MY BLOG POSTS

I got to be fitted for a costume today.

It was really fun.

The costume is beautiful – it looks like something Mary Poppins would wear. (insert “Supercalifragilistic” :)) My dress is blue and shiny with puffy sleeves and a big black belt. And, of course, the outfit is not complete without matching hat and gloves!

I will be wearing this delightful dress in our church’s Christmas play. I love getting to be part of a play that glorifies God and points people to Him. While dressed like Mary Poppins. I’m pretty sure this is exactly how we’ll dress in heaven.

So if you’re in the Tampa area and looking for some great CHRISTmas entertainment, come on down and see, “Yes, Virginia…A Christmas Letter” at Idlewild Baptist Church. (check the right side of this website for ticket info)

I’ll be the one wearing a beautiful blue dress with puffy sleeves, a big black belt and a HUGE smile!

Sometimes I forget that. It’s easy to remember that God is love. That He is good. That He is with us.

But God’s holiness? That’s different. A little scary. 

I am in a Bible study where we are going through the prophetical books of the Old Testament. It’s AMAZING. One theme that keeps repeating in every one of these books is the idea that God is holy. He is God. He is not to be forgotten or manipulated. He is not something we check off our daily “to do” list. He doesn’t want bits and peices of us. He wants everything we have.

He does not allow people to neglect Him forever – the prophets make that clear. But He is working all the time to draw us to Himself. That is also clear, all throughout scripture.

God is love. He is good. He is with us. And He is holy. What an amazing, exciting thought!

I have a crooked past.

I’m not speaking metaphorically, either.

When I was 12, I went to the doctor because my back hurt. Here’s what we found out:

(That, btw, is a Polaroid picture, for those of you who have never seen one — it’s kind of like a cross between a digital camera and an Etch-a-Sketch)

My spine was 45 degrees off center at the top and 55 degrees off center at the bottom.

Ouch.

So, a week after my thirteenth birthday, I was in the Orlando Regional Medical center having my back sliced open, my spine fused together, and new-fangled steel rods drilled into my vertebrae.

It hurt. But just for a few weeks. I got over it and, since then, I’ve hardly had any back problems at all.

No, magnets do not stick (my friends tried that when I returned to school). And no, I do not set off the alarms when I go through airport security.

But I do have exceptionally good posture. Even relaxed, I am straight as a board. My mom never had to get on to me about that. No way. Not to mention, when I get older, I won’t shrink, nor will I have a hunch back. So na-na-na-na-na on all you people whose backs bend.

Here’s a shot of me, standing up perfectly straight without even having to think about it:

Yea, I know you’re jealous.

So what about you? Any other crooked pasts out there?

She has been my friend, my confidante, my connection to the outside world.  She has traveled the country with me, lived in Spain with me, settled back to Tampa with me.  She has helped me write my first published article, send out proposals to agents and publishers. She sits patiently as I type, delete, and retype books and blogs and e-mails.  She has watched as my kids’ little fingers went from playing Reader Rabbit to Barbie.com to Webkinz and to Facebook.

I have looked up symptoms for broken arms on her. I have checked out new cars and new homes. I have kept in touch with friends from all over the world. Her screen has housed Skype conversations with loved ones. The first glimpse I got of my neice, born in Indonesia, was on this computer.

Lately, though, she’s slowing down. I see the hourglass icon more than I see the arrow. She gets angry faster, getting all hot under the keyboard for no reason – just because I spend a little too much time looking up videos on Youtube or opening pictures of my friends on Facebook.

She has no battery left, so I can’t take her anywhere. The keys are sticky from the layers of snacks and dust that have made their way underneath them. The “a” doesn’t always work, and the top has a chunk of plastic missing from an unknown offender. She’s bigger than any of my friends’ computers. My students laugh when I pull her out of her huge bag, knowing she has been in high school longer than they have.

I know it’s time to move on. Let her go. I’d get my work done much faster. My back would hurt less (she’s a heavy girl). I’d have more room on my desk for my notes and my cup of coffee. But saying goodbye is hard for me. I may close her case. I may pull her plug. I may donate her to a museum that displays relics from the past. But a tiny piece of her will always be right in the center of my he rt.