I thought it would be at least 10 more years before having to pen a blog post about my body. Nope, it’s happening, right now as I type.
Of late, my body has been conflicted, torn, even confused at certain times. It seems to be having trouble with whether it wants to progress or regress. Let me first start by saying I’m not one of those women who dread growing old. I absolutely look forward to everything aging brings me, and have hope that I can age gracefully and beautifully, even avoiding some of the traditional assumptions about seasoned women. I’ve always said, “When I grow up I want to grow old”. I want to live as many LONG years as God would allow and I look forward to the days decades and decades from now of being able to look back on days like today. With that said, my body has seemed to enter a light-weight war within itself. It can’t seem to make up its mind.
While driving on the interstate behind a stinky, big rig I reached in my purse to make sure I had my inhaler, and glanced at my little medicine pouch making sure it too was in tact. Then I thought. Here I am at 42 (in a few days) and battling with asthma which I never had as a child, using witch hazel to fight acne which I never really had as a child, sneezing like I’m in a pepper mill because of allergies which I use to have as a child, wearing arch supports for an achy ankle that I sprain as a child, in need of more naps than I likely did as a child, all while still feeling and looking like a grown woman who takes potassium for stronger bones, eats oatmeal because she needs more fiber, sees little “fine lines” when she looks in a mirror, supports Spanx and other support agents because they support her, keeps muscle rub in the house just in case some body part starts telling the story of all its been through and let’s the grey hairs just stay there.
So here I am at sort of an internal juxtaposition, with my body rekindling its relationship with some matters from my past, and still forging ahead with signs that I’m headed toward a future and, as always, all I can do is laugh. I’m just grateful that I’m alive to see and feel it all.
Today I had the privilege of returning to one of my former jobs, ABC 33/40 to do an interview. I’ve been there many times since my departure in 1999 to do PR interviews and promote things with which I was involved. Today, for some reason as I greeted old friends and shook hands with new people who also understand the connection of this little thing called media I realized an important fact. It’s so important to wrap things up the right way.
As a feisty 27-year-old back in 1999 I had no idea where my career path would lead and certainly didn’t know, or want to know if it would often lead me back to places I’d already been. As a young, naïve little lady I actually paid no mind to the possibility of the notion called “full circle”. With that said, when I quit ABC 33/40 in June of ’99 I left there after having been there since the day the doors opened to go to a great job in Marketing and Public Relations at a local hospital. At that time I was a little burned out with how my simple mind perceived news media at the time. (Ask any newsie or news escapee about media burnout). I’m so glad that, even in the blessing of receiving a new job I didn’t “throw up the deuces”, “run out kicking and screaming”, “blast my boss” or “cabbage patch” out of the door leaving my old job in a way that would have been embarrassing for the now grown woman to return to whenever possible. Back then I thought I knew it all. The likelihood to do any of the above mentioned unmentionables was very possible. (God bless my heart.) I also had inter-office relationship drama, self-imposed financial challenges (in other words I shopped too much at Casual Corner), and was just green about things professionally in some regards. I’m so glad my internal frustrations, immaturity, unwillingness to change, or drama with my “at-work” boyfriend and his girlfriends didn’t cause me to do something totally foolish. I don’t know if you’ve worked with people like the ones I’ve worked with in all of my jobs, but most of us know of those who have disgracefully left a job, church, relationship or organization with a lot of ranting and ruckus then later on ended up crossing paths with the ones they left. Today I spend a lot of time talking to students and adults about the importance of keeping bridges in a position to be able to cross over again, and again if needed.
I’m so glad there was a bit of decorum even back then that I’ve tried to keep with me at all times, especially when it comes to ending a relationship (business, personal, etc.). Not to say that times (and people) don’t try me, but I’m just a firm believer that life is a perfectly woven connection of our past, present and future, and at any time that connection can come together. I want to be able to sashay right on through whatever comes back together with no lingering thought of “do these people think I’m crazy?”.
Last year, I had the honor of attending the church of my 80+ year-old godmother for Friends and Family Day. I’d not visited her church in decades, and quite honestly, don’t have or take the opportunity to visit many other churches than my own that often.
Knowing her church was “different from mine” I had a little hesitation about what to wear, how long it would last, if there’d be enough seats, if we’d arrive on time and the likes. My sister and I frantically rushed to get ready, both noting that we felt like we were going to church on Easter or preparing for a wedding because we wanted her girls and us to be just right. We enjoyed our time there as her Pastor talked about a universal subject…Family.
Having been a member of a few churches and even previously being married to a Pastor for nine…
God is so caring and loving, so and kind and comedic. It amazes me still the amount of times and the amount of ways He blesses us in ways that sometimes bewilder us, then often tickle us.
Nothing God does is ordinary, which should, by now, remind us that His ways truly are not our ways. But like clockwork, if you’re like me, you endure a challenge, pass the test (or so you think) then have the audacity to try to predict when and how the graduation celebration is going to be. NOT! God throws a surprise party like nobody’s business and that, my brothers and sisters, is a blessing!
Just because He doesn’t do it the way we want Him to do it doesn’t mean He’s not doing it BIG! Just because it feels like a burden doesn’t mean it’s not a promised blessing! Just because it’s trying doesn’t mean it’s…
Life is “interesting” enough as it to make it even more complicated by frowning, pouting, sulking and sinking into a negative pouty-mouth, pity party. Now, I’ll be the first to say that it’s okay to cry. Crying is cleansing and sometimes gets a bad rap. But staying, and being comfortable in a place of despair is not meant for us. Life is too short and too long to linger in sorrow. We have to find a reason to laugh!
It tickles me, literally sometimes, to see the new generation’s thought of beauty that is often depicted as a growl or grimace, that, in my opinion is simply not cute. It’s becoming more and more acceptable to be angry, negative, cynical, mean and mad, and walk around with a sourpuss face like you just taste-tested the new line of Sour Patch Kids with extra sour.
We have to be determined to find a reason to laugh. Some of the heartiest laughs I’ve ever had have come from what appeared to be the toughest, most trying, most unfair or unfortunate situations in my life. It’s the ability to be able to laugh at those things that once hurt us, laugh with others whom we love, and even laugh at ourself from time-to-time that shows your true strength and fortitude.
You see this picture? It was taken in 2011, exactly one year from my divorce with many messy moving parts still remaining and as my sister was entering the throes of a devastating divorce of her own. I’m not sure what made either one of us laugh that day, but through all of the chaos, those smiles you see are as real as Jesus Himself.
So I say again. We have to find a reason to laugh! Every, single day we’re alive and kicking we must find something to laugh about, or someone to laugh with. Our spirit, our soul and our body will thank us.
I’ve got needs. There, I said it, and finally I’m not ashamed, afraid, embarrassed or too proud to admit it. As a woman, an unmarried woman, a not-yet-over-the-hill woman, and simply a human being I’ve got some serious needs. I’m cool with having needs. What I wasn’t always cool with is asking for help with those needs.
A recent conversation with a wise man who talked about what often stops people (men, if you must know) from opening themselves up to be vulnerable and transparent, asking for and heeding the advice of help made me look at me. I looked. I didn’t like everything I saw. So, because the Bible says you have not because you ask not, and because I know the needs I have can’t be met by “me” alone, I’m laying it all out there.
What needs do I have, and how can you help? I’m glad want to know.
Here’s what I need:
I need a painter to paint some rooms in my house excellently, but inexpensively, of course, so my house can finally sell.
I need a toddler car seat so that both my nieces can ride in my car at the same time.
I need a landscaper who can turn my yard into a mulched oasis excellently, but inexpensively, of course, so my house can finally sell.
I need someone to help me understand the book publishing process.
I need someone who wants to barter Public Relations services for whatever they can do that I might need them to do.
I need someone with some fabulous size 14 or 12 new or gently used spring clothes they want to pass on to me.
I need someone who can clean houses (really, really clean) excellently, but inexpensively, of course.
I need someone who can fix my little 2001 Lexus so I can put her back on the road, not making her feel neglected sitting in the garage while I drive the new kid on the block.
I need someone who can teach me how to sew.
I need someone who can totally update my out-of-date kitchen and bathrooms excellently, but inexpensively, of course, so my house can finally sell.
I need someone to walk me through the ropes of Couponing 101.
I need someone who can educate me more on investing in stocks and retirement planning.
I need (more like I want, but hey, it’s worth the ask) someone who has some frequent flyer miles they want to share.
So, there it is, my partial “help needed” list. Now, don’t rush all at once offering your assistance, but do know it’s appreciated:)
It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m sure a single or two is thinking…”Darn it…another year with the same last name, or no one sporting my name!” I feel ya!
One of the biggest lies the single life tries to sell so many is that we are incomplete alone. Through Christ Jesus we are all whole, whether single, divorce, widowed, just dating, courting or otherwise. The ability to know that we are enough in whatever stage of singlehood we may find ourselves is truly a blessing if we allow it.
Have you ever thought about what it must be like to be single and full of all the joy life intends you to have? Have you ever thought about how good it would feel to still have aspirations for life to transform, if marriage is your heart’s desire, but be absolutely focused on and content with where God has you right now?
Call me a victim of “TMI”, but if sharing too much information will help me and help someone else I’ll just take my chances. I’ve got a run in my tights, my favorite tights.
They’re black, and were made with a bit of little reinforcement at the waist and thighs. They were designed by George (all my Wal-Mart shoppers know the power of George). They’re fit for someone tall like me, and have been a staple in my wardrobe for at least three winters. Look, don’t judge. I’m a creature of habit. Because I’m a creature of habit, I’ve had a hard time making the trek to Wal-Mart, Target or some other discount store, but have instead decided to hold on to them even though they no longer hold on to me like they once did.
I can’t seem to get rid of them. It’s like they have a cryptic hold on me that challenges me to throw them away. I’ve washed them more times than I can imagine. I’ve sown the toes in on both feet. I’ve resown the toes in on both feet. I constantly have to pull them up because that little reinforcement they once had at the waist and thighs has long since disappeared leaving a super-stretched mass of nylon that looks more like 1970’s Silly Putty on the lamb. And to top it all off, my dear, sweet tights now have a visible run in them that my “wet and wild” clear fingernail polish won’t be able to contain. And yet, as I type, I have them on, looking down at the run looking up at me and wondering why I can’t seem to part with them.
Why do I keep them? I don’t know. I want to know. I need to know. I’ve reckoned within myself, or at least tried to, that now, at the nearing end of the winter season I’d go out and buy a few pair of tights at a discount and throw my old faithful pair away. I still haven’t done it. Why? Do I think there’ll be a shortage of black tights for tall girls? Surely I don’t. Am I afraid that George is going to discontinue this particular hosiery collection? George would never do that. Am I toying with the idea that $5 to replace them will escape me? Definitely not. Even bigger than that, what does holding on to torn tights say about me? Do I have a problem letting things go? Do I hold on to things too long? And when will I finally make the big leap and toss my tights? Stay tuned. Garbage day is coming. I’ll be sure to share my story of tossing the tights so don’t run too far. Get it? Run? Ha!Ha!