Jake T. Austin, from TV's Go, Diego! Go!). Yankee's dad Stanley (Mandy Pantinkin) is a custodian at Yankee Stadium; he shares his son's passion for the sport and even lets the boy have a look at the Babe's famed bat, Darlin'. Unfortunately, when the bat is stolen shortly thereafter, Yankee is blamed and his dad is fired.

Yankee sets off on a quest to find the bat and take it (by rail and bus) from New York to Chicago in time for the final game of the World Series. For much of his long journey his only company is Screwie (the aforementioned talking baseball), whom he's recently discovered in the neighborhood sandlot. Eventually they're joined by the Bambino's diva-esque bat, Darlin' (voiced with a southern accent as thick as molasses by Whoopi Goldberg). Along the way the unlikely trio gets some help from Marti Brewster (Raven-Symone), the spunky daughter of Negro League star player Lonnie Brewster (Forest Whitaker). The Brewsters both help Irving get closer to Chicago and, more importantly, improve his batter's stance.

Yankee's nemesis is Lefty Maginnis (voiced by the always wonderful William H. Macy), a Cubs pitcher ordered by the club's underhanded owner (an uncredited but unmistakably manic Robin Williams) to steal Darlin' in a successful effort to squelch the Bambino's home run streak. Lefty is as hapless as he is duplicitous, and his numerous collisions with various trains and related objects constitute the sort of comic violence I was never allowed to watch as a kid. (This is why I know nothing about the Road Runner or Bugs Bunny. But I digress.) Judging by the hysterical laughter at the screening I attended, such slapstick animation is very, very funny. Especially if you're eight years old.

Cartoon contusions aside, Everyone's Hero is remarkably wholesome. Its original director and champion was Christopher Reeve, who loved the story for its emphasis on perseverance and family. After Reeve's death in 2004, his wife Dana stepped in as an executive producer, and also voiced the character of Yankee's mother. Even after Dana's death in 2005, the production team and cast remained committed to the project, and reportedly worked hard to retain the Reeves' original vision for the film. "No matter where life takes you, always keep swinging" is the movie's tagline (taken from dialogue between Yankee and his dad)—and a good summary of the commitment that brought the movie to fruition.

A friend took one look at the poster for Everyone's Hero and called the computer-generated graphics "cute," and that's a pretty fair summary of the film's style. Though the animation is as slick and smooth as any modern CGI film, the look of it is vaguely reminiscent of old Christmas specials. (Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing depends on how much you liked the way the humans looked in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer or Frosty.)

I've been trying to figure out why I had so much trouble with that talking bat and ball. If toys can talk in Toy Story, and cups and saucers can sing and dance in Beauty and the Beast, why do Screwie and Darlin' seem so cheesy? Maybe it's because balls and bats are so resolutely un-anthropomorphic. Or perhaps it's because the sudden animation of inanimate objects—and why only Yankee can perceive it—is never explained. Most likely it's because Everyone's Hero goes about its business without the slightest hint of the kind of irony that helps grown-ups swallow the fantastical in a Shrek or a Toy Story. Everyone's Hero has a truly childlike innocence and purity, and, though I find it oddly jarring, upon reflection it does some rather appropriate for a children's movie.

The period piece aspect of Everyone's Hero is a refreshing departure from what's been proffered in animation of late. The film is most successful when it succeeds in capturing 1930s America—in scenes, for example, when Yankee encounters some benevolent hobos or when he meets the Babe in a swank Chicago hotel. Unfortunately, some sloppy writing in other scenes undermines the film's full potential (Darlin' asks for a mochaccino, various characters use some decidedly un-depression-era slang). And the somewhat stock soundtrack would have been way cooler if it had committed itself more completely to the period.

Five days after screening Everyone's Hero, I'm still cringing a little, in my grown-up, jaded way, at the cute, corny, earnestness of the film. My 8-year-old co-screener, Ben, is still grinning in his uncynical way, at the memory of Yankee, Darlin', Screwie and their great adventure. I've got to admit, even though I didn't have that much fun watching a talking baseball, I sure enjoyed watching my son watching a talking baseball. And afterward, when he thanked me for taking him to the "best movie ever," I felt like a bit of a hero myself.

Hanging out at the Girlville Diner

It was great being with Tracy, Lisa, Spring and Diane over the weekend! I'm glad I know other women who will go off for some girlfriend time, and I'm glad our husbands will let us! "How good and pleasant it is!" Thanks for the idea, Diane!

If Annette and Laura had been there, it would have been perfect. Maybe next time--and there WILL be a next time! Like the IWI next July!! (Hey, Laura, Ben said it sounded good to him! Woohoo!)

Girlfriends in God

This was actually posted Saturday, not Friday. Can you believe the Hampton Inn in Conway didn't have wireless!?

I'm going to post something Annette sent me from a daily email message called "Girlfriends in God." Since we figure we'll have rocking chairs side by side in some facility someday, I really related to it!

Also, I just got back from a girlfriend trip with Lisa, Spring, and Tracy Y. We talked girltalk until midnight last night and did some shopping, as well as attending a conference.

Hey, can you believe my spellcheck doesn't believe "girltalk" is a word?!

Today's Truth--

“Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up…A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart.”

Friend to Friend

Looking out my den window, I noticed two of my neighbors puttering slowly down the street. Ernestine, with her bald head snuggled in a woolen cap, held tightly to Patti’s supporting arm. Patti’s chestnut hair, just two inches long, shone like a victor’s crown – the crown of a cancer survivor.

In May of 1998, Patti felt a lump and feared the worst. A doctor’s visit confirmed that she had cancer. For three months, she endured chemotherapy followed by seven weeks of radiation, five days a week. As God would have it, her final treatment fell on Thanksgiving Day. Yes, she had much to be thankful for – a full life, a loving husband, and Ernestine Nevils, her new next door neighbor who had moved in two years before.

When Ernestine moved into the neighborhood, she and Patti connected as if they had known each other all their lives. Patti said, “Even though Ernestine is too young to be my mother, only fifteen years my senior, I feel as if God has given me just that, the gift of another mother.”

During Patti’s cancer treatment, Ernestine was right by her side, an extension of Jesus’ hands and feet providing love, encouragement, and support. By July of that year, Patti had lost all her hair, and Ernestine was the one person, besides Patti’s husband, with whom she felt comfortable not wearing her wig.

One year after her final radiation treatment, Patti was given the opportunity to return the kindness to Ernestine. In November of 1999, a trip to the doctor revealed that Ernestine had lymphoma, cancer of the lymph nodes. Now Patti was the nurturer. She took Ernestine to her first chemotherapy and explained what to expect. She told Ernestine what to eat, where to go to have a wig made, and how to deal with depression.

“I never had to tell Patti what I needed,” Ernestine remembered, “because she already knew, sometimes when I didn’t even know myself. She’d say, ‘Ernestine, I think you need to take a little walk. It’ll make you feel better.’ Now, if someone else had told me that, I might nave said, ‘Leave me alone. You don’t know how I feel.’ Put Patti did know how I felt. She’d traveled the road just a few months before. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God moved me here, right next door to Patti. He is good.”

As I watched the twosome make their way down the street that chilly November day, I whispered a prayer, thanking God for girlfriends in God… friends with whom we can be His hands and feet when one is too weak to walk unassisted, His strong arm when a burden is too heavy to bear alone, and His voice when a friend has forgotten the words to the song in her heart.

Let's Pray--

Dear Lord, I thank you that You designed women to live in relationship with each other. I thank you that just as you sent Ruth to Naomi and Elizabeth to Mary, You still send women to each other for mutual encouragement and support. Open my eyes to see someone who needs a dose Your love today and give me the wisdom to know how to be an extension of Your grace.

Now it's Your Turn--

When reading about Patti and Ernestine’s friendship, did you feel a sense of warmth because you remembered a time when a friend stood along side you during a difficult season, or did you feel a sense of emptiness because you lack similar relationships in your own life?

The best way to have a friend is to be a friend. Is there someone you know who is struggling with life that God is nudging you to help?

Think of two women who have walked along side you during a difficult time and write them a note telling them just how much their encouragement meant to you.

For Italy-Bound Ginger!

My daughter Ginger has decided to take a group of students and their mothers to Italy next summer. So this is for her:

A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, "Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?'

"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"

"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline.Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"

"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."

"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly, and they're overpriced. So, whatcha' doing when you get there?"

"We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope."

"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."

A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "'Not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand-new planes, but it was overbooked and theybumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"

"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "'that's all well and good, but I know you you didn't get to see the Pope."

"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."

"Oh, really! What'd he say?"

"He said, 'Where'd you get that ugly hairdo?'"

OK, that was a long way to go for such a lame joke, but I bet you laughed! (Blame Mark's blog for reminding me that sometimes it's good to just laugh!)

Being Bapticostal

I don’t have a dog in this fight, and in fact, I pray that there won’t BE a fight in the SBC because I think UNITY trumps gifts ANY day, but I’m posting this by J. Lee Grady (editor of Charisma magazine) for those who were interested in Mark’s blog entry yesterday and want to think more about this subject.

I first spoke in tongues on Baptist property! I guess that makes me a Bapticostal. I don’t wear denominational labels, and I don’t attend a Baptist church today, but my Baptist roots go so deep you couldn’t pull them up with a bulldozer. I may act like a Pentecostal when I raise my hands, dance or shout hallelujah, but if you cut me open you’ll see Baptist blood. It runs thick in my family.

Some people think “Baptist” and “Pentecostal” are opposites, so to them the thought of matching the two is like pairing a hippopotamus with a hyena. I don’t see it that way. I never would have been drawn into a Pentecostal experience if I hadn’t been taught by Baptists to read the Bible for myself. Baptists taught me that if the Bible says it, I should believe it. So when I read that Christians in the early church spoke in ecstatic, unknown languages, I figured I could too.

And that is why I am so troubled by what happened last month at Southwestern Seminary, the premier educational institution of the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC). A visiting Baptist minister, Dwight McKissic—who happens to serve on the seminary’s board of trustees—told students at an Aug. 29 chapel service that he speaks in tongues “in his private prayer life.”

McKissic, pastor of Cornerstone Baptist Church in Arlington, Texas, told the audience at the Fort Worth school: “Not all Baptists believe that the gift of tongues went out with the completion of the New Testament. Some of the foremost thinkers and leaders and theologians among Baptist life believe tongues is a valid gift for today.”

He did not give a demonstration of his glossolalia, but McKissic testified that he was baptized in the Holy Spirit in 1981 while a student at Southwestern. Said McKissic: “I didn’t even believe in speaking in tongues. I was just going through my regular prayer time. As I was praying some strange words began to come out of my mouth.”

There we go again—zapped by God on Baptist property!

McKissic also criticized the SBC’s International Mission Board for its recent ruling that Southern Baptist missionaries who speak in tongues cannot serve on the field. “I think it’s tragic in Baptist life when we take a valid gift that the Bible talks about and come up with a policy that says people who pray in tongues in their private prayer lives cannot work in certain positions,” the pastor said.

Concerned that more seminary students might become Bapticostals, the president of Southwestern, Paige Patterson, officially rebuked McKissic and announced that his offending sermon would not be available on the school’s Web site. Now, some people are accusing Patterson and the seminary of religious censorship. Others are debating whether speaking in tongues should be “normative” in Baptist churches.

Normative? I’d like to ask Patterson and other SBC leaders a probing question. Shouldn’t we be more concerned with what is normative in the New Testament church than with maintaining a religious status quo? Is Jesus going to measure our spiritual fruit by a biblical standard or by a Baptist standard?

Baptists taught me from childhood that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God. And my Bible says, “Forbid not to speak in tongues” (I Cor. 14:39). So why are Baptist leaders forbidding and censoring what the Bible promotes? Are they afraid that the Holy Spirit, who cannot be controlled by committees or religious policies, will misbehave?

I know hundreds of Southern Baptists—including many in prominent leadership positions—who have experienced Pentecost. They pray in tongues in their personal devotional time. They also believe in healing, spiritual warfare, casting out demons and many other biblical doctrines that are not on the list of “approved” Baptist beliefs. Many of them, like McKissic and me, were minding their own business when God invaded their ordered world with the Holy Spirit’s untamed passion.

I am praying that McKissic’s bold testimony—and the subsequent backlash against him—will spark a holy explosion among the nation’s 15 million Southern Baptists. The Holy Ghost will not be censored. He will have the last word in this debate, and He will do what He wants regardless of who owns the property.

A HOLY EXPLOSION? I can't pray that, to be honest, because by their very nature, explosions are divisive, and dang it, I really like unity! So does Jesus--after all, that's what he prayed for us in the Garden of Gethsemene!

I'll never forget what Mark told me when I mentioned to him sometime around our Night of Worship last year that we had several charismatics in the choir. He just said, "Let's not start dividing ourselves into charismatics and noncharismatics." Period. End of discussion. He really didn't know me very well back then so he might have thought I was trying to stir something up, and wasn't that a BRILLIANT response? I can't figure out how he got so smart so young!

It's an interesting subject, but it's always been kind of a non-issue for me since I've never felt like I was smart enough to figure it out. So I think I'll sign off.

"My Camels Are Coming!"

Lisa asked me yesterday why I always called our prospective pastor "the camel guy" when I'm talking to Mark, and this was my answer!

It goes back to Texas in July! When Becky Bradley and I arrived at the Worship Institute, we met up with Mark and the others and went out for lunch. Then Diane Collins wanted to take us to her favorite little shop in Grapevine. It was an antique store, which bored me, so I was sifting through a big box of beads, etc. with Spring, and I found a little wooden camel. I asked her to put it in the bag of beads she was buying and give it to me, and she did.

All week I carried it around and kept saying to Spring, "I wonder when they'll talk about camels?" I really felt like the camel had some kind of significance, and I was waiting to find out what it meant!

At that time I was in a really funky mood because Robert had just left, and I had a lot of anxiety about a new pastor coming in. It wasn't that I minded Robert leaving, it was just that he always supported Mark musically, and I was afraid we might get someone who would stifle Mark's gifts and freedom and creativity.

After all, it's our music that makes FBC unique. There are lots of Baptist churches within driving distance doing the same old thing, singing the same old songs (or perhaps more accurately, mouthing the same old words--I know because I used to go to some of them and did that!) but we're the only one with the incredible worship we have.

Well, finally on Thursday a black guy named Bishop Garlington (I understand he's pretty well-known from Promise Keepers events) preached on GOD-ENCOUNTERS. His text was Genesis 24 about Rebekah watering the CAMELS! Abraham's servant traveled 500 miles with 10 camels and arrived at just the right time. While he was still praying about finding the right wife for Jacob, Rebekah, who just "happened" to be there, offered to water his camels, and the rest is history!

What God spoke to me was that I had prayed and prayed for many months for God to send us the right pastor, and God was going to send him! We even sang a couple of little songs about it. One said, "My camels are coming," and the other said "When you say AMEN, I believe it, It's done, I got it, It's in the bag!"

Garlington also said "Write it down and see it happen." So I did, and now I am! After that message, I never worried about it again. I was ready and eager to welcome our new pastor, whom I've affectionately called "my camel guy" from that day to this! (Of course, now that I know his REAL name, I can drop that one!)

And that's the story!

(I never claimed not to be weird!)

SATIRE!

I thought I'd post this for Michelle, our Nursery Coordinator. It's NOT TRUE, just a satirical piece from larknews.com. If you don't like satire, you'll think it's stupid. I personally love satire--I'm weird that way.

ABILENE — On Sunday mornings, six-year-old Adrian Teller goes to Sunday school through a VIP entrance, avoiding the "cattle class" at the front desk.

"It's worth the $15 per week," says mother Sandy Teller who has embraced Abilene Baptist Church's "First Class Kids" option.

The church is one of a handful to experiment with premium nurseries and Sunday school classes. Children in the First Class Kids program enjoy premium snacks, private bathrooms and personalized lessons. They are separated by a curtain from other children, to avoid causing jealousy.

"People want choices of service," says pastor Ron Jacobs. "If we can offer 9 a.m. and 11 a.m. worship times, why not first class and economy class Sunday school?"

For the Tellers, who own several businesses in the region, a first-class nursery offers that "extra nudge" to go to church on Sunday mornings.

"We don't fly economy class, so why settle for less at church?" she says. "It makes us feel at ease."

In economy class Sunday school, kids suffer through Saltine crackers and watered down Kool-Aid in an atmosphere of barnyard chaos.

"We call this the Southwest room," jokes one harried teacher, referring to the discount airline. But in First Class Kids, children receive warm, moist towelettes after their Tillamook cheese and crackers. Then they settle in to watch the latest VeggieTales video on high definition plasma TV. Later, a worship leader comes in to play live music.

Some families complain that separate nurseries create a two-tier church. But many like splurging once or twice a month on the first class service. Others even buy the First Class Kids annual pass.

"Once my grandkids experienced first class, they cried when their mother tried to put them into economy," says a grandmother who bought annual passes for her four grandchildren.

Jacobs says offerings are up considerably since families have gotten hooked on concierge-style Sunday school. The premium service fee counts as offering and is tax deductible.

"We want to open our doors to everyone in the community," he says. "Some people expect a higher level of service. If that will bring them to the gospel, I'm for it."

Bloggerbuddies Can't Be Stopped!!!

Thank you, O Wise Techie Leader (aka Mark), for solving The Mystery of the Non-posting Comments!

I really feel like we're building some bridges into each other's hearts, don't ya'll? I LOVE our little community! Bless you for hanging in there, everybody!

I'm sure we'll have other kinks to work out--in fact, I've been trying for two days to post a beautiful picture of Lassie to no avail.

But WE ARE AN UNSTOPPABLE FORCE!

Note to the Computer Demon: "Nanny nanny boo boo!"

Hope to see all of you at the Beyond Walls gig at 2:00 tomorrow! I'll be in our booth from 3-5, so drop by, ok?

Love ya, my bloggerbuddies!

Plastic People

Stained Glass Masquerade

by Casting Crowns

Is there anyone that fails?

Is there anyone that falls?

Am I the only one in church today

feeling so small?

Cause when I take a look around

Everybody seems so strong,

I know they'll soon discover

That I don't belong.

So I tuck it all away,

like everything's okay,

If I make them all believe it,

maybe I'll believe it too.

So with a painted grin

I play the part again,

So everyone will see me

the way that I see them.

Are we happy plastic people

Under shiny plastic steeples,

With walls around our weakness

And smiles to hide our pain?

But if the invitation's open

To every heart that has been broken

On our stained glass masquerade.

Is there anyone who's been there

Are there any hands to raise

Am I the only one who's traded

In the altar for a stage.

The performance is convincing

And we know every line by heart

Only when no one is watching

Can we really fall apart.

But would it set me free

If I dared to let you see

The truth behind the person

That you imagine me to be.

Would your arms be open

Or would you walk away

Would the love of Jesus

Be enough to make you stay.

Here's something I read about this song on another blog (Church Tech Matters)--

It talks of worship not being a performance and what would it be like if we all let down our masks, our happy faces, and truly worshipped, to show our weaknesses and let others minister to us while we minister to others.

The line from the song that goes through my head more than I probably want to admit is this:

Are we happy plastic people under shiny plastic steeples

With walls around our weakness and smiles to hide our pain?

God is really working on me lately, taking me deeper in my relationship with Him.

It’s wild, I’m doing things I don’t normally do, like actually read and study the Bible.

The question that bounces around my head lately is ‘What is worship? What does it mean to worship?’ I am studying scripture and reading different things about it and it is fascinating.

I gave everyone their very own happy plastic person as a reminder of what we are not to be.

It’s cool because I can make my happy plastic person do all kinds of things:
stand up
sit down
bend over
raise his arms
wave
kick
turn his head

But he does nothing for me and he’s not choosing to do anything. I’m not feeling the love there. As far as us and God, we are here to worship God, not just go through the motions.

Another couple lines from the song:

But would it set me free

If I dared to let you see

The truth behind the person

That you imagine me to be

That’s the question to ponder.

Wish I had time to make my own comments, but I don't tonight. Hope some of you will! What part made you stop and think? And what are you THINKING?

I love you, my bloggerbuddies! Tonja Peden plans to start blogging soon. I feel like we're really becoming a community, don't you?

Read Spring's Blog First For Background

I have a cousin who has been married for 40-something years, and she and her husband have an interesting tradition on their anniversary. Instead of buying cards for each other, they just go to the store together, each browses the cards and picks out the one they WOULD send if they were going to send it. Then they exchange the cards they chose, read them, and put them back in the rack!

Borrowing their idea, this beautiful calligraphied thought is for Spring! It's an expensive and lovely gift, and I hope she likes it!


If you can't read it, it says:

"A friend is one to whom you may pour out all the contents of your heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away."

We didn't have this technology back when Annette and I became friends, so she gave me a REAL one, and it's still hanging on my bedroom wall where I can read it every morning and get a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

Spring, I want to echo Mark's words, "keep it real." We really don't want a plastic Spring, we want the genuine one! Don't be afraid anymore, ok? WE LOVE YOU!!

For My Mentees!

This is for my three mentees (you know who you are). I love you fantastic young women of God! I'm not sure how I'm going to "help you unpack your life story," but I'm trusting God to show us! Let me know if you get any insights!

Your Life on the Movie Screen
by Dr. Katie Brazelton (counselor on Rick Warren's staff)

Imagine you're sitting in a movie theatre this summer. The lights go dim, the advertisements roll onto the screen, and finally the movie title flashes in large letters. But it appears this is no ordinary movie. It's the story of your life! What would you do? Would you feel like crawling under your seat? Would you laugh hysterically, anticipating an emotional rollercoaster performance full of drama at every turn?


All movies have screenplay writers and producers. The movie of your life happens to have been written by God Almighty, who also intends to be your Producer. This brings up some important questions: Have you acknowledged that God is the author-producer of your life movie? Do you understand he has the ultimate say-so in assigning your role and in screening your fellow actors? Are you following God's direction?

If you're anything like I was for nearly two decades, you may answer with a blunt no to those types of questions. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't understand why I couldn't be the designer of my own life plans. That's actually the softer way of saying I was a controlling woman who had tons of preconceived notions about what I wanted to do for God. Recently God revealed to me the three basic reasons I couldn't let go of control:

1. I wasn't discussing deeper life issues with anyone. I had an incredible family who all but lived in church, a close circle of friends, and gifted teachers and bosses—but we didn't talk about God's plan for our lives. We mostly talked about details of our daily grind: Who's in love? What task is next on the priority list? How can I help grow profits? Where are we going for lunch? I needed a mentor to help me unpack my life story and offer me guidance about what God might want me to do and be.

2. I didn't understand there was merit in my "todays." Why didn't I have a clue that God took great delight in my attempts to fulfill my life roles as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, employee, student, neighbor, ministry leader, etc.? In fact, after years of being a faithful church-goer, why hadn't I internalized that he loves me unconditionally, whether I perform well or not? I distinctly recall my confusion about the value of my life when I was in a pizza parlor one day with my two children. As I dropped them off for another birthday party, I thought, This can't possibly be what God wants me to do with my life: chauffeuring my kids around day after endless day! I know for a fact this doesn't count toward his greater glory.

3. I didn't know how to identify the many Sneak Previews God had given me about his plans for my future. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a Sneak Preview, those glimpses God shows us of what he'd like us to do for him. I couldn't see his hand on my life; instead, I journaled about what I felt were unrelated, disjointed feelings, and I stored them away in boxes that got dusty over the years. I didn't know why he bothered to show me hundreds of Bible verses about seeds, vines, harvests, budding, pruning, etc. I didn't understand he was introducing my life verse to me: "They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor" (Isaiah 61:3). I didn't know he was trying to communicate my life mission to me, that he wanted me to help Christian women blossom into all he intends them to be.

One more picture

Since Mark refreshed me on how to post pictures, I'm going rather crazy with it, aren't I? This is the last one--maybe. It was taken the last time Jody was home. Its Joe, then Todd (Ginger's husband), then Ginger and Jody.

My Almost Family

While I'm posting pictures, here's one of me with my almost grandkids! God gave them to me to fill the hole in my heart that Madeline left, and they're doing an excellent job of it! I'm learning about Polly Pockets and Bob the Builder and Cali Girls, and I get to watch Disney movies, VeggieTales and Blue's Clues again! Thanks for sharing them, Mark and Lisa!

My family

I took this picture at Fayetteville today. It's my daughter Ginger (at left), my son Jody, and his girlfriend Shannon. Shannon is actually from Chicago, so she talks kinda funny. (Ha!) We had a nice visit eating supper at the Outback. Jody and Shannon came for the Razorback game and will fly back to Denver tomorrow.

Ginger came to church with me this morning, and I'll see her again tomorrow in Cabot. I'm glad at least one of my kids stayed in Arkansas!

Hello, Bloggerbuddies!!

Hmm, I'm thinking in my own defense I should add to the previous list of things Samantha and Emily and I did. We ALSO read several books, I DID cook some veggies, and of course we brushed teeth and said prayers!

Next time (assuming we didn't have TOO much fun), I get to keep the girls TWO nights! Can't wait!!

We had a nice time with our real kids, Ginger and Jody, today in Fayetteville, too! Jody seemed happy and his girlfriend seemed sweet. I'll post a picture sometime.

I hope you all have a nice holiday tomorrow! I'll be making the next leg of my journey (Cabot and Little Rock)!

Having Fun!

I'll probably be too busy to blog this Labor Day weekend! Here's what's happening!

Today and Sat.--We're keeping our almost-granddaughters while Mark and Lisa are out of town!

Sat. night--My daughter Ginger is coming!

Sunday--Ginger is going with us to Fayetteville to see my son who lives in Denver! He's flying in for the Hogs game with his girlfriend, whom I haven't met yet!

Monday--I'm going to Cabot (where Ginger lives) and Little Rock (where my mother lives)

Hope the rest of you have a great Labor Day weekend, too!

Gotta go wake up Emily from her nap now!