I named him Harold. He just looks like a wonderful Harold.

I named her Agnes the Mighty.

I am grateful for trees and for Sam who sends me pictures of trees that deserve to be known and deserve to be photographed.

That’s all.

I am grateful for the clicking sound of a very busy keyboard.

I am grateful that my husband still loves me after I unload ugly.

I am grateful for time to spend with my CASA girl.

I am grateful to have learned a little about myself in the last 24 hours.

I am grateful that I grabbed a packet of oatmeal instead of the fun size Snickers bar in the jar in front of me.

I am grateful for the reminder today that when we begin our days filling our minds with goodness in the form of prayer and God’s Word, He naturally comes out in the form of goodness through our words and actions.

I am grateful for a sun that doesn’t set quite as early as it did last month.

I am grateful for Jimmy John’s unwiches.

I am grateful for the opportunity to play for choir again tonight.

I am grateful for motivation.

I am grateful that the hype of winning a billion bucks is over.

I am grateful that in my growing older, I am still learning how to become better.

I am grateful to be more moderate in thinking.

I am grateful that I like my hands to be clean. It can be a problem when others do not have the same standards, however.

And I am grateful that I mostly fill my mind with goodness these days so that mostly goodness will come out.

I am grateful for warm water in a shower.

I am grateful for the beauty of geese flying in formation against a gray January sky.

I am grateful for detangled hair.

Which makes me grateful that my hair doesn’t look like Pinky’s.

Which also makes me grateful for people who think of others and choose to comb/brush/fix their hair in privacy rather than in public, especially in food establishments, because it is really not very polite to comb/brush/fix your hair that could shed a random strand or flake of not-so-pleasantness into the food area or counter or table or plate or glass of juice. I always appreciate seeing a lady take care of her hair in the privacy of a bathroom or a gentleman take care of his hair outside a restaurant, since I wouldn’t want to see a gentleman in a bathroom fixing his hair. I wouldn’t mind seeing him fix his hair, just not inside the men’s room, because I do not belong there.

I am grateful for roses that smell good.

I am grateful that I do not do yoga. I’m just not a “ju-ju” kind of person. I don’t know what “ju-ju” means. It just seemed to fit. But I DO love my new yoga pants that I will most likely never wear in public since I have a thing against yoga pants in public.

I am grateful for friends who call me with good news.

I am grateful for treated sidewalks when it is below freezing.

I am grateful my sister got me silly gifts for my birthday that were just what my heart needed.

The drinking bird was one such gift. (along with Pinky and the ju-ju pants)

I am not a “drinker.” Not in the sense that everyone associates with that word. I drink LOTS of water, almost a gallon, five days a week at my desk. I used to drink approximately the same amount in Dr. Pepper and iced tea, but that stopped when Sam and I promised each other, three years now since the beloved DP passed my lips.

Sometimes when I drink that much in water, I feel like my tummy looks like Bird’s. Actually, I feel like my tummy looks like that all the time.

So I am grateful that I bought a FitBit last spring and then didn’t give it as a gift to that certain person, because now it is in the “gift” drawer – the “gift” drawer that is just like Mom’s used to be, the one she kept with all the really “nice” things that were too nice to use and should be saved to be given to someone else – anyway, I am grateful that I bought that FitBit, because now I am gifting it to myself for my birthday, and maybe just maybe I will be able to get back on track to walking over 10,000 steps a day and my tummy won’t look so much like Bird’s. Although, that kind of looks like his bottom. Same difference.

Maybe I’ll wear those yoga pants in public one of these days. And…probably not.

I am grateful for a few moments this morning to open three presents and a card from Dad in the quiet of my room.

I am grateful for the emotions that followed.

I am grateful for red velvet cake that Mom used to make for me.

I am grateful for email, text, and Facebook best wishes from friends and family.

I am grateful for my nephew who texted me a birthday wish and a picture of his cat.

I am grateful for a calendar with pictures of Parker and Reilly.

I am grateful for a Salvy t-shirt from Dwight and Marlene to wear as soon as April arrives.

I am grateful for a beautiful pendant friendship necklace from Michelle.

I am grateful for cards from Steve, Roxanne and Bob, my CASA supervisor, my office family, and especially the one from my Dad.

I am very grateful for a phone call from my daughter. She was also my birthday present 32 years ago today.

And I am grateful for the Grandview Botanical Gardens a.k.a my office today, and grateful for Sam and my bosses who know I love flowers.

As I typed last night, I am grateful little things remind me of past friends and good times…

1. Like when I hear the Francesca Battistelli song:

Cause I got a couple dents in my fender
Got a couple rips in my jeans
Try to fit the pieces together
But perfection is my enemy
On my own I’m so clumsy
But on your shoulders I can see
I’m free to be me

and remember a car ride with CBA girls, all of us singing it at the top of our lungs.

2. Like when I hear Def Leppard and remember riding around in Hutch with Cindy, both of us singing at the top of our lungs.
3. Like when I see a clown and remember teasing Melissa with Stephen King’s “It” on the kitchen TV.
4. Like when I see or hear a music box – it always makes me think of Lori and how I loved and admired her collection of music boxes when we played on Sunday afternoons at her house.
5. Like when my necklace clasp makes its way to the pendant in front and I think of Amanda when she stunned and mortified me with, “Mrs. G, your boob is showing.” That’s what she called a necklace clasp, and that’s what made me turn bright red.
6. Like when I eat or make a chocolate trifle in a pretty trifle bowl and I think of the CBA ladies and our January birthdays.
7. Like when I see a teenager offer to help in the kitchen, or just help in the kitchen without asking, I think of Vangie and how she was the subject of my high school choir trip instructions when staying in a host home. “Be a Vangie.”
8. Like when I see a puppet of any sort, I always sing in my head, “His little lamb I am,” or “Grace loved to tell the story,” or I say to myself, “I ain’t a’lyin!” and think of Ginger and her beautiful spirit and gift she has shared with the world of children and adults.
9. Like when I see someone who is frustrated or down in the dumps and automatically think, “What’s the deal, pickle?” in Shirley’s voice, just like she frequently said to students who walked in the library and needed some Mrs. Mackey to make it through the day.
10. Like when it’s a new season of “The Bachelor” or “The Bachelorette” or “Survivor” or “Big Brother”, shows I no longer watch, but I reminisce about the memories I have with Nanette and Amanda and Erin and Skyler, hanging out with Dr. Peppers and Cheez-Its or popcorn and being fully engulfed.
11. Like when I have an issue with Microsoft Word or my company’s website content and immediately think of Roman.
12. Like when I see a table with games and lots of people laughing, I think of our dining room table when it was covered in board game and popcorn and surrounded with Jared and Katrina and Brad and Austin and Keith and Karissa and they would include me in their laughter and fun.

I am grateful for the sound of no tv, no music, no talking. Just the hum of the furnace and a random car going by every once in a while.

I am grateful for a quiet and stress-less few minutes after a very long day.

I am grateful that I have enough socks to wear two pair at once all day long, that I can take my boots off after a long day, and that I can add Delores socks and wear three pair the rest of the night.

I am grateful that Dad helps with our remodel projects, that Sam has great help, and that he doesn’t have to rely on me, but when I DO help, he is verbally appreciative. I am grateful that he is so wonderful about saying “thank you,” and “I’m so glad you are here working with me.”  I am grateful to have these two men in my life.

I am grateful for an hour today with my financial advisor. He is so kind and is gracious with my ignorant self, walking me through the hard things and helping me to make some smarter decisions about money, because I am not smart about money, and that is not a good thing at 50.

I am grateful for kittens.

I am grateful for this beautiful picture of my Texas littles.

I am grateful for good hair days.

I am grateful that I at least have sense enough to figure out how to get back to work after taking not one but three wrong exits and having no clue for a short while.

I am grateful little things remind me of  past friends and good times. More on this next time. Quietness has determined I’m done for the day.

I think about childhood sometimes. I was aware we didn’t have a lot of money. Our clothes were mostly handed down and we lived with a clothes line, much less expensive than the dryer. When I was in early junior high and my brother got married, we couldn’t afford the dresses that actually FIT me, so Mom thought it was a brilliant plan to buy a “pretty” floral nightgown and call it a dress. I WAS IN EARLY JUNIOR HIGH, OLD ENOUGH TO REMEMBER THE TRAUMA. And she was SO proud of herself for her brilliance, she just had to share it with everyone at the wedding. Forgiven, but not forgotten, Mom. She could make a pair of pantyhose last a year, because when a leg got a run that couldn’t be salvaged with fingernail polish, she cut the whole leg off and wore two pair of one-leg-pantyhose.

I’m actually surprised we ever had trash, because she was the most resourceful woman in the history of the world and used EVERYTHING for some worthwhile purpose. Toilet paper cardboard rolls, empty cans, broken this’s or that’s; I even remember Christmas decorations made out of Rainbo Bread bread sacks, another made of disposable cups, and of course, the favorite baby food jar tree. A favorite childhood memory was the tire swing, not purchased, but created from an old tire.

We ate what was put in front of us. If we “accidentally” put our hamburger in the dog’s dish and Mom found it, we all got the paddle, EXCEPT FOR THE CULPRIT AND I WON’T NAME HIS NAME BUT DWIGHT, ANGELA, AND I KNOW WHO DID IT AND WE HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN AFTER 45 YEARS.  We learned to like bologna and leftover mashed potatoes made into potato cakes. If cheese was a little moldy, Mom made us cut the yucky and eat the rest. She used sour milk to make pancakes. If toast burned, learn to scrape the black. If her Christmas peanut brittle was left in the oven a little too long, she served it anyway and apologized while eating the first piece as an example that it wasn’t so bad. When a recipe called for tomato sauce and there was none in the cupboard, ketchup would have to do.  You didn’t throw away sandwich bags or other storage bags until they had a hole in them. They were forever drip drying over the faucet after dishes and bags were washed in the sink. The zipper kind were for the rich people.

Our cars were always needing Dad’s help. Angela and I drove to school for awhile holding the passenger side door closed with a rope. Mom sacrificed a snowy cold January Friday evening to take my friends to Wichita to go ice skating – without heat – and I spent the 45 minute ride constantly wiping the windshield so she could see out, because young happy girls create foggy windows.

But we had a very rich life. And mostly knew no different.

I am grateful that we were not so privileged that we didn’t learn to appreciate.

So, thank you, Mom and Dad, for our very rich life.

I am grateful for LOTS of books I need to read.

I am grateful for insight and reminders to look beyond and as Cindy put it, “Oh, Rhonda, EVERYONE has a skeleton or several in their closet.” We don’t know what we cannot see, what is hidden and buried down deep in others.

Talk about coincidence not.

I am grateful when God hammers a point home:

Looking Beyond the Surface to Find the Life-Redeeming Truth
By Elisa Pulliam

How many times do you catch yourself looking across a room at someone else, longing for what they appear to have? We compare ourselves to a perception of reality, whether it’s a desire to be thin-boned instead of big-boned, a fashionista instead of fashion disaster, poised and articulate instead of stumbling through our words. We want those well behaved children instead of the ones climbing up the walls behind us. We’d like their square-footage, perfect for hosting fab parties, instead of the coziness of our own humble abode.

But what if we stopped to think about what else goes along with their “appearances.”

Maybe there’s a broken heart tucked under that frail skeleton or a health crisis wrapped in designer clothes. Maybe those well behaved kiddos are God’s mercy, because the rest of her life is in chaos. Maybe that lovely, palatial house is evidence of a husband who is hardly ever at the dinner table.

There’s always more to the story — but to find it, we need to get beyond our own insecurities.

Being the new girl in town has made this habit of comparison even more pronounced as I seek to find my place in my neighborhood and church, the kiddo’s school and even in the local hair salon (boy, could I tell you stories about the hair salons around these parts). Oh yes, my insecurities threaten to overtake all the years of heart-work God has accomplished in me as I default to the “old me” habit of measuring my worth and my life against what I perceive. Maybe that’s why God had me write Meet the New You in the last year and impressed upon my heart words that I would have to return to again and again in this season of transition:

Chosen. Holy. Dearly Loved. Called. Qualified. Accepted. One of Kind.

These words ring through my mind and heart, at least when I choose to drown out the noise of this world and heed the voice of God speaking to me by the power of the Holy Spirit. Only then can I embrace who I am in His sight and all that He has accomplished in me through the grace-giving, life-redeeming, blood-shed-on-the-cross work of Jesus. Oh yes, He made me new at the point of my salvation in college, but that wasn’t the beginning and end of real life change. Over the last decade, God has drawn out the parts tucked away — the parts I thought I could hide from Him — rescuing me from a life of unforgiveness, bitterness, guilt, shame, and insecurity.

By God’s grace, and with the help of counseling, the Lord healed me from the inside out as I discovered how to hand over to Him my past and begin to walk in the present in light of the truth. Yes, I was sinned against and committed my own sin — but I was also forgiven by God and called to forgive too.

There are two parts to the story, much like how there are two parts to what we perceive others have . . . or don’t have.

Friend, when we’re saved-by-grace through Jesus’ work on the cross, we get to live according to life-redeeming truths and not the lie-stained labels the enemy likes to put upon us. We’re not defined by what we’ve done or where we come from, what we have or don’t have. Our worth is not found in how we’re living today.

Our identity in Christ, as it is proclaimed in the Word, is the antidote to this battle of insecurity that plagues us.

But you are the ones chosen by God . . . chosen to be a holy people. . . 1 Peter 2:9-10 MSG

For we know . . . sisters loved by God, that he has chosen you. 1 Thessalonians 1:4 NIV

But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do . . . 1 Peter 1:15

. . . giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light. Colossians11:12

Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God. Romans 15:7

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:14

My friend, we need to be cognizant of what we’re saying to our souls so that God’s truth becomes the foundation on which we live.

We need to embrace God’s Word as though it has the final say — because it should — in any and every situation, whether we’re the new girl in town or showing up as the old timer. Whether we long to be ten pounds lighter or have resigned that those pounds are hiding in our big bones. Whether we wish our kiddos would behave just a tad bit more civilized or have decided that running around with joy is a perfectly fine thing to do.

It’s inevitable — we’re going to look across that room and compare. But how about we commit to taking those thoughts captive and making them obedient to the TRUTH, Christ himself, as we seek to live out our identity in as holy, precious, beloved children of God?

We use our powerful God-tools [the Word] for smashing warped philosophies, tearing down barriers erected against the truth of God, fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ. 2 Corinthians 10:5 MSG

 – borrowed from Jennifer Dukes Lee today
http://jenniferdukeslee.com/

My devotion was on the topic of authenticity today. Matthew 23:5-7, actually.

Everything they do is for show. On their arms they wear extra wide prayer boxes with Scripture verses inside, and they wear robes with extra long tassels. And they love to sit at the head table at banquets and in the seats of honor in the synagogues. They love to receive respectful greetings as they walk in the marketplaces, and to be called ‘Rabbi.’

I have struggled with authenticity all of my life. Living to please others, caring more about what people think than what God thinks, wearing the fake smile, pretending to have it all together, saying “yes” when I really wanted to say “no.” In my past, I pretended A LOT. And because of that, I created quite a lonely little existence for myself and lost the skill to be authentic and lost my identity in the process.

I became a Pharisee. I pointed to the rules and pitied others who didn’t have it all together like myself. I faked my way through life, saying the right things, wearing the right smile, acting righteous on the outside and staying bitter and lonely all the while.

Last night, Cindy, Keith, and I were talking about high school and the words “judgment” and “hypocritical” were tossed around as descriptions for what we experienced. I went to grab the book that pierced my heart and broke through the darkness in my darkest moment, and it was gone. No worries. Amazon is my friend. So, I ordered four more copies of “12 Steps for the Recovering Pharisee (Like Me.)” It is time to read it once again. Anyone want a copy? My treat.

I am grateful for Cindy. She is one of the most authentic people I have ever known. She says it like it is and I KNOW her, inside and out. More than once, she said, “Oh, Rhonda, EVERYONE has a skeleton or several in their closet.” Even the most perfect people we know have an issue. Or several. Good to remember when holding myself up in comparison and feeling slightly jealous or less-than, which then causes me to point my finger and try to find their faults in order to make me feel better about my own skeletons.

I am grateful for Keith. He still makes me laugh with every word that he speaks. I love that we are friends, even 30+ years later.

I am grateful for Aunt Estalene. She is an angel who does not receive much fanfare for how she serves others.

I am grateful for time to sit at McDonald’s and enjoy Dwight over an iced tea and a cup of coffee.

I am grateful for Michelle who gave up part of her day last week to take care of my hair.

I am grateful for Angela who took the time to drive all the way over last night, just to have a bowl of soup and visit with Cindy and Keith.

I am grateful for Delores, because she called me in the middle of sadness yesterday and brightened my spirit.

I am grateful for wisdom and grace and humility that comes with growing older.

I am grateful for laughter and singing “Moses” in the living room with Keith and Cindy.

Which makes me grateful for Mr. Funk, my high school choir teacher.

And I am grateful once again, that I am who I am, all exposed and raw and sins on the front page, because it means that I am learning to become genuine and authentic, not counterfeit. And Jesus prefers it that way.