Sometimes reality is more interesting that happily ever after.

I need to say first that I love Bernadette Peters. She is a tremendous actress.

How is it that people get in there head that life is supposed to be ever after? Do their parents just not tell them that ever after only makes for good movies when you are a kid? Do they not know that the life is worth more than ever after?

One of the reasons that I love Into the Woods, is the second act. How funny is it that once Cinderella, finds her fella, only to find out that he is dull, without wit, lives in a big lonely castle with nothing to do except chase princesses? Hurray, she got the guy with the house and the sisters are permanently punished, but really, what is that worth? Why is that happily ever after?

I don't know that I have ever had ever after. Maybe there was some of that before I was pubic, but I don't really remember much of it so who knows. I remember the creamery on the dairy farm with the real homemade ice cream. That is about it. Then I was 13. It was all over but the crying. Especially for the folks.

My friend who is very...not good right now, has a perception that I did it. I got the ever after. I found God, again. (Turns out he wasn't lost and so not so hard to find.) I don't drink, smoke or meddle in others affairs. I learned how to pay my bills. I learned how to get a good job. I learned how to take care of me. Now, I married a great man. I am in school for a great job. From the outside looking in: everafter.

She got her heartbroken by a scumbag of a boyfriend, so she thinks I have everything. The reality is that I work very, very hard. The reality is that it takes lots of effort on my part not to lose it on a daily basis. When I am juggling all the balls of life in the air, inevitably, I drop one. I have to search around and pick it up. I have to work to realign with God's will and in the meanwhile, continue juggling with one hand. She thinks ever after is Cinderella, dressed in yella. She thinks I am Cinderella.

I am not.

Neither is she.

We are not supposed to be. Cinderella is a story. A childhood tale with no purpose. I don't think Cinderella ever worked for what she got. I have busted my butt for what I have. I had to learn how to pray and juggle.

I like juggling. Praying is easier than juggling, so sometimes I take it for granted. I hope my friend hasn't given up praying, because I think Meredith Grey is right: reality is better than everafter. There are joys and sadness and intimacies with God. I get to love and hurt and learn to forgive. Gosh that is a hard one. I am working on that right now: forgiving. Gosh that is hard. It is not everafter.

I can't imagine doing the things I do with out a daily walk with Christ.

Maybe she just thinks she is alone. No one is alone. Even when I think I am alone, and making terrible mistakes...We are not alone, no one is alone. Maybe I need to let her know that she is not alone. Let her know that it is going to be okay. She is going through this terrible heartache so that she can help someone else to know that they are not alone: give her an opportunity to pass it on.

God's reality is not everafter, it is so much better.

When you don't blog for a while, you have bits and pieces of blogs left in your head:

Money is tight, yet, I am not afraid...relieved on economic insecurities. Being broke just ain't so scary anymore.

Flowers make the world go round. There is something to a blue hydrangeas, pink roses and random garden flowers. There is something to making something pretty for someone else. It fills you up and then lets you go...

Sleepy Sundays are awesome. But studying is important until you start sneezing...and sneezing...and achoo...this is Carter's fault.

I love that my car gets 37 miles to the gallon right now. I also love drivin around in it with my husband.

Ever have someone look you in the eye and say, "I want what you have, can ya tell me how to get it?" It will almost take your breath out of you. What's even weirder is how much alike you are after a few conversations. Matched up for God.

I am not really sick, I just think I am. Snort. Sniff. Sneeze.

Student loans are stupid. Don't they know that we have never borrowed money succesfully? Why do they make it so...my nose is running, hang on...painful? I mean, if you need one form of id why do you wait to process to ask for two forms? What takes so long to recieve and file a fax under my name? Why not be up front about everything that is needed and why would it last forever? and ever? and ...

I am eating chicken noodle soup for the first time in my life. I have never eaten chicken noodle soup. I am not a real soup fan, but a friend suggested it. Said it was kind of like having gingerale when you are sick...just tastes different. So I am eating chicken noodle soup. I am so sick, this is all Carter's sickness. He gave it to me through twitter.

"But life is among [us] is more than attending [church] and visiting the sick...No one is too discredited or has sunk too low to be welcomed...Social distinctions, petty rivalries and jealousies--these are laughed out of countenance.  Being wrecked in the same vessel, being restored and united under one God, with hearts and minds attuned to the welfare of others, the things which matter so much to some people no longer signify much to them.  How could they?"  

Stacy: this keeps coming up for me!  Just like our conversation: we are not to be of this world, but to be separate from the world.  

I have hung out with a girlfriend today who just three short years ago would have nothing to do with me.  It has taken a long, treacherous path for us to be friends.  Somehow it just worked better that way.  Sometimes being in the Spirit means just that: treacherous.  Today, I know that I don't live in this world.  I participate in it.  I do what is asked of me, but only so that it may serve God.  Things like who is and who is not my friend, whether what I am wearing is name brand, or how much better (or worse) I can be than you, means nothing.  

I went to see a friend today.  She is dieing.  She has lung cancer and sirosis of the liver.  When she found out they gave her a week to live.  Thankfully, God is bigger than doctors.  She actually drove herself to my birthday party.  What a birthday present!  She out-did anything that anyone gave me.  She gave of herself.  Today, they brought in hospice.  She is much closer now than she was before now.  I went to see her because that is what I can give of myself back to her.  She was pretty out of it.  One of the things she asked for was her pastor, who has been reading scripture to her.  It is about the Spirit, not the body.  She showed that to me today.  

I mess up a lot.  I am without a doubt not perfect.  I am beginning to recognize, that is part of being in the will of God.  In order for me to participate in this walk with Him, I have to be different from Him.  It is what makes Him divine and me, human with desires of closeness to Divinity.  But just because I am different from Him, does not mean that I have to be opposite of Him.  I have a likeness of Him.  I don't know why I wanted to be opposite of Him for so long.  I am so grateful to recognize my Likeness.  It is kind of like being okay with the fact that I am going to grow up and be like my parents.  Turns out they are not so bad after all.  No one could have told me that.  I just had to experience it, just like I had to experience the grace of God to be okay with that too.  

Atonement is so fulfilling.  

The term is SOCCER mom not hockey mom.  

"true ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of God"

living usefully....walking humbly...kneel before the breath of God...

I pray every morning and every night.  I read a meditation with my bowl of cheerios.  I go to church on Sundays.  I wear my DOK cross to let other people know that Christ is my Lord and Savior and this is how Christians act.  But to know if I am living usefully?  walking humbly?  grace?  How do I know about grace?  

What I do have, is a desire to live that way.  Last year I wrote a piece for extra credit that said that I want to be an accountant as a direct result of my walk with God.  I really believe that I can be of use to God counting beans!  Who would ever think such a bland profession would allow me to be of service.  But now that I think about it, Matthew was a tax collector.  

That makes me think about the word disciple which is so close to discipline.  Shoo...discipline means so much: it means a study, means a correction of behavior, punishment (ooo, yeah, don't like that one), obedience (yep, not so fond of that either, instant rebellion at the spelling of the word).  

Usefulness through discipline, now that's something I can do.  I can pray everyday.  I can study my bible.  I can help others.  I can go to school and make good grades.  I can love my husband.  I can honor and cherish him until death do us part.  I can be a good sister.  I can be a good daughter.  I can be a good granddaughter.  I can be a good friend.  

I have run across a lot of people lately who I'd like to emulate in their faith.  I hope others can see in me what I see in these people.  They stand out to me.  They are not anyone person and their friends.  They are random Christians who have shown up lately, like my old friend from Smoke Rise, my cousins, a constant blogger buddy and former big sister from Agnes Scott, a random stranger at school who let me eat lunch at her table in the lobby and one of my wonder women who I graduated with, who I'd never peg, totally fulfilled in her walk with Christ.  The way they show themselves shows their humility, their usefullness, their joy.  

I have been given the Grace of God.  There is no question about that.  I honestly believe I got more than one dose of it.  I just hope that I can be of service with this gift.  

Yo tengo ganas.  (that's for kelley)

I have the desire.    

I was assaulted on Marta last night on the way home from the Braves game.  That's all I can think about since it happened.  I had a great time tagging up with my brother and having dinner at my favorite restaurant.  I got to watch my Mom's choir sing at Turner Stadium, what a privilege.  I got to go to a Braves game with my Dad and not have a single argument or even a cross word.  I got to see the Braves win a game.  I am pretty sure I have never seen the Braves win a game.  I got home in no time as a result of public transit and a jump up 400 with no one on it.  I used my brights on 400 because there was no one on it.  Yet, my strongest memory is a notion of violence that occurred when the game was over and getting onto Marta.  

There were lots of people trying to get home from the game.  We were squished into a bus like sardines.  It was not a long ride though, and the people were nice enough.  Then as we entered the train station, the security guards put pressure for everyone to get on the train.  Unfortunately, there were people that needed to get off the train first.  The doors open and close so quickly, if you are not paying attention you can miss your stop.  The crowd rushed the Marta train car.  Those inside came out with attitude and violence.  They pushed and hurt those crowding the door.  It was more than one man who slammed into several women.  The look on their face was of uncontrolled wrath.  I felt really bad for those women who were knocked around.  

As I got onto the train, the violent act rippled. 

One of the women who had gotten hurt was yelling at the top of her lungs, "I am so sorry that I am white and trying to use Marta.  The very idea that a white American would use Marta is too much.  I am so sorry, I am white."  

She was sitting with a young man who was totally embarrassed by her behavior.  She was throwing in the f-word every other word in the sentence.  There were so many people in the train car, including a three year old across the  aisle from her which she couldn't see due to people standing in her line of site and a young black man sitting in spitting distance of her just not saying a word.  This woman was obese, had pink and black hair, piercings and tattoos.  She wore her anger toward the world like an insulation blanket.  And was screaming over and over, "I know you want me to f-ing shut up, but I am just f-ing apologizing for being f-ing white, okay? I f-ing apologize." 

At one point she was shaking (white) people's hands apologizing to the ones she could reach.  

She was assaulting my ears.  The violence rippled.  

I became thoroughly aggravated by this woman.  At one point made a rude comment to my brother who just looked at me.  So now the actions of one violent person (shoving) led to another action (violent language, loudly) to me passing it to my brother (rude comment).  Violence, begats violence, begats more violence.  

On my way home, I thought of something that might have stopped that woman in her tracks.  Although, I don't know that I could say it with enough sincerity at the time, for her not to throttle me for misinterpretation of sarcasm.  If I could say it with all due sincerity and humility, I would say: 

There is enough love in this area of the train car for me to tell you, that we are sorry you feel hurt by the men who violated you.  We know what it is like to be hurt.  We know what it is like to experience violence and racism.  It is a powerful abuse to another human being.  We are here today to let you know that we hear your pain, we acknowledge you pain and that we are going to love you back to a place of a healed wound.  We will love you until you can love yourself.  Believe me when I say, you never have to apologize for who you are.  You are a beautiful, I know you won't believe it, but you are a beautiful child of God and are worthy of His love.  Those of us standing around you see, feel, hear your hurt and are going to extend our love to you.  

God, please cradle this woman in your arms that she may find your love and can find it within herself to love herself.  

The ripples of violence stop with me.  The ripples of violence stop through love. 

Have you told someone you love them today?

There is something strange about watching someone else grow. I know many of my friends have the opportunity to watch their children try new things and "oh how cute" stuph that happens. It is different when it happens to an adult. It is not "oh so cute." Mostly, it is really messy and a bit frightening because of the expectations surrounding being an adult. Folks expect someone who is an adult to act like an adult, as though there is an instruction manual on how to handle all situation life throws at you. Children can throw their peas on the floor and get away with it. I wish I could throw peas on the floor and get away with it. I bet even Mikey won't eat peas.

I am very careful to say, "when I grow up," for people to understand that I should never, under any circumstances be taken seriously. I have a friend who keeps a teddy bear on his desk at work so people will know, it is a sign: immature person at this desk, please handle with care. I might do that when I get a work desk. I have teddys on my bed just to remind my husband, and, at times, me.

I have been watching my husband over the past several days. He applied to an on-line college and within 10 days, is writing his first college essay. It has to be 1000 words and use the methods of composition which he is being taught. Can you say he is FREAKING OUT?! So messy. He gets this look in his eyes and walks from the computer to the kitchen and back again. Then he does it again. If the phone rings, he almost comes unglued. The very idea of answering trips his train of thought. So when my husband turned into the exorcist last night, I was so glad he was married to me and not somebody with rejection issues. He is so growin. It is so cool.

Going to college for me is like brushing my teeth: do it or suffer.

When I first went to college it was because Mom and Dad said go to college. It took everything they had to make me fill out the applications and then the decision: oh the decision....ASC or UGA? Ack. So glad I got that one right. When I went to college, I wasn't really interested in anything. I majored in booze, boys and bars...and GT football. Other than that, I studied because it was something to do once in a while. My Dad cried at my graduation. I don't know if it was out of pride or out of surprise. I didn't know what folks were making a fuss about. I mean, come on, I have been going to school since I was five! Like I couldn't do it? Of course I could, can't you? (*I am so arrogant sometimes*)

When I went back to college for the second degree, outside of being certifiable, I fit like one of those perfect hands and gloves. Grades are easier when there is no booze, boys or bars. Also, I have a, a ganas that wasn't there last time, that helps.

My husband, on the other hand, has never really been given a fair shake. He was raised in a house where they sent him to his room to study and he couldn't read. He has dyslexia. No one knew. Then out of no where, his Mom sent him to a graduate study on kids who don't quite get it in school. They taught him how to read, speed read, read upside down and backwards. Can you say way cool? By the time he got out of high school, he found uncle sam. There was some one in his head saying you can't, so he didn't and into the military he went, then marriage, kids and never any college.

Now he is 50. FIFTY! and going to college. Can you say, God works miracles?

For him it is not like those hands and gloves, for him it is like a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He can't figure out what he wants to see or smell or touch or eat first. I don't know what God whispered in the ear of my husband that changed that voice of "you can't" to "go for it." No matter, he is in the thick of it now.

I sit back and watch this funny man I love fall into the world of the academe, all that comes to mind is: ain't life grand?

After being away at my family's house for the holiday weekend, I found that coming home meant something different.

I used to think that coming home meant ending up in my parents house after swim practice/violin lessons with my brother in his room or watching tv and I in mine or under Mama's feet. We were perhaps working on homework or playing with a toy; preparing dinner or practicing an instrument. Dad might not be home yet, or it might be his day off and he is coming in with the groceries ready to have help to put them away. Around four thirty or five o'clock maybe as late as six, the pink radio box on top of the dryer in the kitchen would sound off to NPR's All Things Considered: da, da, da, da, da, da, da-de-da.

Today home means something different. It means moths around the lamps. It means happy dogs grateful you are home because the old dog died and they don't know what to think. It means having my husband there to greet me. It means a quilt on the bed and no air conditioning. It means fresh tomatoes off a neighbor's farm and flowers to the friends down the street whose daughter finally passed from cancer. It means washing dishes by hand, listening to the katydids sing. It means remembering to turn the lights off to keep the power down and the heat away in the summer. It means wondering why yet another calf is pinned in the barn hollerin for its mama and giving a new chair to the farmer who watches his cows under the big tree that shades the back of the house and then some, while the trough fills with water. It's about no noise. It's about peace and quiet. It's about rising and falling with the sun. It's about listening to the chimes on the grandmother clock. It's about planning a trip to town. It's about friends who are family. It's about lovin and losin and livin and lovin some more.

My home today is about life on a farm.

I ran the the 5k. Never done it before. Yeah...it is three miles. I finished in under 45 minutes. This is to say, less than 15 minute miles. I actually ran the first mile at 12:25, second mile at 26:54 (this is a personal best for my two miles) and finished at 43:05. Woohoo! I finished!