The Hat

I first saw it on a quick run-through trip to my neighborhood Walmart. That oxy-moron should have been the first clue. There is no such thing for me as a quick run-through Walmart.

But, that no longer matters.

What matters is, I saw it, I loved it, I bought it, thrilled at the bargain price.

And since then this soft white, angora Gilligan-type hat has turned into a matter of contradiction for me on so many levels.

From the moment I put it on, I felt fun, sporty, and (okay, I’ll admit it) cute. The one thing I did not feel was fifty years old (but that’s another blog).

Since that moment in time, I’ve had confirmation (“Oh, you look so cute in that hat!”) to confrontation (“I can’t hear what you’re saying. I’m too focused on that white fuzzy thing on your head.”). One person told me, “It makes you look young.” Another said it made me look like an 80 year old person of color.

One of my loving daughters put it this way: “It makes your face look fatter.”

BTW, she’s out of the will.

Even my very own Pastor Steve has expressed repulsion nearly on the same scale as his aversion to country music.

I’m toying with the idea of buying a hat just like mine for his wife.

The crux of the matter is this: I love my hat. When pressure is stressing me, I can reach up and touch the soft fuzz and be instantly transported to my happy place. One would think that is a good thing for everyone involved.

Alas, no.

I love my hat but my loved ones do not. What’s an anal retentive, compulsive people-pleasing codependent to do?

Well, I’ve decided this is where I draw my line in the sand (sand, of course, since if I make a mistake, I can always rub it out).

I love my hat. I will wear my hat. I will enjoy my hat.

Besides, Punxsutawney Phil has said there’s only six more weeks of winter. In Arizona time, that’s only four more days. I think I can last that long.

Maybe.

Abundant blessings!

Jenny

A Cactus Bloomed in the Desert Today

Not that my friend, Lori, is prickly, but in the desert valley she has lifted her arms toward heaven and stands as a beacon calling all in our state to prayer.

And today, she bloomed. Officially, she was ordained to do what God has been calling her to do—what God designed her to do.

Lori and I go back a long way. We’ve seen each other through the good and the bad. We’ve celebrated together and grieved together. She is my sister, my friend. And now she is officially my pastor (though she was that, too, before it became official).

At her service, our senior pastor, Steve Chiles, made a couple statements that hit home to me. He was explaining this call to ministry had some special facets, among them the call to fellowship and the call to discipleship. And then he said, “God does not call us because of who we are. He calls us in spite of who we are. If God doesn’t show up for our ministry, we are dead in the water.”

The weighty truth of those words still resonates now that I’m back home. God has designed each one of us for a ministry. It is about Him and His plan. He provides the equipment and if He isn’t in it, there is no ministry. Why? Because it’s all about Him.

And that’s something Lori has run with since the moment she first heard God whisper in her ear. Step by step He has called a music teacher, meek and reluctant to pray aloud let alone before a group of people, to become a strong, courageous woman of prayer. A warrioress. An intercessor who, as one speaker pointed out, no longer takes no for answer—that is, from man. From God, she might not like it, but she accepts it. She knows Who makes the rules.

So, Lori, I am honored to call you friend. I am thankful to know you and have you in my life. And I count you as one of my very special abundant blessings from our loving Abba.

Congratulations, LB! You rock!

Love ya!
JC

The Class of ’74 is Turning 50

Okay, so some mornings I feel twice my age. The truth is, I never thought I’d even reach fifty. But I have and can look back with wonder at how in the world it has happened. Definitely a God thing.

Believe it or not, I can even remember not having a radio in the family car. My parents would sing when we went anywhere. (And that explains my infatuation with Rod Stewart’s Great American Songbook collection.) When I began school, little girls had to wear dresses to class. Even in the winter. Snowsuits, or, when older, corduroys under the skirts, had to suffice since no self-respecting young lady would be caught dead in slacks at school. Sometime about eighth grade, dress slacks were allowed and finally by high school, I learned about living in jeans.

I’ll bet you’ve read the e-mails about the good old days and all that has changed over the years. So have I. And I can remember my parents and their friends discussing how much life had altered over the years.

But then, I think of my grandmother. When my mom complained how her kids were getting old, GrammaDear (as she’s called) knew just the answer. “Your kids? What about my kids!” GrammaDear will be celebrating her hundredth birthday this summer.

So what does one do now that one is f-f-f-fifty? It’s just a number, I know, but sometimes it's just hard to get out. I find myself relating to the Roman god, Janus—whose two faces looked both forward and backward.

And I don’t like it.

For the most part, it has been a lovely ride but I’m not at my journey’s end—not yet. I could be very close or just halfway there like GrammaDear. Only God knows. So, I’m taking St. Paul’s advice. Looking forward and leaving the past behind me, I press on. Richly blessed already, I can’t wait to see what’s around the bend—and I’m betting there’s chocolate involved somewhere. My Abba is good like that.

The picture above is of the three members of the class of '74 at our school. Jackie Lowery and Patti Vail, you are the best! And for the record, we don't look fifty. Forty-five maybe, but not fifty.

Abundant lifelong blessings to all!

Life Should Be Dipped In Chocolate

Glendale glitters.

Not all the time, but at least at this time of year. Last night, my husband and I went to downtown Glendale to see the final night of lights and glitz. The great finale included glowing hot air balloons, imported snow for the kidletts and horse and buggy rides for the romantic.

Walking past one of the vendors, Phil noted how they had about everything under the sun dipped in chocolate. And my quip back? “Life should be dipped in chocolate.”

Now let’s review. In case you are a newcomer to this blog, I am a chocoholic—not a recovering one either. No, I here and now admit, my name is Jenny and I am an active and current chocoholic.

So, my husband wasn’t the least bit surprised at my remark. However, I was. When I say something and have no idea where the thought came from, I must analyze.

And I realized from the start, the whole evening was a chocolate covered presentation. What began years ago as a small town event in the midst of one of the biggest metropolises (is that a word?) in the country, had to have some sweet coating. The original idea was to bring community together and build on a safe family environment. Yet, when you scratch the coating away it is revealing.

Parking has become such a chore cars circle the area for near to thirty minutes hunting for a space within a mile of the festivities. And sadly, the older structures where the latecomers leave their cars aren’t exactly what the historic preservation society had in mind for Old Town. Only blocks from the fun, some of the poorest of our state try to find shelter.

And, of course, what would chocolate be without nuts? The revelers may be families but small town America is learning new definitions of the word.

However, I don’t think so much has really changed. We’ve always put the white wash (white chocolate?) over what we don’t want to acknowledge. We have chocolate covered elephants in the room, I mean park. Is this bad? Well, when it comes to a matter of faith, I don’t want to bite into a candy only to find some filling I would rather trash than eat. But, there are times when a spoonful of sugar—or chocolate—makes the rough days easier to get through.

I’ll bet you can tell where I’m going with this. Yep, back to that blessing thing again. The unexpected hug from a kidlett you wanted to give to the coyotes that melts your heart, or the email that makes you laugh after a day you wanted to cry through, or just knowing your Abba is walking down this sometimes glitzy and sometimes spooky road with you are certainly ways of coating your day in a chocolate hug.

And when we accept that person who looks a little different or help that family struggling just to stay together, we help pour a chocolate sweetness on what otherwise may be a hurtful day or existence. You may be the only delicious thing they will experience. But it may be just what they need to point them to the Source of all goodness.

I thought of saving this for Valentine’s Day but when it’s on my heart, it is time. Besides, the Chocolate Festival will be hitting Glendale in a few weeks. I can do a reprise then.

So, until next time, I wish you abundant blessings and chocolate covered days.

Round Robin Story part 9 - Hey we still need a title!

So maybe I'm starting to like writing suspense. Just don't tell, okay? I've added in another one of the requirements--you'll see it as you read. And, of course, if you haven't read the previous posts, go to Jen Tiszai's blog (the link is at the side--Sonoran Saga)and she has all the links for all the other posts on her part 8. (She's gone to bed and isn't available to help me with html--a language I've yet to conquer.)

So, here's part nine. Enjoy! Oh, and abundant blessings!

So, here she was, dangling like a worm on a hook. Sarah shuddered. What had she been thinking?

“The map we found under Chas, he had apparently grabbed from his sister Emily. Of course the dog had gotten to it before we did. But after we cleaned it up, we got a map of the meeting places. It looked like Emily was listing them for Chas.” Kyle’s voice was a little stactic-y in her earpiece. Not comforting in the least.

“If we don’t get a nibble, we’ll try another spot. There are several on the map. By the way, we think she saw him attacked and that Emily is the target. Chas probably got in the way.”

Way to go, Kyle. You sure know what to say to make a girl feel safe.

Knowing she was wearing a wire and had police all over the place watching her did little to help her nerves.

She crossed her ankles and tried to get comfortable on the park bench. The desert, only a couple hours from the beach, was hot enough to fry an egg. If it weren’t for the fact she was sure she’d have to do a lot of walking, she’d have stuck with her flip-flops.

Though her sleazy romance novel remained open, it was more to hide her talking back to Kyle. He must have contacts all over the place.

Crackle. “Someone is coming up along the bike trail.”

“Thanks for the warning, Kyle.”

The biker went on past.

Pretty soon a mom pushing a baby stroller wandered along. “Mind if I sit a moment?”

What could she say? “Sure, no problem.” Sarah scooted over.

“Keep your eyes peeled, Sarah.” Kyle’s voice made her jump.

“It sure is a hot one. I try to get out and walk with the baby every day to get rid of the last few pounds.”

Sarah nodded politely. She wouldn’t be much good as bait if she sat there talking with this new mother.

“Oh, I love your nail polish. What do you call that color?”

The blood drained from Sarah’s face. This couldn’t be the contact!

“Remain calm, Sarah. The color is” static “Cherry.”

What did he say? Crap! Why did she go to sleep when Lynne was putting it on her? Think!

“Ah, I think it is, ah, Chick Flick Cherry, or something like that.”

The smile vanished from the mother’s face. A gun appeared from inside the stroller. “That’s what I thought. So, if you’ll just hand over the goods, I’ll be on my way.”

What goods? “I’m sorry I don’t know what you are talking about and you’re scaring me with that gun.” All too true.

“Don’t play coy. You’ve got the color and the signature flower. Just give me the stuff and I’ll be going.”

“Tell her you have” static “car. Get her to” static “with you and” static “there.”

What did he say? “Ah, I didn’t know it was you. The stuff’s in the car.”

The gun motioned toward the parking lot. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but get moving.”

Sarah stood. God please help me! She could feel the cold steel nudge at her. “I'm not playing games. Just being cautious.”

The barrel pressed into the small of her back. "Walk"

"What about the baby?"

The only answer was another nudge from the gun. Mommy dearest left the stroller.

Kyle, where are you. Get me out of this.

Her car stood on one side of the lot by itself. Where were the cops hiding?

“Where is it?”

“Over there. I need to get out my keys.”

“One hand, slowly.”

Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring with the clicker, holding it up so the woman could see. She pressed the button.

A guy popped up from her trunk.

Sarah gasped.

An arm went around her neck and the barrel of the gun pressed a bruise behind her ear.

“You set me up!" The arm dragged her backward. "Back off or she gets it!”

“Right now you haven’t hurt anyone. Drop the gun and it will go easier.” Kyle’s voice came from behind.

“I’m taking her with me." Sarah was flung from one direction to the other. "Once I’m away I’ll leave her on the side of the road.”

Sarah couldn’t get enough breath. The arm about her neck pulled too tight.

“You know I can’t let you do that. Just put down the gun.”

The arm pulled tighter. Her earpiece dropped on the ground.

“Of course, you were wired.”

“Just put the gun down.” Kyle’s voice was fading.

Sarah felt the wooziness from lack of air. The cop in front of her became three. Her knees buckled but she never felt the ground.

Round Robin Story Part 7

Well, good intentions and all, I thought I would post last weekend. But the time got away and then school started again. Didn't realize just how much I missed my little kinderlets. That being said, my teaching career really cuts into my writing career time. I was the one who was supposed to post part four. So, thanks Jen Tiszai, Sabrina Fox, Mike Synder, and Malia Spencer for keeping things going until I could post.

Please bear in mind, I write Women's Fiction--Historical Women's Fiction. Where Jen and Mike and Malia can all intro their own characters into this little drama, mine are long dead and buried--about a couple three centuries ago. But I'll give suspense a try--and not shed quite so many tears if one of their characters bites the dust.

So now, without further ado, part seven.
Abundant blessings!

“Sarah, please to take seat. I will serve you soon.”

Thankfully Sarah was a few minutes early for her appointment. “No problem, Lynne. I’ve brought reading material.” She waved the newspaper and sat.

“What you read about?”

“I stumbled on to something yesterday and I thought I’d see if there’s any news.” Though if Kyle weren’t so by the book, he could fill her in and she wouldn’t have to read between the lines in this rag. There’s the story, page three. Just a tiny little blurb. Well, that certainly helps—not.

When the other customer left, Lynne motioned to Sarah. “I serve you now. Do you want pedicure, too?”

That’s a no-brainer. “Yeah, please. The sand at he beach is doing a number on my feet.” Sarah climbed into the massage chair.

“What color you want?”

Reaching over, Sarah turned the spinner, a familiar shade catching her eye. Chick Flick Cherry. No, that would give her more nightmares.

“I see you like new color. I just get. Only one person try that. She like very much. I think like, too.”

Could it be Chas’s sister? No, no way. That would be much too much of a coincidence. “No, I think I’ve seen too much red lately. Try Violet Hush. That is wild enough for me.”

Leaning back, Sarah closed her eyes. Sleep had been nonexistent last night. Every time she closed her eyes, Russell Fink would take her by the hand and lead her into a nightmare. Her heart got a great workout considering how many times she frightened herself awake.

But the chair massage felt almost as good as Lynne’s skilled hands on her feet.

Sarah’s eyes flew open, gulping in air as if she hadn’t had a breath in ages.

“You okay, Sarah?” Lynne capped the bottle of Chick Flick Cherry and set it on the tray.

Another nightmare. And in the middle of the day, too. Sarah looked at her toes. “I thought we decided on Violet Hush?”

“This better. You look like model. You will like. I make flower for you on big toes.”

Sarah wanted to tell the tech to remove the color. She wanted to, but acquiesced instead. Why bother. The nightmares came anyway. “Whatever. I’m too tired to argue.”

Lynne finished by adding a rhinestone to the center of each flower.

Something about the shiny dot made Sarah’s blood chill. But she had been wearing the silly things for some time. Her nerves were so fried.

When Lynne started her fingers, Sarah noticed a newspaper. “Oh, if that’s mine, just tuck it there in my bag.” She nodded toward it.

Instead of answering, Lynne shoved it under her stand.

No big deal. All she had to do was ask.

Though not in a hurry when Sarah arrived, now he tech raced through the fill.

The bell over the door rang and a tall woman entered. Dressed to impress, Sarah knew she was looking at money.

“Please to take seat. I will serve you soon.”

That explains the hurry. Lynne booked too tight.

Sarah finished, paid and booked her next appointment.

“See you in two, Lynne.”

The girl merely nodded, not even looking up.

Well, now I know how I rate.

Halfway to her car Sarah realized the stone from her grandmother’s ring was gone. “Blast it!” She turned around and trudged back to the shop, hoping Lynne found it. Not that it was that valuable but to Sarah it was priceless.

She pushed in the door while the bell tinkled above. “Lynne, I lost my…”

Lynne lay in a pool of blood.

The moneyed lady stood over her, crow bar brandished.

A Poignently Blessed Christmas

Though I knew Christmas was getting closer by the minute, I still had much to do, much to start. But getting started appeared to be the problem (for one reason, see previous post). I enjoyed shopping and doing for those in true need. And baking bread for my neighbors was fun. But things like Christmas cards and tree decorating just didn’t get accomplished. I did put up a nativity set, but that was the extent of my decorating for the holy day in my house.

The big thought this season has been to go home to my mom. Funny, I’ve only visited the house where she now lives but the peace I feel here called to me like coming home. Finally, last Friday, I had a real heart-to-heart with my Abba. I didn’t think I was feeling depressed but I was longing. I think I even surprised myself when I told Him I miss my Ian.

Ian used to help me decorate. He had an eye for it and made it fun. I remember coming in from work one December day in 1998 to find my 15 year old son hunched up on the kitchen counter by the phone, receiver in hand, with his eyes glued to the TV.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“I’m going to win the contest on that show.” And he did—a family pack to visit the Imax theatre to see The Nutcracker--his Christmas gift to us. I still smile thinking of him there.

But that was his last Christmas. And now I miss my son, just like I do every Christmas. Like I do every day.

But in verbalizing it to my Abba, He reminded me that He also missed His Son that first Christmas. How loving that God would share that intimacy. He truly understands.
He sent his son to a hurting world knowing that world would hurt him. And He did it for me. And you. And my Ian, who no longer hurts. I will see Ian again and I will celebrate Christmas with the angels one day where I can see and touch and hug the guest of honor, my Savior. My Jesus.

In the meantime, I have enjoyed Christmas here today with my family. To you, my husband, my daughters, my mom, my Norman, my 99-year-old grandmother, my aunt and uncle: I love you. To my sister, my brothers, nephews, nieces, in-laws, and friends: even though we're apart on this day, you are still in my heart. Each of you please know, next to salvation, you are the greatest blessings in my life.

And to you, dear reader, may the Christ of that first Christmas live and grow in your hearts, filling all of your new years with Abundant Blessings!

The Allure of Procrastination

What is it about procrastination that seems to call at the most inopportune times? I’ve been chomping at the bit to have some uninterrupted writing time and now that I do, I find so many other things that need doing. It’s not that I don’t want to write—the Lord knows I do. I guess I feel a bit like the Apostle Paul. What I want to do, I don’t do. What I don’t want to do, I do. Wretched woman that I am! Who will get me off this merry-go-round?

Though misery loves company, I find no comfort in knowing this problem has been plaguing mankind (and womankind) for eons before Scarlet O’Hara announced, “tomorrow is another day.” Aesop’s tale about the hard-working ants and the lazy grasshopper tried to teach industriousness to Greek procrastinators before the time of Christ. The problem’s been around a bit, huh?

And, though I’m a card-carrying member of the club (and I think I recognize a few of you out there from the meetings) I’m going to try something new. An old year’s resolution—only have to keep it a couple weeks. That way I may have a chance. I will read my e-mail before 9:00 a.m. and not again until 3:00 p.m. No AIM until after sundown (sorry Jen and Malia, but at least the sun goes down earlier these days). Blog reading only on Saturdays. And no TV until I’ve put in at least 1000 words (2500 would be better but I have to make this doable).

So, we’ll see how this goes. Now, when to start? Tomorrow sounds good, don’t you think?

Abundant blessings,
Jenny

Joy to the World!

The excitement is mounting. Can you feel it in the air? I’m counting the days. How about you? Yep, five more days of school until Winter Break. Yea!

Ever wonder when Christmas Break turned into Winter Break?

So many things are different now.

I went shopping today and found a bell ringer. That made my day. I’ve actually stopped shopping at stores that don’t allow the bell ringers. One in particular carries my favorite candy bar. Dark chocolate with espresso—what’s not to love? But I do without. It’s the principle of the thing, an imagined sacrifice. I’ve been sacrificing for more than a year now. For those of you who think my sacrifice paltry, you must not be true chocoholics. One day at a time, my friend.

Chances are you have also received the e-mail decrying how political correctness has gone too far. I won’t repeat it all here but suffice it to say, my greeting is still “Merry Christmas.” I say it more for myself than anyone else. It reminds me this isn’t about Winter Break or two weeks without five year olds or even large chunks of writing time.

It isn’t even about me.

And yet it is about me.

And you.

And everyone on earth.

God sent His Son to us, to draw us to Him, to save us, to die for us, to live for us. Isn’t that enough cause to say Merry Christmas? Or better yet, Joy to the World! The Lord is come! Let Earth, and all of us, receive our King with gratitude and excitement.

Merry Christmas and Abundant blessings,
Jenny

I've Been Tagged

I’ve Been Tagged

Okay, I’m not sure who started this but I blame Mike Snyder. Doesn’t have to be fair, I just blame him. And Jen Tiszai. I blame her, too. And now that I’ve been tagged, I’m passing it on. Here are my seven sevens. Enjoy! And be sure to go back and check the other blogs for their info, too.

Seven Things I Want to Do Before I Die
1. Finish writing all the books in my head—and write them well.
2. See my daughters happily married to good and godly men and have children of their own—best revenge;-)
3. Play with my grandchildren (none of which exist yet)
4. Return to Ireland and really see it for more than 3 days.
5. Go to my grandfather’s home in Sweden
6. See more of London than just Heathrow and surrounding area
7. Tour Versailles

Seven Things I Cannot Do
This is hard. I really subscribe to I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. But if I think about what I can’t do without Him?—then there’s way more than 7. OK, I’ll come up with something.
1. Organize or Plan in a quick, methodical way
2. Make my loved ones surrender to Jesus
3. Lose weight and keep it off—this is really posturing. I know I can lose the weight if I put total focus on it and let the rest of my world fall apart
4. Go more than a day without some form of chocolate—again, I really could but it wouldn’t be pretty
5. Retire from teaching and work full-time writing
6. Stay away from my computer
7. Resist my husband

Seven Things That Attracted Me to My Husband
1. His blue eyes
2. His sense of humor
3. His intelliegence
4. His long legs
5. His compassion
6. How he makes me feel safe
7. Oh, yeah, and his kiss (OH, yeah)

Seven Things I Say Most Often
1. Knock it off
2. No kissing in Kindergarten
3. I’m never going to get this book finished!
4. Can’t type worth beans
5. lthtt –laughing too hard to type
6. what meeting?
7. Man, I have to cook again? Didn’t I just do that last week?

Seven Books I Love— Like Jen, this is besides the Bible. And I know I’m leaving out lots I really love but am too tired to think clearly at the moment. And these are only including books that have been published or I’d have to make the list longer.
1. Anything written by Liz Curtis Higgs
2. Randy Ingermanson’s City of God series
3. My Utmost for His Highest
4. Les Miserables--yep,I read the unabridged version but in English
5. Jane Austin books
6. Martha Grimes’ Richard Jury series
7. Anything written by Linda Windsor

Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again
1. Fools Rush In
2. Wonderworks version of A Little Princess
3. The Sting
4. The Philadelphia Story
5. Rear Window
6. It’s a Wonderful Life
7. Last of The Mohicans with Daniel Day Lewis

Seven People I Want to Join In Too
1. Randy Ingermanson
2. Linda Windsor
3. Allison Bottke
4. Tiff Miller
5. Greg Williamson
6. Cheryl Wilford
7. Phil Cary

By the way, I do not plan to post more than once a week but this crept up on me. In the future, I want to continue to have a new post on Saturdays. Hope this brings a laugh.

Abundant blessings,
Jenny

Peeves and Blessings

This past week I discovered a running topic—at school, on a writer’s loop—and it has me thinking. A dangerous thing to do, as my husband would tell you. The topic wove through different categories but the central issue rested on pet peeves. A few of mine cropped up and I’d like to vent…I mean share.

One of my pet peeves has to do with those who are in the spotlight, speaking from a platform of intelligence and authority (evening news, politicians, experts) and they can’t even pronounce the word “often” correctly. It’s not that hard. I know it comes up as a fourth grade spelling word when studying words with silent letters. So why do adults, who surely have gone to school for longer than a high school diploma, insist on pronouncing the word as if the /t/ is vocalized? Huh?

And why must teachers, who have taught for decades and have more certifications than you or I can shake a stick at, need to prove they have enough credentials to be allowed to pay $100+ for one more certificate just to be allowed do the job they were already doing? (Long, ugly sentence—longer, uglier story)

And why is it that when I finally get a chance to work on my writing, I have an inbox overflowing with e-mail just dying to be answered, or unexpected company, or even more unexpected illness. Not fair.

I’ve caught myself feeling peevish about these and other things this week. Funny how once you get started it kind of snowballs into an avalanche of peeves.

Thankfully, I’ve found a solution.

Remember Paul’s instructions to the Philippian Church? “…whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” If I put my mind on the things of God, I can start to be grateful for living in a time where information can be provided so easily, that I have a job where I can touch so many lives (hopefully in a way that lifts Jesus up), and for the stories in my head, the visitors in my home, having a home and relatively good health. That is way more than many can claim and I’m seriously remiss in thanking my Abba for His abundant blessings all around when I focus on the irritants.

So, what to do when you come down with a case of the peeves? Do what I’m learning to do, count your blessings—old song, better idea.

Here’s wishing you lots to count.

Abundant blessings,
Jenny

Shoes That Click to My Clack

I love Mr. Magoo.

The perennial favorite, Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol thrilled me each December while I grew up, or rather got older (I’ve been told I’ve yet to grow up). But as an adult, the video, and later, DVD, were unavailable each Christmas when I looked. And I looked for several years.

My kids and even my husband could not understand my need to find what they considered an old, silly cartoon. When feeling nostalgic, they preferred Charlie Brown or Rudolph. And I enjoy those as well, but something about Mr. Magoo called to me and my search continued.

Last Christmas I found him. I bought both the DVD and VHS plus a couple extra to share with others. I rushed home and popped him in the player and curled up ready to enjoy.

It wasn’t long before I figured out the pull. I related to Mr. Magoo’s Scrooge on so many levels. And when young Ebenezer sang from his heart, the words came back in a rush and I sang along. There was a time I wondered if there would be shoes that clicked to my clack. I felt alone in the world quite often as a child in spite of my loving family.

But God never wastes a tear, even those shed during a cartoon. I know this tenderhearted mush has driven my family nuts at times but it has allowed me to understand my characters at a deeper level. Even when my writing lacked the mechanics needed to make a decent novel, readers still empathized with the characters.

Yet more important and immediate, it has allowed me to reach out to my students and their parents. I tease my class that they may not move doing the school year since their teacher has abandonment issues (imagine Kindergarteners going home and explaining abandonment issues to their parents). But the truth is we all long to belong, to fit in. Even the rebel who goes out of her way to be apart for fear she won’t fit in is really longing to find her place in the world. And I’m not talking a cookie cutter mentality but an acceptance of who we are, uniquely designed by our Creator to be.

It is not good for man—or woman or child—to be alone.

Mr. Magoo will always be my favorite Ebenezer Scrooge. But more important, I’m grateful for shoes that click to my clack and not being alone in the world. Thank you, Abba.

Abundant blessings,

Jenny

To Blog or Not to Blog...

They say change can be good. All I know is change makes things different and for a creature of habit like myself, that ain't good. But with a heart full of gratitude and the wonder of the season upon me, I'm stepping out and taking a chance. I've started a blog.

Now comes the part where I need something witty and clever to share with a reader, in case there is a reader.

Actually I think it is God Who is so witty. He knows just how to get my attention and share the moment. Like a couple weeks ago, it was my turn for bike rack duty at school. Outside, when I should be setting up my room, left me antsy. But, wouldn't you know it, I started to have fun watching the families arrive for school. Funny thing, so many are learning English as they go. The language they speak at home can vary from Spanish to Arabic to Vietnamese, to Romanian (you get the idea). Yet, I understood them as they passed by. Why? The smiles, the nods, the kisses on the cheek while the 6th grader squirms. Mom grins and rubbs the kiss in for safe keeping.

The snapshot in time that stuck with me, though, included a mom and two daughters. The girls pranced and skipped while mom held their hands, two backpacks slung over her shoulders, a smile gracing her face.

That's when God tapped me on the shoulder. He didn't need to say a word. I knew. I must look like that at times, skipping and prancing beside my Abba while He carries my heavy backpack. Those are times of rejoicing and delight for both of us. Of course, there are the days I want to be all grown up and independant and carry my backpack on my own. It doesn't take me too long, usually , to realize if I give the burden to my Abba, He will help me and lighten my step on this journey of life.

Yep, it’s funny how God changed bike rack duty into a shared moment of insight with Him. So, maybe change has its good points. Especially when walking along with my Abba, and letting Him carry the burdens. Of course, just because He made bike rack duty fun, doesn’t mean He’ll do the same for blogging—then again… So, if He gives me more, I’ll be back. Until then,

Abundant blessings,
Jenny

Jenny