Devotions of a High Heeled Warrior

This morning, I was challenged with teaching a roomful of teenagers.  This may sound easier than it is.  Imagine trying to contain about ten puppies in a basket.  You put one in and before you turn around another one is out of the basket.  So picture a room of squirming, fidgeting, hard to impress teenagers with their 'tell me something I don't know' eyes focused on me.  We were discussing how we measure ourselves against others around us instead of by God.  Our Scripture reference was Romans 8:29.  It said that we should be like Jesus.  Continue picturing the roomful of teenager puppies.  They are repeating whatever I say.  Me-"We should be like Jesus."  Them-"Jesus, yes."  Me-"You were made by God.  Look to Him for acceptance."  Them-"Acceptance, yes."  Me- "Stop putting your arms around the person in the row behind you and take that fidget spinner out of your nose."  Them-"Fidget spinner, yes."  Do...

There are several things that will always make people want to ask, "What happened?"  You show up at work with purple hair.  You are missing one eyebrow.  You are wearing a cast.  And, let's not forget, you show up at church with a black eye.  You want a really great story about how you thwarted a burglar in your home while saving both your family and your worldly possessions.  Or how about, you were rescuing orphans when the shack in which they were hiding disintegrated trapping you inside.  But, alas, none of that happened to me.  In fact, my story is probably one of the most absurd you have  heard today.  I was hit by a crow.  Yes, you heard that correctly.  A crow.  I know, the next thing you are dying to ask is "how".  So this is how my tale begins.  My first year of marriage, I was just learning how to cohabitate with another human being.  Late one night after being sick and being under the influence ...

     Recently, I was looking through some old photographs.  I know, in this day of digital technology, saying that I was looking at photographs is like saying that I was sending a telegraph.  But alas, a photo was found.  This was my little Captain America from Halloween almost ten years ago.  I remember asking my son how he would fly, and he put his hands up to the little wings on his face mask and wiggled them.  Now, as I look back, I get the typical mommy response.  Denial.  It couldn't have already been ten years.  Then as though I were reading a Nicholas Spark's book, weeping ensues.  My baby is growing up.  Not to say that he couldn't put on a Captain America suit and carry a chicken nugget bag, but at twelve, it's just not the same.  At twenty-three, it will be down-right weird.  I've thought of how fast time goes by.  We all get so caught up in the details of mommy survival that we sometimes forge...

Picture this...you've just finished a long day at work.  You've held your tongue when you've wanted to unleash the wrath usually used on your kids when they set something on fire.  You've plodded into your home only to hear, "I'm hungry.  What's for snack?"  After throwing bananas and Little Debbie snack cakes to the hungry masses, you throw together a dinner that would never make a Food Network show, but at least it's food.  Right?  When you finally have a chance to sit down, you hear the dreaded words. "Mom, I have homework, and I need help."  This scenario happened to me the other day.  I spent hours helping my daughter navigate a web program that provides algebra assistance.  She was able to retake quizzes if she didn't like her score.  She missed a couple of questions each time and wanted to do better, so we worked for several hours.  I think I might have even mentioned something about putting a flaming bag of doggy doo ma...