Singles, Know That You Are Enough

Life Gets Better


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?

If we don’t know that we…

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I’ve Got a Run in My Tights

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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.

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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!

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Will Someone Please Burn My Chicken? Pt. 2 Pulling Back the Skin

Yesterday I wrote a blog post titled “Will Someone Please Burn My Chicken” ( that talked of my stagnation and hesitation to do some things that I would like to do or use to love doing because I was…well, chicken.


A dear friend read the blog post and sent me a text message asking when I became so timid. The question took me aback for a moment because I didn’t have an answer. I truly didn’t know. I’d never taken the time to find out. So I replied, “that’s a good question”, and simply left it at that. I wanted to know when, and why I’d become timid so I dug deep within, searching myself for those hidden little tidbits that no one knows of except God and me. I asked. He answered.


What I came to know around 7:03pm (CST) on Tuesday, February 11 was that I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me and didn’t know it was time to toss the inhaler, breathe and simply be. Many of the things I listed as victims of my chickenitis were things I’d already done, or am fully capable of doing. Broadcasting, writing a book, teaching others about media, even dancing are all things I know I can do, but the reason I hadn’t yet, or again tried to do it was the key behind my chickenitis. So before I submit my chicken for burning, I’ve decided to pull back to skin.

As I take a deep breath, and type at the same time, here it is…I was afraid of failing because I’d already done it. Whew! Woosah! Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!

There’s something about failing in something new that doesn’t seem to sting as badly as failing in something you’ve already done. When you’ve already done something, and if you were half-way decent at it there’s a level of expectation that makes failure an even more real and paralyzing threat. That is not of God!


I thought, as I drove home from an amazing retirement party of my former CEO who lead the YWCA for 34 years, that my problem isn’t my timidity of the future alone, it’s more rooted in not living up to the past. Now, I’m a Christian, and I totally thought I believed the Bible regarding my future being better than my past, God’s plans for me to give me hope and a future, and all of that good stuff. So why was I convinced that the way I’d done it before was as good as it was going to get. In pulling back the skin of my chickenitis, I realized that my divorce and direction of my career had a great deal to do with it.

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During my nine-year marriage and the nine years I worked in Media/Marketing/PR I was able to do a lot of things that only God knew I was capable of doing, particularly in the areas of events, speaking, writing and teaching. I love planning and hosting amazing, life-changing events. I love exposing others and myself to new things. Even more I love being an avenue to bring different people together as I’m changed and God using me to help change them for the better. When my marriage ended, not only did my husband leave, but I was left without a church family, a network for resources that I’d cultivated for years, a physical building with which to operate, a covering and a job.  To make the chickenitis more clucky I really think that my biggest issue wasn’t the divorce, but that at God’s urging I’d left my job/career in 2003 that I loved so much and really was able to do a lot of the things on my “list”, and now was left starting over, and that was scary. Thank God for Jesus, and His ability to heal me of the more acknowledged parts of divorce that can sometimes take people out. But subconsciously I must have thought that because I wasn’t married, because I didn’t have money, because I didn’t have a high-profile job or influence that I wouldn’t able to plan amazing women’s retreats, or do fabulous media or teach preachers how to speak, or publish for pay, or even learn to dance because. I must have believed that if I did try them and they did not turn out better than when I did them before it would be yet another failure tied to two other (perceived) failures…divorce and giving up my career. I didn’t realize until yesterday that those realities (and the “madeupness” I came up with in my own mind) punched me in my gizzards (as in chicken gizzards) and I hadn’t tended to it to get back up and fly.

Well, I’m ready for my chicken to fry because it’s finally time to fly…



Will Someone Please Burn My Chicken?


I don’t know how else to say it so I’ll just say it. I can be a chicken from time-to-time. I don’t like it. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am and I don’t want to be.

There’s so much I would do if I didn’t have chickenitis.


  • I’d try my hand at broadcasting again, a television or radio talk show for sure.
  • I’d open up a pie business selling sweet and savory hand-held pies.
  • I’d host fabulous events for women that helped them spirit, soul, and body and provided free stuff Oprah-style.
  • I’d publish the children’s book I wrote several years ago.
  • I’d run for political office.
  • I’d charge a fee to teach artists, athletes and preachers how to speak correctly and in a more relatable/marketable way, especially when speaking to the media.  
  • I’d travel across country starting in Mobile and ending in LA.
  • I’d learn to dance (line dance, stepping, ballroom, tap, you name it. I’d be a dancing machine!).
  • I’d be a wedding DJ.
  • I’d ride the roller coaster at Six Flags that scared the living day lights out of me when I was six years old.
  • I would learn to swim.
  • I’d get another degree in Counseling or Human Resources.
  • I’d write a book about my life, especially the last fifteen years.
  • I would live on a yacht for a month.
  • And the list goes on.


Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against chickens, just being chicken. I realized through research that chickens can only fly so high. I don’t want my chickenitis to be the cause of me never really making it off of the ground. If I have wings I won’t them to work! So there you have it. I don’t want my chicken. It serves me no purpose, and actually robs me of my purpose. So I figuratively ask, will someone please burn my chicken?



I Believe You Are Beautiful!

Life Gets Better


YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL! There I said it. If you’ve ever wondered if anyone notices you take note that I do. I believe you are beautiful!


Your beauty has nothing to do with your large thighs or tiny legs, your protruding teeth or lack thereof, your wild and curly or straight and thinning hair, your widening hips or big lips, your height or width, your skin tone or skin disorders, who loves you and who doesn’t, what you have and what you want, your real weight or driver’s license weight, your age, race, or how much make-up you put on your face.


Your beauty has all to do with what’s on the inside of you. It’s the struggles you have overcome. It’s the faith you hold on to. It’s the wisdom you have gained from what almost wore you out. It’s the stories you’ve lived through that people wouldn’t even believe. It’s how you sacrifice sleep for the…

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