My Mugshot could be with Creflo's....

Yesterday, I was trying to get a sump pump started in the pool.

It was a lame attempt to suck out the green pond scum and dead frog corpses so I could refill it with sparkling clean water before the appraiser gets here.

I told them at the hardware store that I needed very specific instructions on how to operate it, because I'm not very good at fixing things or messing with motors.

But I tried.
And I tried and I tried.
Pulling the start chord, pushing buttons and flipping the choke back and forth, got me thinking.


About choking.


And Creflo Dollar.


It got me thinking about parenting and discipline, and how I have so totally choked in the role of motherhood.


I don't know what happened between Creflo and his daughter.
I don't know if he did it or not.
Sometimes, as parents, we blow it.
Sometimes, our children blow it.


It does not change that I admire his preaching and teaching skills.
I wasn't there. I don't really care. 
I've done it myself.

Literally. I have choked one of my children.
Probably on more than one occasion. 
Horrifying isn't it?

There is a lot of discussion in the media right now about discipline and what is right and what is wrong.
To spank or not spank?
Is it okay to slap a child in the face?
Where is that line between discipline and child abuse?

It hurts my heart that I have crossed that line in a sudden outburst of seemingly uncontrollable rage.
I am absolutely guilty of disciplining out of anger and not out of love.
Many times.


I once slapped my daughter in the face, hard enough to leave a hand print that I remorsefully and shamefully tried to comb out the next morning before school.
I'm not even sure when I lost control of the situation, but I can tell you that to this day, it makes me sick to my stomach that I did not have better conflict resolution skills.


As a single parent, many days, you just try to survive.
I'm not making excuses, I'm just saying I didn't start out that way.
I wanted to be a good mom.


When I was about 23, and my girls were 2 and 3, I took them to McDonalds for a treat.
We were in the play land area and my oldest, and always most challenging daughter was throwing plastic balls at her little sister.
I told her to stop.
She did not.
"If you throw one more ball at your sister's head, we are leaving," I threatened.

She threw two.

Loud crying followed and I quickly threw our trash in the bin, stacked the trays and gathered the diaper bag.
"Let's go."
"I don't want to go."
"I told you what was going to happen, you didn't listen, and now we're leaving."

With no nonsense parental authority, I grabbed both girls and headed out the door but was stopped by an older woman who said, "You're a really good mom! I wish my daughter had that kind of follow through with my grandchildren."

I will never forget how proud I was, having been publicly confirmed that I was on the right track to parental perfection.

Sadly, stress, time, and life's circumstances, derailed me at some point and I lost the ability or perhaps just the energy to follow through and be a parent who was in control of the situation and could discipline in love.

I wasn't always blowing up at my kids, but sometimes, the pressure would build and build and build, and then came the spark of circumstance, igniting an explosion of emotion.

That emotion was anger.


It wasn't until my children were practically grown and one was in a Teen Challenge program that I finally enrolled myself in a Love and Logic parenting class. 


I wanted to be a better parent, I just didn't know how to weave consistent and effective discipline into two unwilling and uncooperative teenage girls who had nothing but contempt and disrespect to sow my way.


Also, I had a much younger daughter who sat, oh so, obediently on the sidelines and watched as we unraveled on a fairly regular basis during those tumultuous teen years...plus a few more.


Love and Logic is probably one of the best skill building, conflict resolution classes for parents who want to discipline better....without all of the fighting and power struggles.
It really works! If you stick with it.


Sometimes I still just slam cabinet doors and nag relentlessly while yelling from one room to another, "I am not going to tell you again to empty the dishwasher!"


Am I the only one who does this?

Not a day goes by that I haven't wished I could have child rearing, discipline do-overs.
I have often wanted so badly to go back in time with some of the knowledge and skills I've acquired in my own years of growing up.


I guess God has decided to answer my prayer. 
Sort of anyway.
I've recently found out that I am going to have a grandchild of my own.
I'm going to be a grandma.
My daughter, a mother.


I pray that my grandchild will be raised in a home where they love God.
I pray that my grandchild will be raised in an atmosphere of abundant love.
And only loving discipline.

"No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening-it's painful! But afterward, there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained this way." Hebrews 12:11

For the last several months, I've apparently been grounded by God.
Sometimes I feel like I've been slapped, choked AND kicked.

But I truly believe that a loving father disciplines his children.
He is the best father I've ever known.
And I am anxiously hoping for that peaceful harvest of right living, in spite of having done it all wrong.

Happy Fun Girl: Skip the Panties...Put on your Big Girl Shoes!

Happy Fun Girl: Skip the Panties...Put on your Big Girl Shoes!: Put on your big girl panties and just deal with it! As little girls, we long to be 'big girls'. We love to play dress up, create with...

Granny Panties & the Armor of God

I'll admit it.

I'm no Fashionista.

When I was showing my house last week, one of the sweet little girls looked in my closet and said, "You have a lot of clothes!"

I really don't.

Sure, I probably have more clothes than those gracing the cover of National Geographic, but seriously, nothing fits anymore.

In my wardrobe, or my life.

I suppose it's time to go through them again, and pull out what I might be able to make work and give the rest away.

Where is the emperor when you need new clothes anyway?

I'm always telling my girls, "You have to dress for the role you want, not the one you have."

To them, I guess it would appear that I want a job that allows me to lay in a hammock holding a fruity drink in one hand and my much outdated laptop in the other. 

Or one that allows me to wear boxer shorts all day.

I'll take either.

Rummaging through my closet after they left, I realized that it's probably time to ditch the "summer skank wear" from two summers ago.

Apparently, there's some other skank in the picture now.

(tacky comment added just for fun...I'm fine with it.)

It's part of wearing the Armor.

I have put on my shoes of peace.

And, I'm supposed to be wrapped with the, "belt of truth," so honestly, they weren't very comfortable anyway. 

I only have one belt.
It's brown.

One of my favorite daughters jacked my favorite black belt.

(insert hardcore karate kick here)

Okay, so I actually have two belts if you count the "belt of truth" as an actual accessory.

Since I'm wearing that one right now, I will also let a few skeletons out of my overstuffed closet.

According to writing guru, Jeff Goins, we are supposed to be "dangerous" with our writing.

Good God. He has no idea how dangerous I can get.

Especially if I'm wielding the sword of the spirit.

Or just playing Fruit Ninja while killing time on my phone.

Anyway, a while ago I was invited to dinner at a friend's house. 

This 'friend' and I have amazing chemistry together, and a little history, so as I was getting ready to go all Top Gun, "right into the danger zone," (or is it ride?) 
I was also prayerfully preparing.

I rummaged through my underwear drawer and pulled out the ugliest pair of panties that I could find.

The Granny Panties. 

Girls, now I know that you know, that we all know what I'm talking about here.

You've showered and shaved. (To be extra safe, I didn't even do that!)

Cause we know the drill...

The alarm might be going off in your head like this.....

SEX!!! SEX!! SEX!! SEX!!

Now, depending on how much and what you're shaving, if you ignore the alarm and continue on, open the drawer, and grab anything even remotely hot or sexy, you have already lost the battle in your brain....and the bedroom.

Where the girl's mind goes, the lingerie follows.

It's no secret Victoria, push up bras and lace are ya gonna leave you, just several short hours away from the drive of shame.

"I just like to feel pretty for me."
"Bull----"

Trust me.
No matter how good the coffee and breakfast in bed is going to taste in the morning, you will still have a long drive home with Jesus who will sit beside you and wonder, "Really? So, that's how you let me take the wheel?"

And as you try to drown out the guilt of caving in, you might then turn on the radio and get the Dirty DJ Playlist that goes something like this....(cause it's all hypothetical, of course)

Static...Push...Scan.....

Feel Like Making Love......What? scan...

Your Body is a Wonderland....Seriously? scan...

Underneath Your Clothes...OMgosh!! 

Shoot me now.

Then mumbling, "Oh sweet Jesus", and driving 70 mph heading north, northwest, you will be back in K-LOVE land and thankfully Casting Crowns is singing, "Jesus can you show me just how far...the east is from the west?"

And you will repent.

The bottom line of this blog: WEAR THE GRANNY PANTIES!

On that particular trip, I was able to save myself from the previously mentioned dilemma by doing just that.

But not without getting busted by the fashion police first. 

Does this qualify as dangerous yet?

In a fast and heated, moment of making out that got away from me, there was a wandering hand that slipped briefly under the hem of my skirt, for just a second. Or two.

"Are you wearing Granny Panties?"

"Yes, yes I am!" readjusting my waistband.

"Granny Panties and the armor of God, baby....and now, I really, really, gotta go."

He just laughed. Friends can do that.

So I drove home, without a wedgie, and instead of wanting to slink down lower than the floor boards of my Dodge pick up truck, I was thanking God and high fiving myself all over the place for my genius panty plan...and the power of prayer!

That was a much, much nicer drive.

And so, for this very reason, I've decided to start a petition on Change.org and hope you'll sign it.

"Tell the Bible to add Granny Panties to the Armor of God in Ephesians." 

:D 

"Stand your ground, putting on the belt of truth and the body armor of God's righteousness. For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the good news so that you you will be fully prepared. In addition to all of these, hold up the shield of faith to stop the fiery arrows of the devil."

Or even just good friends who woo you with delicious steaks on the grill and corn on the cob.

Happy Fun Girl: SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!...NO, WAIT...

Happy Fun Girl: SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!...NO, WAIT...: The unexpected knock came pounding on the door. "Someone's here, someone's here!" young voices squealed. "I'll get it. You girls just eat ...

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!...NO, WAIT...

The unexpected knock came pounding on the door.
"Someone's here, someone's here!" young voices squealed.
"I'll get it. You girls just eat your dinner."
Looking down as I went to answer it, I realized I had flour mess all over my clothes.
Ugh!

"Hi. Can I help you?" moving myself into people meeting personality.
"We're from the church of (so and so) and we'd like to share the love of Christ with you today."
A shrill, chill went down my spine...not in a good way.
Not many things got under my skin like door to door bible thumpers.

"Are you serious? You're knocking on my door at dinner time, to tell me about Jesus?"
"If you'd invite us in, we want to tell you about the love of Jesus Christ and the gift of salvation."
Jesus Christ.
"We're eating dinner, no thank you."
"Man does not live by bread alone...." she smiled so smugly sweet.
I guess that was supposed to be their little joke for interrupting people at dinner.

Shooting back, "Okay, I was really trying not to be rude, but, we're sacrificing a goat in the living room right now!" and then I slammed the door.

(I know. Paul killed Christians. Cut me some slack.)

"Who was that mommy?"
"Jesus Freaks."
"Who's Jesus?"

I felt a piercing in my heart, and saw a quick flash of myself as a little girl, singing at vacation bible school.
"Jesus loves me this I know, for the bible tells me so..."


I remember vividly, playing with a paper doll Jesus, glued to the back of a popsicle stick. I'd cut a line at the bottom of the page, so he could walk with his other popsicle friends along side the road.
They taught us He was our friend and to let Him into our hearts.
At 5, I did just that.
And then, life happened.

Religious things became like nails on a chalkboard to me. I actually grew up Catholic, did the whole catechism thing and did not like attending church.

I always felt guilty.
And never understood one bit of the chanting.
Honestly, I found it a little creepy.



In the name of the father son and holy spiiiiiiiriiit.


I thought God was mean, always waiting anxiously to punish me for some wrong doing.
I did however, like the faint smell of the giant incense balls, wafting down the aisle.
Oh. And the whole 'peace be with you and also with you', meet and greet.
I loved that!
Okay and maybe dipping my finger in the holy water fountain on the way out.
That was fun!

But the most we heard about Jesus at our house was, "Jesus Christ. Can't you people pick up after yourselves?"

Who knew that one day I would eventually come to the end of myself, and become a bible thumping, Jesus Freak, although, I'm still not interrupting people in the middle of family meal time.
I love Him.
More importantly, He loves me.
He loves me!
As a single woman, who's been caught in the whole petal plucking "He loves me, he loves me not..." game,
Jesus loves me!

It says in John 15:16, "You didn't choose me. I chose you!"
Chosen?
Don't we all want to be picked?
That's an amazing word. It means, "to be selected or elected for a special purpose."

The story of my conversion is way too long for this post and although I was not there when they hung a sinless man to die on the cross for my sins, by faith I believe it.

Without God in my life, I would never have had the strength to just keep going.
When push comes to shove, his love, and that incredible peace that passes all understanding, comes over me and I know He is real.
And that I can trust him like no man on the face of this earth.

He chose me for a special purpose.
Just like he chose you.
You have a choice.
Can you hear God knocking on your heart?
Answer the door, just as you are, mess and all.....and invite Him in.



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Happy Fun Girl: Dirty Girl Meets Mr. Clean

Happy Fun Girl: Dirty Girl Meets Mr. Clean: I woke this morning after some very bizarre dreaming, and looked at the clock to see how much time I had before I had to spring into church ...

Dirty Girl Meets Mr. Clean

I woke this morning after some very bizarre dreaming, and looked at the clock to see how much time I had before I had to spring into church mode.
10:54.
Holy Crap!
It's 10:54?
Wow.
In Mayberry, church starts at 10:30.
I decided to let it go.
It's a day of rest after all.
I'll have to get the CD version of the sermon.

Jumping on my YouVersion bible app, I find in Proverbs 30, "I am weary, God. I am weary and worn out. I am too stupid to be human...."

Leave it to Proverbs. That's hilarious. In an edifying way of course. :)

Besides, I have a good excuse. I'm plentiful with the excuses.
On a roll with my writing, I decided last night to celebrate in pure, hedonistic fashion and found myself at 1:00 in the morning taking a bath while eating a Drumstick, thoroughly engrossed in my new guide to life book.
I blame Michael Hyatt.
Or maybe I should blame Andy Andrews, who introduced me to Michael's material.
Isn't that the general gist of "The Boy Who Changed the World?"
It just goes back to the last guy. Ha!

Guilt ridden for missing church, I decide to do something productive and tackle the hideous return air vent that causes me unbelievable amounts of shame on a daily basis.
Much more so even than the inability to clean up my own act.

I had to show the house yesterday and when pointing out the drywall that needs repair, you can't help but notice the absolutely disgusting filth that has gotten into the little grooves.
It's gross.

I've tried to clean it before, but it's like seriously caked on, grime.
Not just dust.
That's what happens when you ignore something dirty.
You don't notice that it keeps collecting more and more grossness.

If I'd have done the daily dusting, or even weekly maintenance, it would wipe right off.
I'm weakly.
Just like my heart and soul issues...the longer I leave it, the harder I have to scrub to get it clean again.
But I'll admit it.
I'm not a very good housekeeper.
It's tidy on most days, but not white glove inspector (or my mother) clean.

It would be a lot easier if I could actually take the whole grate off and then wash it.
I don't know how to get it off though. I've looked at it before.

....and I lack common sense. I have not mastered human wisdom," it goes on to say. Proverbs just tell it like it is.
That's right up there with Forrest Gump and the whole, "stupid is as stupid does," line.

BUT..then I remember,
"If a man lacks wisdom, let him ask the Lord and he'll give it abundantly without finding fault," so I say it in my head while trying not to fall off the chair.
Voila!!
Oh. Wow. That was so much easier than I thought.
Amazing what a little word backing can accomplish.

Easy Off?
I drag it outside with a wash rag, old toothbrush and a bottle of Mr. Clean with Bleach.
Spraying it all down with the super cleaner, I notice that it's coming off quite well.
After a thorough water spigot hose down, it looks so much better.

But then I look closer and hold it up to the light, and I can see that there is still grime on many parts of the louvers and definitely stuff still stuck in the corners.
Ugh. I could just call it good enough, but it's still really quite noticeable when you compare it to the bright white, clean parts.

So I keep scrubbing and washing.
And hear my ex-husband taunting me in my head. "It's not perfect."
Shut up. ;)

I'm pretty sure I'm going to need another Drumstick when I'm done.

As for myself, sure, I can get a holy spirit spray down that looks a lot better than how I started out.
But what I really want is for God to be my housekeeper and continue to come on a daily basis.
Not just once a week, or once a month.

He should probably consider changing the nozzle to stream though.
I need him to be the mighty Mr. Clean that I know he is.
'Cause I am a dirty girl.
So I can be squeaky clean...ish ;)

"Create in me a clean heart, Oh God.....renew a steadfast spirit in me."


The dirt on my air vent looks gray and brown.
In my heart it looks like doubt and disbelief.
Fear and unfaithfulness.

And I am so weary of scrubbing.
Clean every corner my of soul Lord.....especially the really grimey, caked on parts.

Wipe it with a Magic Eraser.
So I really can sparkle in the son.
Deep clean and sanitize.

Okay.
And deodorize.
Bring the deodorizer too.
I'd like to smell fresh and pretty.