Well, he’s not actually famous yet, but he will be. He told me so. He is eight years old, and someday he wants to play professional football for the team that has the coolest uniforms. He told me that, too.

If the whole football thing doesn’t work out, he wants to be a drummer. I’m counting on the football gig to pan out. Something tells me it pays better.

Last week, my future-football-star attended three days of football camp. Our esteemed local coaches worked with kids of all ages out in the blazing sun, encouraging them and teaching them important life skills like . . . how to tackle, and how to run really fast. They also taught them the importance of teamwork, and the benefits of persistence and hard work.
One afternoon, after I picked up my little man from camp, I overheard a conversation he had with his older sister. It went something like this:

Him: We ran a whole mile in football camp today.
Her: Really? Did you run a mile straight?
Him: No. We ran in a circle.

I know how he feels. Sometimes, it seems like I’m running in circles. Sometimes, no matter how hard I work, no matter how persistent I am and how much I sweat, it feels like I’m not actually getting anywhere. I just keep covering the same ground, over and over again.

Take the laundry, for example. Just yesterday, it was all clean, folded neatly, and put away. This morning, there’s a big pile of it waiting to be washed. And even though I made sure my kitchen sink was shining and empty before I went to bed last night, the dishes are already starting to pile up again.

Going in circles, I tell you.

It’s not just the housework, either. The whole circle thing comes a lot closer to home, too. It seems that no matter how hard I try to develop patience, kindness and gentleness in my life, I keep winding up right back at the same place. I lose my patience. I act selfishly.

But I’ll just bet my son’s football coaches would tell him that, even though he’s running in circles, he’s developing muscle and building stamina. In spite of the fact that he’s covering the same ground over and over, he’s getting stronger.

Come to think of it, I’ll bet my Coach would tell me the same thing. Even though I continue to mess up, as long as I keep doing what He tells me to, I’m getting stronger. I’m building stamina. My patience, though it’s not unending, does last longer than it once did. And though I can still be pretty selfish at times, I’m kinder and more thoughtful than I would be if I didn’t stay close to my Coach and follow His directions.

Not only that, but He does something pretty incredible, as long as I keep running and don’t give up. He actually straightens that road out. Before I know it, I will look up and realize I’ve covered a lot more ground than I realized.

It will be a pretty incredible feeling someday, crossing the finish line. If I keep my eye on the goal, I’ll see my Coach waiting on the other side. When He pats me on the back and says, “Well done,” I know I’ll be glad I kept running.

“And He will make your paths straight . . .” Proverbs 3:6.

Hope you are all well and blessed. Talk to you soon!

–Renae

Mama possesses a wealth of true southern wisdom. Whether I liked it or not, she cast her pearls of wisdom toward me over and over during my growing up years. She still casts them my way. Some of them stuck, and some of them . . . well, we’d better not talk about those. She’ll probably read this article. So, Mama, if you’re reading this, it all stuck. I promise.

My mama taught me:

1. Stand up straight and smile.
2. Look people in the eyes and call them by name.
3. Keep spare tubes of lipstick here and there, in case of emergency.

4. Address your elders as “ma’am” and “sir”.
5. Make sure your shoes match the bottom of your skirt.
6. Keep your fingernails clean and filed, even if you don’t have time to paint them.
7. Don’t wear sandals if your toenails aren’t painted. Bright red.

8. Never go to bed with your makeup on.
9. Wear the stilettos. You’ll feel like a million bucks, even though your feet hurt.
10. It is never appropriate for a lady to show her undergarments. Not even the straps.
11. Modest is way hottest. (Okay, she didn’t use those exact words, but she’s right.)
12. Ask people about their mamas.
13. When someone is mean to you, be extra nice to them.
14. Classy people talk about ideas, events, and things. Unclassy people talk about people.
15. Keep an extra clothes basket or two around for emergencies. When you have to clean up the house in a hurry, toss the clutter in the basket and stow it in the closet.
16. Even store-bought cookies look impressive on a silver tray.
17. Use your nice dishes. It’s better to use it and break it than to stick it in a closet and forget about it.
18. Make everyone feel like they are your favorite.
19. Develop a pretty laugh. (I never mastered this one.)
20. Get the expensive haircut and color. It’s worth every penny.
21. Never let your roots show. That’s as bad as letting your undergarments show.
22. If you can’t remember someone’s name, you can substitute “Honey,” or “Sugar”.
23. Smile a lot.
24. It’s okay to cry. Just be sure and wear waterproof mascara.

25. You can have anything you want, but you can’t have everything you want. You just have to decide what you want the most and go for it.
26. And, my personal favorite: You’re as good as the best and better than the rest.

As you can see, my mama taught me some pretty valuable lessons. But the one thing she taught me, that took root more than anything else, is that I was, am, and always will be deeply loved. I am beautiful and valuable, simply because I am a child of God.

Now, I’m trying to teach my children those same lessons. Well, my daughter, anyway. I’d really prefer my son not paint his toenails. As I walk the path my mother has set before me, I have some pretty fancy stilettos to fill.

Thanks, Mom.

“Her children arise and call her blessed,” Proverbs 31:28.

I am the black sheep of the family.

It’s not that I can’t cook. I just don’t like to cook. After all, I married a great cook. My mother cooks, my husband cooks . . . and I don’t want to take their joy from them. So I step back and let them create their sumptuous miracles. I’m content to stand in the shadows – usually sneaking a bite of something or other.

But my dear mother, bless her heart, has not given up on me. She still instructs me in all things kitchen, revealing to me the deep family secrets in hopes that her legacy will continue on. It seems so important to her that, of course, I try to at least pretend to listen to her ageless wisdom. That is why, tonight, when she instructed me in the proper way to prepare and cook asparagus, I did what any upright, God-fearing daughter would do.

I looked at her like she was nuts, wrinkled my nose, and said, “You’re kidding, right?”

She wasn’t kidding. Standing at the kitchen sink, she showed me how to wash the green stalks, then bend them in the middle until they broke in two. She told me to throw the ends in the trash. Again, I looked at her in dismay. The conversation went something like this:

Me: You’re kidding, right?
Her: No. Why would I kid about that?
Me: But you’re throwing nearly half of it in the trash.
Her: That’s the tough part. It’s not any good. You only want to keep the tender part – it tastes better.

I held my tongue. After all, we were talking about asparagus, for goodness’ sake. Nasty, mushy asparagus. “Tasting better” was a matter of opinion.

I obediently followed her directions, drizzling the tender pieces with a little olive oil, then sprinkling them with salt. I heated them in a skillet for three minutes. Then I turned them and let them cook for three more minutes. They were still crispy, and barely seared on the edges. My mother pronounced them “done.”

Then I wrinkled my nose, closed my eyes, and took a bite.

It was heavenly. I’m not kidding you. Never in my life would I have imagined asparagus could taste that good. All these years, I’ve been avoiding that particular vegetable. If only I had known how to cook it properly. If only I had known to bend it to the breaking point, and throw away the tough part. If only I had known that you’re not supposed to cook it ‘til it’s mush.

Hmmmm . . .

Sometimes, I feel like God is bending me too far. Sometimes, it feels like He’s trying to break me, and I don’t want to be broken. And sometimes, I’m certain He’s trying to turn me into mush. But now that I’ve tasted that heavenly asparagus, I wonder if God doesn’t have some delicious plans in mind for my life.

Friends, it’s not His intention to break us beyond repair. When He allows us to get to the breaking point, it’s simply because He wants to set us free from the things in our lives that are useless and tough. He wants only the sweet, crisp part to remain.

He won’t cook us until we are mush, either. He is the Master Chef, and He wants to create a masterpiece. He knows what He’s doing, and if we let Him, He will make something heavenly of our lives.

Before we know it, we will look around and realize that the tough parts only weighted us down and kept us from realizing our full potential. But we’ll only get to that point if we trust Him completely, and allow Him to take us to the breaking point.

“I have chosen . . . to set the oppressed free and break every yoke,” Isaiah 58:6.

But I know that I’m the smartest person in my family, and they know it too. We have taken multiple tests, and I am the only one who has passed any of them. I’ve tried to tutor them, so that next time they take these tests, they’ll do better, but I’m afraid it’s hopeless.

So I try not to flaunt it. I try to be humble but honestly, there is such a huge gap in my intelligence and theirs, sometimes it is difficult to hide.

I feel bad, you know? But the tests don’t lie. So, like it or not, they will have to live with the knowledge that, in our family at least, I am a creature of superior intelligence.

What tests, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. I know that I am the smartest person in my family because:

1. I am the only one who knows how to change the toilet paper roll.
2. I am the only one who knows that cabinet doors do more than open. They also close.
3. I am the only one who is able to put the lid back on the toothpaste.
4. I am the only one who knows where the cold medicine is located, even though we’ve kept it in the same place for the entire four years we’ve lived in this house.
5. I am the only one who knows how to properly place the silverware in the dishwasher.

I could go on, but you get the point.

But in spite of my superior intelligence, there are some things that are beyond even my ability to comprehend. For example, I don’t understand why I’ve been blessed with such a generous portion of brilliance, and my poor family hasn’t. I think it may have something to do with the process of childbirth.

I’ll never understand how God came up with the idea for an octopus.

I’ll never understand how He holds the stars in place, or how He lets the tide know just how far to come in, before it goes back. I’ll never understand how He came up with so many different colors of skin, and yet they all house the same basic stuff.

I’ll never understand the miracle of spring. Eggs hatching, babies being born and all that. The flowers are budding on my apple tree, and in a few months, there will be apples all over the thing. How does God do that? The dead, brown grass is giving way to new, green blades, and right outside my window, a mama bird has been working very hard on her nest. I’m hoping that before long, we’ll have some baby birds. A little, tiny, nest full of miracles. These things leave me amazed and perplexed.

But there is one thing that boggles my mind more than any of that.

Why does God love me so much? When I think of who He is, and compare that with who I am, it doesn’t make any sense.

Yet, He does love me. He loves me so much that He thinks of me all the time – sending me beautiful flowers in the spring and fiery colored leaves in autumn. He loves me so much that He’s given me a direct line to His private phone, and He is there, any time I call. He loves me so much that He gave His life for me.

I mean, I can understand why He loves babies. Babies are cute. Sweet. Innocent. But for the life of me, I can’t comprehend His love for me.

I guess some things simply aren’t meant to be understood. Some things are just meant to be accepted.

Things like God’s great love for us.

And the fact that I am the only one in my family who can change the toilet paper roll.

“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” 1 John 3:1.

I mean, God, I know how things were on that Friday when He died. Or at least I’ve heard.

The sun hid its face. All was black, right in the middle of the day.

The earth shook.

Creation mourned, that day that Your own Son became sin, for me.

All of creation cried in devastation, in grief.

I still feel overwhelmed, when I think of it.

But I wonder, God . . . on that third day . . . when the price for my sin had been paid in full . . .

When Jesus stood up, stretched, and walked out of that tomb . . .

The sun shined on that day! Did it shine even brighter than ever before?

Did the flowers bloom more proudly?

Did the trees stand straighter?

I wonder if the fish splashed more, jumped higher. . .

I wonder if the birds sang more beautifully than they had. . .

I’ll bet they did!

Was the grass greener, the sky bluer? Did the colors of nature stand out in more stunning brilliance?

Something tells me they did.

Somehow, in my spirit, I just know it!

I know that on this day, when I remember fully what You did for me, I feel more alive than ever before!

And I also wonder . . .

If I’ll ever be able to show You how grateful I am.

Thank You, Lord.

–r

But one morning last week, he wasn’t the only one who slept like a rock. The night before I had taken a Tylenol p.m., and it worked. When the alarm went off at 5 a.m., just like it does every school day, I turned it off. I’ll just lay back down for a few minutes, I told myself.

Next thing I knew, I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. 7:03 a.m.

Now, you can just imagine the thoughts that went through my head, and they weren’t the uplifting, positive kinds of thoughts I can repeat to you.

Ahem.

I flew through the house, hollering at my kids, telling them we needed to be IN THE CAR IN FIVE MINUTES. Okay, so we actually had ten minutes, but they didn’t need to know that. I threw on some clothes, hoping that my shoes matched, ran a comb through my hair and tried to fluff it up as best I could. I brushed my teeth, then grabbed my purse and my make-up kit. I raced through the kitchen, grabbed the entire box of Pop Tarts, and yelled, “IN THE CAR! NOW!”

Not one of my prouder moments, to say the least. But somehow, I got everyone to their destinations on time, shoes on their feet and Pop-Tarts in their bellies. But all that day, I still felt a little like a zombie. I was dead on my feet, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in that bed and sleep some more.

Did you know that God says we’re all a little like zombies? Spiritual zombies, anyway. According to the Bible, we were dead, but now . . . drum roll please.

Friends, God loves us. He has wonderful plans for each of us to live rich and abundant lives, in Him. The lives we live without Him are so far below God’s standard for living, that it isn’t really living at all. Without Him, we might as well be dead. But because God loves us so very much, He made a way for us to experience life. Real, abundant, peaceful, joyful life.

And it gets even better than that. God doesn’t wait for us to be good enough for this great gift. He didn’t say, “When you reach a certain level of goodness, I’ll give you abundant life.” Rather, while we were dead in our sins, God made us alive. And all we have to do to experience this life is believe He is who He says He is.

Whew! That is some good preaching.

But it gets even better still! The Bible says we are alive with Christ! Now, at some places in scripture, we are said to be alive in Christ. But Paul specifically uses the word with. We are alive with Christ, who will never leave us, never forsake us, never abandon us. We are alive with Christ, who will rejoice with us in the best of times and stay with us in the worst of times. In Christ, we have a friend above all friends. We have someone who loves us more than life itself, and who will never disappoint us.

And He invites you right now, this very minute, to wake up and start living.

“But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions – it is by grace you have been saved,” Ephesians 2:4 – 5.

I like to fish, too. But I’m not an expert. Me? Just put a little bacon or bread on the hook, and drop in the line. And I almost always catch a little perch or something. That suits me just fine. I have no desire to develop the knowledge it would take to reach my husband’s skill level. That would be too much work!

Once upon a time, however, many moons ago, when Mark and I were still newlyweds, I got lucky. We went fishing together. Mark scoped out the creek, found the perfect fishing spot, and got out his fancy rod and reel. He spent several minutes choosing from his massive supply of plastic worms and lures. He was determined to catch a bass. Not just any bass, either. He wanted a trophy bass.

I, on the other hand, grabbed a cane pole with a little treble hook, wadded up some white bread, and molded it to the end. We fished for a long time, me with my little bread hook, him with his fancy gear. And time and again, I felt a little yank on my hook, and pulled in perch after perch. Every time, Mark congratulated me. He wasn’t jealous. He didn’t care about perch. He wanted a bass.

I threw each of the perch back. They were too cute (little) to keep! And each time, within minutes, I caught another one. Come to think of it, I may have caught the same one over and over! Honestly, I was starting to get bored with the whole thing. I decided to challenge my husband.

“I’m clearly a better fisherman than you are,” I told him.

“Yes, Honey. You are,” he replied with that tone. You know the tone. The tone that said one thing out loud but an entirely different thing beneath the surface.

“I’ll bet I can catch a bass before you do.”

“Do you want me to set you up with a different rod and reel?’ he asked. Why did he have to be so nice? He didn’t think I could do it. Well, I’d show him.

“No. I’m doing just fine with my cane pole.”

Mark laughed, and the challenge was on. For me, anyway. He clearly wasn’t worried. I mean, come on. He could at least play along, pretend like he saw me as a threat.

Within moments I felt a little tug on my line. Another perch. The smallest one yet.

“Congratulations, Honey! You caught another perch!” he said in that tone.

I ignored him. That’s no perch, I thought to myself. That’s bait. I left the perch on the hook. I’d show him.

I walked down the bank a little ways, found a dark spot with a limb sticking out (didn’t Mark say something about bass liking structure and shade?) and dropped my perch into the water.

Within moments, I felt another tug on my line. Only this wasn’t a perch tug. No-siree. This was something altogether different!

I yanked my pole back, and attached to the end of it was a beautiful, five-pound bass!

Now, I know you think I’m making this up, but I’m not. It really happened, just that way.  I called for Mark, and he came running. I didn’t know what to do with that giant fish flopping around on the end of my line. I only knew how to handle perch.

I watched my fisherman-husband remove the trophy from the line. “You did it. I don’t believe it. You really did it,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it either. I guess I showed him. I gave him a big ol’ dose of humility. I was clearly the better fisherman.

Then again, maybe not. Since that time, my expert husband has caught many, many bass, and he’s got a wall full of trophies to prove it. I’ve only caught maybe one or two more, usually when my dear husband baited the hook and cast the line for me. So, maybe I was the one who needed to be humbled.

Today, my family is going fishing, and the challenge is on. As we speak, Mark is packing his fancy gear into the car, and I’ve got my loaf of bread. And I’ll bet you a quarter I’ll catch more perch than he catches bass.

“God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble,” James 4:6.

Now, I wish I had someone to blame for this freakish (albeit cute) conundrum, but I don’t. I am the reason Annie has a pink tail. Believe it or not, I actually paid someone to do it. I think the cold weather must have sent my common sense into hibernation.

It was Saturday morning, and I was dropping off both dogs at the groomer. My daughter – who made excellent grades last semester – was deserving of a reward. And a couple of her classmates were coming for a sleepover, to work on a school project. I wanted to do something to make all the girls smile.

“Make Annie look extra girlie,” I told the groomer.

“How girlie?” she asked. I must have given her a confused look, because she said, “I can dye her tail pink if you’d like.”

No way! I thought. That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. Dying a dog’s tail pink? There’s no way I’m going to become one of those strange people who does weird things to their dogs. Next thing you know, I’ll be dressing her in a pink tutu and sunglasses. But even as my thoughts screamed in rebellion, I could hear my mouth saying, “Yes! That would be precious!”

Next thing you know, Annie was being hauled into the back room of the puppy salon for an extreme makeover. Poor thing never knew what hit her.

(Picture taken by my daughter.)

She was a big hit at the sleepover. The five bucks I spent on that little project was more than worth the giggles and smiles that tail invoked. But still, I can’t help but feel a little silly. What will the neighbors think? Will she be shunned by the neighborhood dogs? I’ve decided that Annie can only be let out at night, until her dye-job fades in about four weeks.

But as I look at Annie, tongue hanging out, pink tail wagging, I realize once more that she totally trusts me. She doesn’t care that her tail is pink, or that I am responsible. She didn’t fight or growl at me or ignore me. She just loves me, she knows I will take care of her, and she’s good with whatever I want to do with her. She’s unaware of the greater purpose she is serving – to bring joy to her family. She simply trusts.

I suppose that’s how I should be with my Master. I need to trust Him, knowing that He will never hurt me. Sure, He may put me through some things that I don’t understand, but I can trust Him completely. After all, He has a greater purpose for my life than I could ever imagine. When I get anxious or angry and rebel against the things He brings my way, I make it harder for that purpose to be fulfilled, and I bring a whole lot of stress and misery on myself and the people around me.

The love God has for me far surpasses any emotional attachment I have to my pink-tailed puppy. Yet, I want my love for Him to mirror the total trust and devotion she feels toward me. I want to be able to bound into His arms without a thought for anything except that He is my Master, He loves me, and I know He will always take care of me.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight,” Proverbs 3:5 – 6.

I’ve tried the whole New-Year’s-Resolution-starve-and-exercise-yourself-half-to-death-in-January thing. It doesn’t ever work for me. I always wind up, well, starved and exhausted. In the end, I break down and eat a whole pan of brownies. So why not cut out the middle man? I’ll just make the brownies right up front, and we’ll call it even.

Of course, there are some things we can do to increase our chances of meeting our goals. It’s been found that men succeed more often when they set small, specific, achievable goals. For example, “I’m going to lose two pounds this month” is a better goal than “I’m going to lose this big belly by the end of the year.” And women are more likely to succeed when they share their goals with a friend, and ask for help.

But even then, only twelve percent of us succeed. Thus, my pan of brownies. Then again, I suppose I could strategically form my list of goals, hoping I’ll fail. After all, if most of us fail to keep our resolutions, why not make the list with failure in mind? Yes, that’s what I’m going to do.

In 2010, I plan to:

1. Gain weight.

2. Exercise less.

3. Spend less time with family and friends.

4. Go deeper into debt.

5. Stress out over everything.

6. Relax less.

7. Become less organized.

If I fail to meet these goals, then by the end of the year I’ll be skinnier, healthier, happier, and more relaxed. The way I see it, I statistically have a much greater chance of failure than of success. Here’s hoping I fail.

Even though I may fail at my own plans, I know that God has great plans for my life. And more than anything, He wants to see me succeed. His plans for me are often different from my own agenda. But even though His goals for me might be different than the goals I have for myself, I know His goals are better. You see, God doesn’t really care if I have a lot of money. He wants me to be wealthy in spirit. He doesn’t really care what I look like in a swimsuit, but He does care what my soul looks like under pressure.

Yes, His plans are always good ones. He wants me to have peace. Integrity. A kind and loving spirit. He is my biggest cheerleader, and He’s already given me everything I need to succeed. He’s made the plan clear to me in His Word, and as long as I stick with that plan, I’ll achieve every good thing that He wants for my life. Success is guaranteed.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,” Jeremiah 29:11.