Devotions of a High Heeled Warrior

I just celebrated my (mumble, mumble) birthday.  No one needs to know exactly how old, right?  If my daughter were here, she would squeal and make sure the whole world knew exactly how ancient I am.  See, that's the thing.  Every year, I grow a little older, but in my head, I still feel like that twenty-year-old college student.  It's the sore muscles and achy joints that tell me differently.  The defining moment of knowing the full extent of my age was when I came into my living room  to see one of my daughter's examining a VCR cassette.  I asked what she was doing to which she replied, "I'm trying to find the directions."  So being the good mom that I am, I chose to take a seat and watch the show.  I watched her trying to shove the cassette into the VCR/DVD combo.  Eventually, she gained success and that's when the fun really started.  She stood in front of the television and asked why it wasn't doing anything.  I had to explain that in the time of

Christmas has finally come, and we are faced with signs of it everywhere.  People are rushing to get last minute gifts.  Last night, I noticed that the Walmart parking lot was full, but the Lowe's and Home Depot parking lot was empty.  I told my husband that was because the wives had already bought their husbands gifts three months ago and the men were in Walmart desperately looking for their wives a present.  I can say this because my husband was one of those desperate men.  But now all the gifts are bought and my least favorite thing to do has come- wrapping Christmas gifts.  I've contemplated just giving them in the Amazon boxes they came in but was shot down by my children.  Even though they are teenagers, they still want to unwrap the gifts for Christmas.  I've watched them grow from little toddlers who played more with the boxes than the gifts to young adults that are becoming interested in clothes and grown-up things.  This had me thinking about Mary, Jesus's m

The picture at the left describes the craziness of today.  If you're thinking that it looks like a cheesy Star Wars set, then you are right!  My church Christmas program was today.  I usually write the programs, so I had to pay homage to the newly released Star Wars.  Thus, A Dysfunctional Christmas Dinner-Star Wars Edition was born.  I had to frantically costume our cast, cook a ton of food for the potluck, and wash a gazillion loads of laundry, and quiz my kids because, of course, it is semester test time on Monday and Tuesday.  Late last night, I was cooking 150 cookies, cutting potatoes (with my daughters help- maybe a little guilt was involved), and sewing a gold C3PO suit out of a tablecloth found at a birthday party I had been to earlier that day.  Yes, that is me in the shiny, gold suit.  I was hot gluing black yarn to a pair of headphones for Princess Lea, cutting off reindeer ears and replacing with green felt to make Yoda.  I even created a turkey out of a milk jug tha

WARNING...you may be challenged.  Read at your own risk.  After last week, this week has been a bit anti-climatic. How can you top meeting a President?  I've been trying to practice my surprise instrument, but finding the time to play has been hard.  I'm recalling how I nagged my son to play his French horn.  It's amazing how empathy comes in when you've been in his place.  This brings me to my topic for this week.  Should we give to others over the holidays?  There's a wide range of beliefs on whether you should give to the needy.  What if they use the money for drugs or alcohol?  Should you buy food instead of give money that way you know it's going to something good?  Should you assume the people who are asking for help are all conning you?  Let me take you back in time to my college days.  I lived in a duplex with a girl that attended church with me.  I thought my place was amazing.  Now, as I drive by the house with grown up eyes, I'm amazed that we d

 Friends, this week has been a rather eventful week for me.  A couple of minutes after I finished my blog last Sunday, I decided to visit the little girl's room.  Imagine my horror when I found a very large mouse swimming away in my toilet.  I looked down into the frightened eyes of the little mouse and did what every big girl would do.  I jumped up and down and yelled for my son to come rescue me from the mouse.  Yes, I admit that I'm a big chicken.  After ten minutes of screaming my son's name, it dawned on me that my son would not rescue me.  I stomped down the stairs and demanded to know why he was not running to my aid immediately, only to find him completely engrossed in a video game.  I then laid on the guilt of what was more important to him, saving a pretend world or protecting his mother.  I regret to say he took a pause in which he had to seriously think about which was more important.  I then pulled him up the stairs and pointed at the toilet and said, "