Introducing...The Technicolor Dreamer's Scarf!

                                                                                         (photo courtesy of Coldwater Creek)

I'm a dreamer.
Ask my mom.
I always have been.

Maybe that's why I so totally love Joseph.
Bible Joseph.
But not the father of Jesus.

Maybe because I'm so drawn to his amazing story, is the reason I am so ridiculously in love with this scarf that I call, "The Joseph & His Technicolor Dream Scarf," or, "The Scarf of Many Colors."

Sweet dreams are made of these! Who am I to disagree?

Watch a free instructional video on 8 ways to tie a scarf!!.

And for the sake of Christmas cheer and keeping every one safe and sound, please buy one for everybody and not just the favored one of the family.

Jealous fits over God given dreams, or fabulous cozy scarves, is not a pretty picture during the holidays.

I get Joseph.
Although, where he tends to run from trouble, I run straight into it.

Seriously, right about now I could use a good dream interpretation hook up.
And by good I mean, better than the baker got.

I've had some pretty crazy dreams over the years.

One of the strangest and most frightening was back in first grade, when I dreamt that I walked out to our family car, opened the door, climbed into the driver's seat and sat on my mother's head, squishing it into a million bloody pieces all over the place, flat as a pancake.

And just as the family dog started to lick it up, I woke up.
Crying my eyes out!
I wonder if she remembers me telling her about that?
Let me just tell you, at 6....that was scary stuff!

I also used to have, "Teeth Crumbling in my My Mouth" dreams, where all my teeth would just start disintegrating one by one while I was trying to have a conversation with someone.

Frequently I would also have, "I Just Drove Off the Unfinished Portion of the Freeway into MidAir Dream."
(You can actually see what the Hollywood version of this might look like in, "This Means War." )

Don't get me started.
It all feels a little nightmarish, really.

One of the most vivid and unbelievable dreams I've ever had happened over a decade ago, about a year after my divorce.

Tossing and turning in the middle of the night, I dreamt I saw my ex-husband sitting on what looked like a park bench or something, playing guitar.

It was a beautiful song with a haunting melody and one that I'd never heard him play before.
After all, he was a drummer.
Who usually just, well....beats it.

The scene, I mean.

Anyway, I woke up with this very distinct, incredible melody stuck in my head.
Finally, near the end of the next day, still unable to shake it, I called him up.
At the time, he was embracing his "Philadephia Freedom" in Pennsylvania after leaving the marriage the year before.

"Hey, I had the weirdest dream last night about you sitting on a park bench and playing a new song. Have you written a new song lately?"

"Actually," he said, "I was working on one last night...on a bench....at the bus station. Huh. I guess I better grab my guitar. Hold on a minute."

I could hear him set the phone down as he went to retrieve the guitar.
The Most Loved/Most Hated guitar in the world.
This was the baby blue strat that made it out of the pawn shop when my wedding ring didn't.

I hated that guitar.
I'd rather have just beat him over the head with it.
Who walks out on their very own nine month old daughter?

And their crazy, "Why Can't You Just Get a Job, I'll Run You Over with My Car, Slash Your Tires and Throw Lamps at Your Head.....beloved wife?"

Whatever.
I'm sure now, 14 years later, it was probably for the best.

He came back to the phone, "Are you ready?"
"Sure."

There were just a few moments of silence and with the strum of the first chord, I started to cry.
It was indeed the exact same melody I'd had in my head since waking up the night before.
Chills went through my body.
I dropped the phone and dropped to the side of the bed.
What else was there to say?

How is it that possible that umpteen states away, I dreamt of the exact song he'd written?
I can't even begin to try and interpret the purpose of that.
Hello, Joseph?
The mysterious melody has now faded from my mind, pretty much the same way many of the imagined promises have over the years.

But then randomly, Aerosmith pops into my head.
"Dream On..Dream on...Dream until your dreams come true...."

Some dreams I've had in my heart since I was just five years old.
Dreams that I don't share with anyone.
Dreams that sound crazy.
I leave those in the hands of God.
And yell at my steering wheel while driving that I'm not really seeing it....

Lately, I keep dreaming of a wedding.

And as much as I really do long to see the bridegroom, I keep waking up just before the ending.

(Maybe I should stop hitting the fridge at midnight like it's a wedding banquet feast.)

Ecclesiastes 5 says, "A dream comes when there are many cares, and many words mark the speech of a fool."

Interestingly, this fool has lost her voice for the last several days.
Can I get a little interpretation here please?

On second thought, I think I'll just skip the cryptic, bird brain feasting extravaganza and pray I get one of these fabulous scarves for Christmas....

Note to Santa...There are several colors to choose from and I prefer the multi-colored shown above.

Happy Fun Girl: The Incredible Push-Up, or the Incredible Uplifter...

Happy Fun Girl: The Incredible Push-Up, or the Incredible Uplifter...:                                                                                             (photo courtesy of Victoria's Secret ;)...

The Incredible Push-Up, or the Incredible Uplifter?

                                                                                            (photo courtesy of Victoria's Secret ;)


 #472...Of Stupid Things I've Said.

"Just tighten that strap up a little."
Ugh.
As soon as I said it, I knew it sounded better in my head.

Recently, I've taken a part time job at a women's clothing store.
And since I've asked God to guard my mouth today..I'm just going to leave it at that and not go off on an awkward situation that presented itself a few weeks ago.
Again...it's a women's clothing store.

Moving along, 'cause I'm too tempted to rant.

I love this job.
Helping people shop and spend money that is not mine.
Re-hearing my mouth probably cross the line.
Yikes.

A beautiful woman in her, mmhh? maybe mid 50's, was trying on one of my most favorite shirts in the store. It's a super cute bat wing, with sheer sleeves and a very figure flattering type of cut.

But she wasn't happy with the way it was looking in the front.
Neither was her husband.
It does look best with a gorgeous necklace of some sort, but I understood the problem immediately.


Having just had the same problem last week, I was ready to share my great words of wisdom and make both their day.
Both of their days?
Anyway, so I say, "Just tighten up that strap a little."

"Oh. It adjusts?" she said, looking at the shoulder of the shirt.
"Well, not the shirt, but your undergarment. Just adjust the strap a little and lift them back up," I said smiling sweetly.

The deadpan expression hinted that I'd said too much.
Undergarment is a tactful way to say that, right?

So I tried to explain, "Sometimes we forget, and the straps stretch out. It's amazing how uplifting it can be to just do a little 'adjusting'. I had to do mine just the other day and it makes a world of difference."

I was still smiling sweetly, she was.....not so much.
The voice inside of me said, "Dear God...shut up already."

Now, that whole scene has been in my head for two days straight.
And God just loves to teach me lessons in my lameness.
So, as I was driving and reflecting on my overly personal, didn't mean any harm, really I was trying to help comment, I got to thinking about making some adjustments in my own life.

I've been feeling a little emotionally in the raw.
And physically sagging in my life...and my bra.
And my spirit.

Most days I try to be encouraging and uplifting.
I was trying to be "uplifting" that day.
Really, I was.

She was a beautiful, beautiful woman and I was just sharing a girlie reminder.
One middle aged woman to another.

Sometimes less is more.
And maybe this is an area where I could use some adjusting.

Less caffeine, less yapping, less complaining, less trying to figure things out for myself and just more trusting perhaps. Less sarcasm, less food, less tv, less loathing.

And then, because I'm only semi-sane on some days...I thought that Victoria Secret really screwed things up with their whole Push Up bra.
It should have been called something, like "The Uplifter".
'Cause that sounds a whole lot more encouraging and nice than a Push Up!
I despise push ups, but I'd like to be lifted.

We all like to receive a little encouragement every now and then.
And fortunately, I had the opportunity to hear Max Lucado speak the past two weeks.
I've seen him on tv and read many of his books, but I'd never actually seen him in person.
Until last Sunday.

Let me just tell you.
Max Lucado is like the Mr. Rogers for Jesus.
He is very calming.
And in cool wire rim glasses, much more attractive.

In the "Garden of My Mind", weeds sprout up. (click the link..)

But seriously, something about that man just radiates peace and love.
I just finished his new book, "Grace", and unlike the unfortunate thunder blunders I speak,
his words were just what I needed to hear, right when I needed to hear them.

I'm not going to give away the details, but there is a story that Max tells in this book, that had me saying, "Okay, Max...I love you! Thank you soooo much for that! Thank you for your honesty and sincerity and thank you for sharing something so personal with those of us who really screw up our little Jesus walks. Thank you for helping me feel less unworthy!"

Thank you Max, for reminding me of God's Grace.
Buy the book.
Amazing story after story, the undeniable presence of God's love is all over the pages.
It's not super churchy, it's just super powerful.

One of the things that he said has stuck with me all week, and as I've let it really set in, it's helping me tremendously.

 "Trust God's hold on you, more than your hold on God."
"Trust God's hold on you, more than your hold on God."

I typed it twice on purpose.

I'm going to make a few adjustments, and trust that, better than my bra straps, he will hold me up.

"Be Lifted Up".

Happy Fun Girl: The Walking Dead...Beware of Zombies!

Happy Fun Girl: The Walking Dead...Beware of Zombies!:                                                                                                               (photo courtesy of tomsguid...

The Walking Dead...Beware of Zombies!

                                                                                                              (photo courtesy of tomsguide.com)


I was trying to write but found it absolutely impossible to do so with the gurgling, gargling, wretched zombie noises in the background.
It was a Sunday night.
"The Walking Dead" was on and my 15 year old is hooked.

Personally, I don't understand the widespread fascination with the whole zombie thing.
There was a Zombie parade last year down at Hemisphere Park and hundreds of people dressed up as dead divas come to life, and wandered the streets of San Antonio in all of their bloody "Ghosts Come out at Midnight" splendor.

When I was a teenager we were taken in by the drama of "Footloose" and were shocked and horrified that a town would actually ban dancing.
And every week, we watched the Dukes of Hazard and despised Boss Hog.
The boys talked all week of course about Daisy Dukes short shorts.

And the Farrah Fawcett poster.
But zombies, really?
They're kind of gross.
And on Sunday?

God do I miss Walton Mountain and the wonderful world of Walt Disney!

Not that I wake up every day and live totally alive myself.
Some days I too feel like the walking dead.
But death is not fun.
I've been sort of dead before.

Dead in various sins, selfishness and transgressions, quietly wishing someone would somehow, someway, crush my skull, destroy my brain and put me out of my misery once and for all.

Life and Death.
"I set before you life and death, choose life."
Then again, choosy mothers choose Jiff and I use Peter Pan.
Perhaps if I could purchase the right peanut butter, the rest would just fall into place.

Admittedly, sometimes I add my own crunch to life and things don't go quite so smoothly.

What's in your head? In your head... Zombie....

I've been reading about Lazurus the past few days and have thought a lot about life and death and resurrection power.
Talk about a Walker!

The guy was dead for like four days before he was brought back to life!

I can see Jim Carey standing outside the tomb yelling and signaling, "Whew! Do NOT go in there!"

At Chelsea's baby shower a few weeks ago, we smiled, laughed and celebrated the coming of a new life. My grand-daughter, Saydee Grace.

Just outside her festive party, a family clad in black stood in the hallway, quietly gathering for a funeral.
By the looks of those in attendance, it was probably a grandmother or grandfather.
Someone else's mother or father.

Hopefully, later, they would be able to celebrate that person's life and not rest in the sadness.
It was a somber moment and a strange contrast of emotions, separated only by two large wooden double doors.

When I read about Lazarus being brought back from the dead, I am most amazed by the actions of Jesus.
He kind of jacked around a bit before going to the rescue.

Mary and Martha sent word to him that he was very sick.
And even though Jesus loved Lazarus, it says in John 11:6 NLT, "so he stayed where he was for the next two days."

Huh?
God apparently moves when he wants to move.
No amount of begging or manipulation is going to get him to do what we need him to do when we want him to do it.

I've tried.
And it doesn't work. :)

He does what needs to be done in His own time.
Which is usually not the same time frame that we'd like him to go by.

Which is annoying.
Not just to us, but Martha and Mary were kind of annoyed too.

When he finally showed up in Bethany, their brother had been dead four days.
Not "for days"...but "four" actual days!!

And Martha was the first to lay into him, "Lord, if you had only been here, my brother would not have died."
I can hear the brown nosing, "But even now, I know that God will give you whatever you ask."

He said back, "Your brother will rise again."
And then she, being the suck up type I picture her to be, replies sweetly, "Yes. He will rise when everyone else rises, at the last day."

But Jesus, in his head, was probably thinking, "Woman. You don't have a clue what I'm talking about!"

He said instead, "I am the resurrection and the life. Anyhone who believes in me will live even after dying. Everyone who lives and believes in me will never ever die. Do you believe this Martha?"

"Yes, I believe," she responded and went and got her sister.
Then she comes to complain as well. "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died."

In my head, Jesus had to be saying to himself, "Pack your bags folks...we're going on a guilt trip!"

Some of the other people standing around were grumbling as well, "Geez. He healed a blind man. Couldn't he have kept Lazarus from dying."

You can almost picture them looking at each other with raised eyes and their quiet tsk tsk tsk's.

And at this point, Jesus himself got ticked and angry. He had to have been thinking, "How many miracles is it going to take for you people to believe that I am who I say I am?!?"

He walked over to the tomb, "Roll the stone aside..."
Then he thanked his heavenly father for always hearing him and shouted, "Lazarus, come out!!"

And the dead man came out, his hands and feet bound in graveclothes, his faced wrapped in a headcloth. Jesus told them, "Unwrap him and Let Him Go!"

It was a magnificent miracle and dramatic gesture for all to see for sure!
A real Zombie Apocolypse....
"BAM! and BEHOLD!! A Walker!"

Brought back from the dead.
By resurrection power.
To live.

Happy Fun Girl: Decision 2012...If He Hollers, Make Him Pay...

Happy Fun Girl: Decision 2012...If He Hollers, Make Him Pay...: I dug through a gazillion faded receipts, felt past a broken pair of readers, accidentally dug my fingernail into an uncapped lipstick a...

Decision 2012...If He Hollers, Make Him Pay...

I dug through a gazillion faded receipts, felt past a broken pair of readers, accidentally dug my fingernail into an uncapped lipstick and finally came up with $1.08 in change.

I was really hoping for some change.

Abruptly, the voice inside the speaker box yelled at me for the second time.
Geez! I heard ya the first time!
I was just unsure of my ability to come up with enough change.

Again...
"Welcome to McDonalds. Can I take your order?"
"I'm sorry. Just a minute please."
Make a decision, make a decision, make a decision...
Spicy McChicken or the McDouble?
Spicy McChicken or the McDouble?

"I'm so sorry. I'm having a stress meltdown and have become unable to make a simple decision and I can't decide between the McChicken or the McDouble!!"

"Take your time," she replied.
Or was it a he?
The box was making that loud, fuzzy feedback noise and either way, I could tell whoever it was really meant..."Hurry up lady, there are people in line behind you."

So, in my head I played a quick game of Eenie Meenie Miny Mo....the tiger version of course.

That's it.

At 45. I have resorted to Eenie Meenie Miny Mo in my decision making.
Thankfully, I didn't actually resort to that for my election vote, not that it mattered much.

It is a proven fact that one of the symptoms of stress overload can be the "inability to make decisions."
It is also a symptom of depression.
Post partum and otherwise.

Most of my life, I have been a pretty quick decision maker.
Notice I said quick, I didn't say good. :D

Until lately.

I also find it funny that as much as I've been sort of a control freak most of my life, I find myself suddenly being hugely attracted to being controlled.
As a single mom who is every minute of every day constantly having to make this decision or that decision, honestly, it gets exhausting.

My brain does not have one of those red reset buttons to push when I've overloaded it.

No one else there to bounce ideas off of or get a more objective..i.e. realistic opinion.
Nope. Just me and that still, small, so super small I can't even hear it, sometimes voice.

So it's weird that as someone who is not a big fan of authority, I am so strangely drawn lately to just being bossed.
It's such a relief to interact with people who can make a dinner reservation, fix your truck, or...maybe, pick a baby name.

Chelsea, my daughter is about 6 weeks away from giving birth to Saydee Grace.
My very first and so super blessed grandchild to be.

It's gotten me thinking about the last time I was at the hospital giving birth to Natalie, my super fresh Freshman.

Her dad, God bless him ;) brought in an entire media stack, four channel mixer, microphones and stereo speakers to plug in and display on my bed side table while he recorded a radio show for the church.

He even wanted to unplug my fluid machine thingy because there were no more outlets.

Really. This stuff happened.
As creative as I like to think I am, I can't make up skits this ridiculous.

Considerately taking off his headphones he commented, "Just tap my shoulder if you need anything."
The inner anger got me through each and every labor pain as I silently thought to myself, "What kind of husband brings a portable radio station into the delivery room?? Are you kidding me?"

Surprisingly, several hours and a produced show later, we welcomed "Nathaniel," into the world.
With a vagina.
.
Maybe that's why Natalie is so fond of using that word all the time.
She just loves it.
To get on my nerves, she chants for fun, "Vagina. Vagina. Vagina."

Because there was no penis, boy oh boy did we have a dilemma then.
A decision would need to be made.
What would we name the unexpected beautiful baby girl?

Galen, not a fan of making a decision...any decision at all...proceeded to upset the entire maternity floor crew.
"Mr. Hoffman...We need a name."
"I don't know."

So there she sat in the nursery..Little Baby No Name.
Baby Hoffman.
Like some kind of orphan child.
"Mr. Hoffman...We need a name."
"Stop pressuring me!!!!"

After numerous pleas, to please give the child a name so the nurses could record it on her birth record, he began to get very agitated.
And loud.

I was still reeling from the 'live' radio show broadcast and the hours of labor and child birth giving.
"Please can't we just name her Natalie? It's like a form of Nathaniel. And I love Natalie Merchant!"

We left the hospital being chased by nurses and him yelling, "I'll give you a name when I have an F-ing name."
They called the house repeatedly for two days.

Finally, after much phone slamming, verbal outbursts and ranting, a decision was made.
Natalie Jane Hoffman.

Not all decisions are this complicated.
But each and every one we make has consequences.

November 6th... a decision was made.

And though we may not all agree with each other, we can still move forward as believers in the United States of America.

God is still in control.
He loves every single one of us.

United, we can make a decision to be peace makers.
United, we can make a decision to pray every day for Godly direction for our leaders and this great country.
United, we can make a decision to love our families and our neighbors as ourselves.

The Message says, "Our firm Decision is to work from this focused center: One man died for everyone. That puts everyone in the same boat. He included everyone in his death so that everyone could be included in his life, a resurrection life, a better life than people ever lived on their own."

I want a better life.
Not just for myself, but for my children and my grand children.
Make a decision for Christ.

Though you may have questions, "It is by Faith that we are Saved...not through works, but it is a gift from God...so that no man can boast."
It is a decision to live by faith and not by sight.

It is also the most important, life "change" decision that we can ever make.

And in my head I will be chanting myself, "My mother told me to choose the very best one and you are not "it". 

Oh. And I got the McDouble.