Devotions of a High Heeled Warrior

  Let me begin by stating, I don't like scary movies. My kids think it's hilarious that I avoid all things scary. This wasn't always the case. When I was young, I remember sneaking into the living room when my parents thought I was asleep. I peeked in on a scary movie and had nightmares for weeks. Years later, I stayed at a friend's house and saw the movie, Chucky . This was an aweful idea for a girl who had shelves full of stuffed toys and dolls. I imagined beady, little doll eyes watching me for nights. As a teenager, I remembered the big sleepover of nonstop scary movies. Nightmares and paranoia creeped in for months. I came to the conclusion that I need to avoid scary movies. So I asked myself, "Why do peoples like to be scared?" I think one answer is the adrenaline high we get when we are scared, but there is one other answer. It is the intense sense of relief we feel when we find out we are okay. We survived. So here's the take-away from all of this.

If you examine the happy smile on my dog's face, you'll notice he is elated that my daughter has finally come home to visit since going to college. Yes, that hand scratching him belongs to her. After three months, my dog was so excited that he did his happy, happy, tail-wagging dance. It looks a little like a tap dance and a little like a prancing horse. He missed her so much, as did all of us, that he couldn't physically disguise his joy that someone he loved had made it home. It made me think of God. As Jesus told the parable of the prodical son, he tells the story of a son who had taken his inheritance from his father, then left the father to squander away everything. At his lowest point, he returns to his father, only to find the father waiting and celebrating a lost son coming home. How many times do we act like the prodical son? We want God's blessings, but we don't run to Him until we're broken and at the lowest point in our life. The good news is that He

If you haven't noticed, stores have begun to sale mums. What that means is that we are entering Fall. Folks, temperatures are about to drop. For some, it is an exciting time. Sweaters and pumpkin spice everything has appeared on every shelf. My husband loves the cold because he says, "You can always put on more clothes, but I can't take off anymore clothes!" He loves cold weather. I, on the other hand, dread the cold creeping in. I joke that I am like a little, old lady always wearing a sweater and keeping my little desk heater on the moment temperatures drop. I also have another phenomenon that happens- ice block feet. No matter how many pairs of socks I wear, my feet are always cold from Fall to Spring. We have a ritual at night. My husband lets me slide my freezing feet between his legs as he lets out a high-pitched girly squeal.  Then in a snarky voice, I say, " I thought you liked the cold." The next ritual is that I will buy a set of mums for my fron

  Have you ever had a moment where you were so relieved there wasn't a camera recording what you were doing? I had a moment this week when I was so thankful I wasn't on a hidden camera reality show. It all took place in a Walmart bathroom. I know it sounds like a bad joke...a blonde was in a Walmart bathroom. Trust me. It was almost that bad. I had just gone to the bathroom, and I did what every germ-conscious person does- wash hands. This is where the joke began. Technology and I had a moment of struggle. I held my hand under the soap dispenser, only to realize it was a manual dispenser. After soaping up,the sink and I truly had a "Whack-a-Mole" moment. I put my hand under the automatic faucet that protruded from the wall. Nothing. I did what everyone does. I moved to the next faucet, at which point the previous faucet poured out water. I quickly moved back, only for it to suddenly stop. This little dance went back and forth between three faucets for five minutes!

  This weekend was a moment of contemplating identities.  As you can see by the picture, my husband lost a giving competition to raise money for BGMC missionary giving.   The program provides Bibles and teaching materials to missionaries, and because the girls gave more, he had to preach an illustrated sermon.  He asked the question, "What identifies you?"  A kilt indicated what region a Scottish or Irish person may have belonged.  They were identified by the colors of their kilts.  So Kyle asked, "If you are a Christian, can others identify you as a Christian from your life?"  We had just returned from a long trip to Louisiana to visit his thirty year high school reunion.  One hour into the trip at dawn, we encountered a very determined doe that had decided she would run through our car or die trying.  She bounced off the front corner of the car leaving me with a hole in the headlight and a front bumper with a permanent sneer.  If my identify was my car, then I