every woman should have...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her
dreams wants to see her in an hour..

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who
lets her cry...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
else in her family...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a feeling of control over her destiny...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to fall in love without losing herself..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that her childhood may not have been perfect...but its
over...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
whom she can trust,
whom she can't,
and why she shouldn't
take it personally..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
where to go...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table...
or a charming inn in the woods...
when her soul needs soothing...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year...

my sisters and their war

i get home tonight from bible study, and faith FREAKED out and decided she needed to at least START decorating our house. sooo, she and joy decide they are going to start, and faith comes squealing up the basement stairs with a nativity scene and a box of christmas decorations.

as shes putting up these decorations, she lays out her nativity...lo and behold, its a CHINESE nativity scene. now..nothing on the chinese people at all...i think theyre beautiful, lovely people...but MAN! whoever carved this scene did a HORRID job.

faith loved her nativity though, so i didnt say anything. i just let her put it up, and mentally planned how i could remove it and hide it until she realized it was gone. im kinda passive agressive like that...lol

joy? well...shes not so kind. she took one look at it, and said "they're scary! baby Jesus is ugly...(and snarling) and thats just not okay!" so you know what she did? as faith sat on the floor wanting to pounce on her for such unkind words, joy ran and got the only thing she could think of...her PRECIOUS MOMENTS nativity set.

so now i must with much dismay tell you that without a sign of christmas anywhere but two seperate corners of my living room...it is now "war of the nativities". if you come by my home, please refrain from encouraging either sister in their nativity pursuits, as i will be just as happy having a plain ol christmas tree in my living room...you know - now that all out end tables are taken up with recreations of the BIRTH OF CHRIST. im fine...really, i am...

such is my life at home...a very intriguing mix right now of an alien looking nativy vs. a very american wanna-be-holy one...its really gonna make me barf soon.

someone save me.

attention

ATTENTION

Aliens are coming to abduct all the good looking, sexy people.

Don't worry. You're safe. I'm just emailing you to say good-bye.

cry of the heart for intimate belonging...

When we recline at the table with Jesus we will learn that the recovery of passion is intimately connected with the discovery of the passion of Jesus.
An extraordinary transaction takes place between Jesus and Peter on the Tiberian seashore. The most plaintive words ever spoken take the form of a heart-stopping question: "Do you love Me?" As we lay aside our fuzzy distractions and actively listen, we hear the suffereing cry of a God never heard of before. What is going on here? No deity of any world religion has ever condescended to inquire how we feel about that god. The pagan gods fired thunderbolts to remind people who was in charge. The Rabbi in whom infinity dwells asks if we care about Him. The Jesus who died a bloody, God-forsaken death that we might live, is asking if we love Him!

The etymological root of "passion" is the Latin verb 'passere', or 'to suffer.' The passion of Jesus in his dialogue with Peter is "the voluntary laying of oneself open to another and allowing oneself to be intimately affected by him; that is to say the suffering of passionate love."

The vulnerability of God in permitting Himself to be affected by our response, the heartbreak of Jesus as He wept over Jerusalem for not receiving Him, are utterly astounding. Christianity consists primarily not in what we do for God but in what God does for us - the great, wondrous things that God dreamed up and achieved for us in Christ Jesus. When God comes streaming into our lives in the power of His Word, all He asks is that we be stunned and surprised, let our mouths hang open, and begin to breathe deeply.

The recovery of passion is intimately connected with astonishment. We are swept up by the overwhelming force of mystery. Self-consciousness evaporates in the presence of what Rudolph Otto called "mysterium tremendum." The transcendent God overtakes us and overcomes us. Such an experience may wash over our consciousness like a gentle tide, saturatiing the mind and heart in a tranquil spirit of profound adoration. Awe, wonder, and amazement induce speechless humility. We have a brief glimpse of the God we never dreamed existed.

Or, we may be hammered by what the Hebrew tradition calls the "Kabod Yahweh", the crushing majesty of God. A deep, chilling stillness invades the inner sanctum of the soul. The awareness dawns that God is totally Other. The gulf between Creator and creature is unbridgeable. We are specks of sand on a beach of infinite expanse. We are in the magisterial presense of God. Stripped of our credentials of independence, our executive swagger disappears. Living in the wisdom of accepted tenderness is no longer adequate. God's name is Mercy.

Faith stirs, and our fear and trembling find their voice once more. In worship we move into the tremendous poverty that is the adoration of God. We have moved from the Upper Room where John laid his head on the breast of Jesus to the book of Revelation where the beloved disciple feel prostrate before the Lamb of God.

Wise men and women have long held that happiness lies in being yourself without inhibitions. Let the Great Rabbi hold you silently against His heart. In learning who He is, you will find out who you are: Abba's Child in Christ our Lord.

- Brennan Manning
Abba's Child: The Cry of the Heart for Intimate Belonging

black robbers...

By far the best story i've read in a long time....For anyone who didn't see David Letterman's take on this:

(And it's a true story...)

On a recent weekend in Atlantic City, a woman won a bucketful of
quarters at a slot machine. She took a break from the slots for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room. But first she wanted to stash the quarters in her room.

"I'll be right back and we'll go to eat,"she told her husband and carried the coin-laden bucket to the elevator.

As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed two men
already aboard. Both were black. One of them was tall...very tall...an intimidating figure. The woman froze. Her first thought was: These two are going to rob me.

Her next thought was: Don't be a bigot, they look like perfectly nice gentlemen. But racial stereotypes are powerful, and fear Immobilized her.

She stood and stared at the two men. She felt anxious, flustered and ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind but Gosh, they had to know what she was thinking!!! Her hesitation about joining them in the elevator was all too obvious now. Her face was flushed. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty effort of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with the other foot and was on the elevator.

Avoiding eye contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and the another second, and then another. Her fear increased! The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her.

My God, she thought, I'm trapped and about to be robbed! Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore.

Then one of the men said, "Hit the floor." Instinct told her to do what they told her. The bucket of quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator floor. A shower of coins rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she prayed. More seconds passed.

She heard one of the men say politely, "Ma'am, if you'll just tell
us wh at floor you're going to, we'll push the button." The one who said it had a little trouble getting the words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh.

The woman lifted her head and looked up at the two men. They reached down to help her up.

Confused, she struggled to her feet. "When I told my friend here to hit the floor," said the average sized one, "I meant that he should hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to hit the floor, ma'am." He spoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having a hard time not laughing.

The woman thought: My God, what a spectacle I've made of myself. She was humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an apology, but words failed her.

How do you apologize to two perfectly respectable gentlemen for
behaving as though they were going to rob you? She didn't know what to say. The three of them gathered up the strewn quarters and refilled her bucket.

When the elevator arrived at her floor they then insisted on walking her to her room. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down the corridor. At her door they bid her a good evening.

As she slipped into her room she could hear them roaring with laughter as they walked back to the elevator.

The woman brushed herself off. She pulled herself together and went downstairs for dinner with her husband. The next morning flowers were delivered to her room - a dozen roses. Attached to EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill.

The card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years."

It was signed:
Eddie Murphy
Michael Jordan

refiner's fire

Malachi 3:3 - He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

A few ladies were meeting to study the scriptures when they came upon the remarkable statement above. One lady decided to visit a silversmith, and report to the others on what he said about the subject.

She went and without telling the silversmith the reason for her visit, begged him to tell her about the process of refining silver. After he had described it to her, she asked,

"Sir, do you watch while the work of refining is going on?"

"Oh, yes maam," replied the silversmith. "I must sit and watch the furnace constantly, for if the time necessary for refining is exceeded in the slightest degree, the silver will be injured."

The lady at once saw the beauty and comfort of the statement, "He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

God sees it as necessary to put his children into the furnace but His eye is steadily intent on the work of purifying, and His wisdom and love are both engaged in the best manner for us. Our trials do not come at random, and He will not let us be tested beyond what we can endure.

Before she left, the lady asked one final question,

"How do you know when the process is finished?"

"Oh, thats quite simple," replied the silversmith "When I can see my own image in the silver, the refining process is complete." ~ Author Unknown

victory...

http://www.blueletterbible.org/tmp_dir/c/1150759842-7660.html

click on Roman's 8:1-17 and listen

all who are weary, rest....

i could have danced all night...

I Could Have Danced All Night

As I neared the state to address the southern Californias public high school audience, I saw a young lady a few rows ahead of me sitting in a wheel chair. When I see students with physical disabilities, I always take a little extra time to talk with them and encourage them.

I approached the girls chair from behind, and when I turned to greet her, my chin dropped to my kneecaps. I stared in speechless awe.

Im sure I looked like a fool, but I was stunned by the exquisite beauty of the person who smiled back at me. I tried to speak, but only unintelligible garble escaped my lips.

I was overcome, not by the fact she had lost both her legs as a result of spina bifida, but rather by her extraordinary beauty.

Her makeup was flawless, her hair coiffed to perfection, her manicure impeccable, and she sported a smile that would melt the northern ice caps. But hers wasnt just external beauty. The girl radiated with the charm of a gentle and peaceful spirit.

I extended my hand and made another attempt to speak still, all I could manage was a jumble of gibberish. . Like a little boy infatuated with his first grade teacher, I was falling all over myself.

Her compassion for me seemed to reflect experience. She, no doubt, had dealt with countless others who found themselves in my predicament.

She told me her name. I mumbled something dumb and turned to walk away, still muttering to myself. As I did, I ran into a solid wall of flesh.

He was probably 66 with shoulders about three feet wide. Muscles bulged from his folded arms, and the look on his face seemed to suggest I was on his turf.

I smiled lamely, eased around him, and started for the stage again.

Before I stepped up on the platform, a teacher who had been talking with some students, and evidently hadnt seen the encounter, stopped me. Did you meet the girl in the wheel chair? she asked.

Yes, I replied, She is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen.

And did you meet the young man standing beside her?

You mean the walking wall? Is he a competition weight-lifter or something?

No.

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she told me the story.

Two years ago he was a skinny nerd who pestered everyone on campus. Then one day he tried to talk to the girl in the wheelchair. When he did, he walked away muttering to himself, totally infatuated.

From that day one, he started arriving at school just as the janitors were opening the buildings. Hed go straight to the gym and work out in the weight room until the first bell. For two years hes kept at it, all in preparation for last week.

Oh? Was there a body-builders contest? Mr. America? Mr. Universe? I thought I was beginning to understand.

No. It was the prom.

Totally perplexed, I questioned, The prom?

Yes, the teacher replied, He worked out for two years so he could dance with her at the prom. And last week, for two solid hours, he carried her as they danced. Not once did he put her down.

She has now accepted his proposal of marriage, and we are elated!

I made my way up on the stage with the thought pounding in my head and in my spirit: Here is a guy who has already chosen to follow the Biblical command which says a husband is to love his wife as Christ loved the church and lay down his life for her.

Yes, thank God, there are still millions of decent, loving, caring young people in America who understand true value and worth.

- Reprinted from Nobodys Ever Cried for Me by Dave Roever

God please... a prayer

God, please… A Prayer by LaDonna Witmer

I have a thousand words to say to you. Ten thousand unfinished fragments all locked in my head, all waiting for you to pick them out and examine them, analyze them, answer them individually. I know I could just spill them out, but they don't fall so easily.

I want to talk to you, God. Want to listen, to know you. But I don't know how to begin. I want to pray to you. Want to pray without stopping—no pausing, no fumbling—but I don't even know how to begin.

All I seem to be able to say is a feeble, "God, please … " that I never complete.

And yet that "God, please" is the ache of my soul. I'm unable to finish, but all I want is to get close to you, to turn your head. To know you are listening to me, even though I cannot see you.

So should I constantly chatter to catch your attention? Or are my two words enough?

I have so many other thoughts stashed in my head, but if I let you hear them, would you listen? Could you, who are perfect, understand my faltering, imperfect speech?

That's what I'm really afraid of, you know. I'm afraid you want to hear eloquent soliloquies, and I don't have anything but my poor stuttering tongue.

So God, please … show me where to go with my words when I cannot find the right words to say.

Because I do want to know you. More than anything.