SelahV Today by hariette petersen

A Biblically Submissive Wife Lies Prostrate on the Ground, Sometimes

Today, being the biblically-submissive wife I am, I took my trusty camera outside to dutifully obey a directive from my husband. 

 

I'd no sooner hobbled off the back deck and began wobbling over toward painted markings on my lawn, when I stepped into an indentation and BAM-- down I went.  Face first. 

 

My entire body-mass-index hammered my right knee into the ground.  I plunged my left wrist into the earth. The fall forced my head to snap backward and forward in a whip-lash fashion. A dozen thoughts raced through my mind.

 

I just lay there in the beautiful morning sunshine chastising myself for not bringing my cane-- for not standing still when I turned on my camera-- for not insisting that my husband fill the hole in our lawn with dirt.

 

It was no one's fault but my own, though.

 

I laughed out loud at what I considered quite comical before I assessed my situation.  Echoing in my mind was the little old lady in the commercial, "I've fallen and I can't get up."

 

I tested my wrist to see if it was broken.  I moved my right leg to check its mobility.  I lay there wondering how in the world I was going to get up without my cane for support. I was in the middle of the lawn.  There were no grab-bars.

I checked my pocket and praised the Lord that I had my cell-phone. If nothing else, I could always call 911 if I could not wiggle my way to my feet.  I cringed at the thought. But, unlike several of my friends, I didn't have a life-alert button hanging around my neck.  So...

 

being the faith-based woman I am, I lifted my sore neck a tad and asked the Good Lord to give me strength and power to perform the near-impossible task before me.  I rolled onto my side and began the contortions needed to erect my overweight body to an upright position. It was not pain-free. I extended my left leg and dug in with my right foot. After quite a struggle... and too much pressure on my bummed left knee, I gingerly pulled my right knee up, planted that foot on the ground and crawled to my feet.

You might ask why I ended up prostate on my lawn in the first place.

 

It began when the Fidelity Cable man came and checked my backyard to figure out how my lines needed to be buried. The cable-line had been lying on top of my fenceline for years.  It weaved in and out of the dog-ear slats on top of my fence.

 

Fortunately, the cable-man was really nice to me.  Because I could barely stand, and due to a bummed out left knee, I found it excruciatingly painful to walk.  He offered to unlock my gate himself, then return my lock to me.  Afterwards, he came back, got the lock and key, re-locked my gate, then returned my key. I was so grateful.

 

Later in the day, two cable-digging guys showed up to bury the lines--a job forgotten for nine months. Last February, when we moved in and set up the cable for internet, technicians placed an order to bury it. Then it snowed and the ground froze. So they postponed it. After nine months daily broken service and several service calls, I wondered if it had anything to do with the exposed line. So when I called to get my internet back on line, I asked about it once again.  The nice lady discovered that, somehow, the original orders to have the line buried were closed.  Closed?  Who closed them, I wondered. No matter... it was never done.  So the nice lady rescheduled and the cable-burying guys finally came and fulfilled their obligation.

 

I felt good. Mission accomplished. 

To my surprise, within hours, a Utility Technician parade began. I spent the rest of Monday answering my ringing doorbell as a barrage of utility service people intermittently stood on my porch and asked me to unlock my fence so they could mark more lines in my back yard.

 

First the cable guys came and buried the line. Then the telephone company came and sprayed red paint to mark the telephone lines.  Then the electric company came and sprayed orange paint to mark the electric lines.  Then the gas company came and stuck little orange flags in the ground to mark the gas lines. The only people who did not come was the water-line people.

 

When I told my husband, who was in Florida dropping off his mother, that I had a parade of utility companies here all day marking up our lawn, he immediately told me to take pictures in case we wanted to dig in our yard some day.  That way we wouldn't have to call the utilities and have them remark the lines. I envisioned all the flowerbeds and raised vegetable beds I wanted hubby to construct.  So I complied. And now you know how I ended up lying flat on my face in my back yard.

 

And no; I did not get up and head back into my safe haven and sit down in my recliner and feel sorry for myself.

 

Being the biblically-submissive wife I am, I dusted off the yellowed, dried grass from my freshly-washed black stretch-pants and retrieved my camera.  Then I set about the task of walking the entire quarter-acre perimeter of my fenced yard, stopping every few feet to record the location of all the little orange flags and splotches of red and orange paint dotting our lawn.

 

Now I sit here before you, pecking out the story, testing my wrist to see if my typing is going to be hindered from the smashing it took.  Not only does my head and wrist ache, but now, both knees are hurting.  I sure will be glad when my husband gets off that plane tonight.  I could use a hug.

To All Aspiring Moms and Those Who Are Neglected

I pray today you find a peace that comforts you and gives you purpose beyond your deepest dreams and desires.

I know many moms who gave birth and raised their children and do not have from those children the blessing of honor, respect or love.  For those I pray God's greatest love and grace be granted as other moms celebrate this day called Mother's Day.

I know moms, and am among them, who've lost a dear child or a baby.  For these I pray God's tender hand of kindness and mercy to meet this day with strength and confidence.  God loves you, too.

I know women who've lost the dream of ever having a child of their own and then, some who have children yet are estranged from them and neglected by them.  So they have lost the dream of having a lasting relationship with their own flesh and blood.  My heart cries in understanding anguish with you. When my mother abandoned me at age 3, I lost that relationship, too.  It's not easy.

Please, dear sisters... walk through this day with joy and know that you are where you are for a purpose that only our Heavenly Father understands.  For those of us in Christ, we will someday know and understand the reasons why we suffer on this side of glory.  For now I pray you grasp the beauty of this day, the sunshine of the moment.  May each tear that glistens on your lids reveal a rainbow of hope.  Know that there are children everywhere who need a loving hand, a touch from you, a smile and word of encouragement.  These children are ones who will never have that from another woman-- they, too, are estranged from the mother's love. 

We are one another's gift to each other.  We are burden bearers of the highest realm.  We are fitted for the moments of travail and have the hearts of mothers and daughters for those who have neither-- there are motherless and childless among us, all around us.  Let go and give of yourself.  Be for others what you need from others.  It may be your highest calling.  Be blessed.

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." 2 Corinthians 12:9

Lord lay an extra helping of Your mercy and grace upon these ladies who yearn to be called mother.  Give a surrogate to those who yearn to have a mother and feel all alone.  Let them find peace in You and Your grace.

Thanking My Mother-in-law this Mother's Day

As a child, my mom never made spaghetti.  Sometimes she'd buy the canned Franco American for a quick lunch.  We'd cut it all up in spoon-sized pieces before eating it.  The closest we came to anything resembling homemade spaghetti, was chunked-up fried hamburger meat loaded with ketchup and dumped over rice.  At thirteen, it was pretty good eating.  I didn't have genuine spaghetti till I got married and my husband's grandmother, Lena Lavorgna, made a batch on my first visit to New England.  It was at that dinner table I first learned to twirl spaghetti by picking up a couple of strands of pasta and twisting it against a spoon.  It was an art to complete that task without stray pieces dangling like little worms.  I loved my husband's Nana's spaghetti.  I also loved my husband's mother's sauce.  After all, she learned how to make it from her mother.

Mom, as I called her from the beginning of my marriage, showed me how to make the homemade Lavorgna Italian-style spaghetti sauce with meatballs.  Not that Ragu, Prego, Classico, dressed up ketchup you purchase in the stores.  No, no.  My mother-in-law taught me how to mince onions so tiny that you'd think they were crushed powder once cooked down in her sauce.  She taught me how to mix up perfectly round meatballs and slowly brown them in the large iron skillet which would welcome her sauce to the party.  I truly believe the flavor from the iron skillet is what created the strength and body of her sauce, too.  I tried and tried to perfect their sauces, but simply couldn't get the right flavor, or consistency--no matter how many times I watched them and followed their recipes.  Even so, I still prefer mine to store-bought or Olive Garden's.  We should have bottled the Lavorgna recipe and we would have made millions.

But money's not everything.

There's so many memories of times spent with my husband's Nana and his mother that I treasure far above any monetary gain in life.  I am grateful, very grateful for the lessons I learned from my mother-in-law.  She taught me how to strip floors of wax build-up, too. Today, I can't even make a bed without remembering how she taught me to make hospital corners when tucking in the sheets.  Didn't know how to do laundry, either.  You see, I was only seventeen when I stole her eldest son's heart and married him.  My step-mother didn't spend much time teaching me homemaking skills.  Most everything I knew, I learned from my 4-H leader, Mrs. Keys--including how to present my prize-winning chicken salad and tomato soup cake (although, the cake was my step-mother's recipe).

As I look back, I find it amazing how much my mother-in-law taught me through the years.  She introduced me to porkroast and how to make gravy, New England boiled dinners and egg-salad.  Gosh, I can't remember all she taught me.  I could barely boil eggs in water when hubby and I married.  I owe a lot to her... not only for what she taught me, but for what she taught her son.  If not for her, I wouldn't have such a marvelous husband who honors me and loves me beyond any human being on earth.  What a blessing it is to ponder these things this Mother's Day Weekend. 

Mother's Day Gift That Keeps On Giving

You can bring a bouquet of roses or potted daisies, or even hand your mom a gift certificate for a pedicure and spa treatment.  However, the most endearing, long-lasting gift is more than a peck on the cheek, a quick hug and a "happy mother's day" greeting. Even though all gifts are treasured and any recognition is appreciated, there is no gift as precious as time.

Yes... time.  And the more the better.

Above every gift we could ever receive, time spent with a child is the most treasured blessing a mother could have.  Time to relax, to enjoy their presence.  Time to talk and enjoy one another.  A walk in the woods, a lunch with just her, a day of shopping or a long conversation about dreams or memories. A son or daughter who writes or shares the impact a mother has had would mean more to her than jewels.  I know from personal experience.  I have several notes from my son who is now in heaven.

Before my son died on Mother's Day 2005, he would often call me up and ask me to drive down to his place and hang out with him as he worked on bidding contracts and drove from place to place in his tile business. So, I'd trek the 50 miles from Oklahoma to Texas and spend the day with him. We'd stop and have coffee or drop in at his favorite restaurant for lunch.  He'd tell me all kinds of stories about his days.  We laughed a lot and he dreamed alot in those visits. He sang along with songs on the radio and made all kinds of crazy noises to make me laugh.  He shared his fears, his heartaches, his hopes and his joys. I'll never forget the times we had.

It must be why I dreamed the very rare dream I did about my son a few weeks ago.  I dreamed I was working away at a task in an antique booth and in walks Chad. I was so surprised to see him.  Though he interrupted the task at hand, I was thrilled when he said "I just came to hang out with you for a while."  It was just a dream. What I wouldn't give for a few hours or weeks to hang out with him again today. To be "interrupted" by his presence. To have one more picture of us together.  Even so, my dream was so real, it brought back sweet memories and snapshots of days long ago.

When I look back on my life, my most treasured experiences above all other achievements or personal fun times, are times I spent with my children and husband.  From shopping trips with my teenage daughter to band trips with my son. One of my happiest times was taking them to Disney World and playing with them in the ocean.  My then-13-year-old daughter read the map and navigated us from Kentucky to Florida.  I still treasure the conversations I had with my daughter when she was in Hawaii and shared all her activities. Countless calls. Long phone conversations discussing school, recipes, church activities and even politics.

Today I'm blessed to have her living right next door to me-- our front doors are within 15 feet of one another.  Now my most happy moments are those when she drops in to share some little part of her day-- relating some situation with her girls, or filling me in on something important to her.  It doesn't have to be a big thing, just little moments of chatting.  Most times she's only here for a few moments, but those moments are mine to own, to treasure.  Life is busy.  She homeschools her daughters, does all the bookkeeping for her husband's business and is very involved at her church as a teacher. So for each of us, time is valuable.  Time is treasured. 

When time is shared as a gift to another, it is truly the gift that keeps on giving. I'm so grateful I have some of those times.  Are you?

SPEAKING OF TIME... my dear friend, Karen Pollock, wrote a guest post for me on my FEMININE MATTERS blog in which she shares the most blessed gift her mother gave her dad, and subsequently, her mother-in-law.  Don't miss reading this blessed story of the sacrificial gift from a bride to a husband that shows the true spirit of giving and generosity here> "He first belonged to his mother," reflections of my mother's decision, by Karen Pollock.

My Knight in Shining Armor

Last Friday I had an appointment with a neurologist to see if they could determine what is causing this crazy vertigo I have.  "It's not normal", says my ENT.

However, last Friday, I didn't want to leave the house because the threat of ice and sleet was all but certain for our roadways.  I've come to really trust what our meterologist, Austin Bowling, tells us on Channel 7.  Parts of our area were already being hit early in the early a.m., but it hadn't hit us on the eastend of my county here in Oklahoma, yet.  I considered canceling my appointment, but appreciated the fact I'd gotten in to see this specialist as soon as I did and didn't want to postpone it.

So I donned my heavy red sweater, new red gloves and wrapped two winter scarves around my head, then grabbed my cane and waddled out the door to my Prius.  It was bitter cold, as you all know due to the windchill factor.  We were down to 28 degrees and bitter north wind wrenched my scarfs from my neck with every step. Thirty minutes later, I arrived at Southwest Medical Center, and gratefully parked my car relatively close, and went inside. However I was in the wrong building.  So I had to waddle back out, crawl back inside my car and go to the otherside of the Hospital. This time I wasn't so blessed. I had to park farther away from the building.  Yeah. They had handicap parking up close, but I've never applied for one of those tags. Figured there is plenty of handicapped folks more handicapped than me and until I reached a point where it's near impossible to walk, I'll let the wounded soldiers in our area and all the other handicapped folks have those spaces. (I confess...I sure thought it woulda been nice at that particular moment though.) 

I entered at 10:45 a.m. and walkways were still dry.  After waiting for 45 minutes in the office, I'd called my husband, and he said it had started icing over in area.  I wasn't concerned so much about driving in the icy rain (hadn't driven in New England for 15 years without developing courage on icy roads).  My concern was walking on ice with my cane.  I envisioned myself slipping on the sidewalks and cracking my already messed up noggin beyond fixing. By the time I finished with my doctor the clock was hugging 1:45 p.m..

Enter my Knight in Shining Armor (well, actually he looked more like Santa with his bright red car-coat)...but...

I'm checking out of the doctor's office and hubby calls.

"Which building are you in?"

I tell him and he tells me when I'm done to meet him in the lobby with my car key and he'll get my car and bring it to me. 

So...I meet him downstairs about 20 minutes later, and he says, "take a seat".  I watch him trek out to my car in the freezing rain. People came and went in the lobby as my husband warms up and scrapes all the ice off my car.  Then hubby drives the car around to the Medical office curb, walks me to my car, puts me inside, kisses me good-bye and sends me on my merry way home.  He goes back to his truck and returns to work. 

Was I grateful?  You betcha.  Not just for that day and that relief, but that the Lord blessed me with such a thoughtful knight-in-shining-armor over forty-nine years ago.

One man in the lobby of the medical building lobby said to me as he watched my husband helping me, "Chivalry is not dead, yet."  And I replied, "neither is love."

When You Lose Your Zest

for life, do you resign yourself to mediocrity?  to the blah, ho-hum, apathetic attitude of who cares?

of course not.

When we find ourselves sitting in park, we need to rev up our engines, check the rearview, the side mirrors, and adjust our seats.  We need to either back up and start over or put our lives in drive and move!

LiFe lives; it does not sit in neutral.

I find my zeal and enthusiasm wanes when I do nothing.  When I sit around and look at all I have not done, and dwell on what I should have done, then the air goes out of my balloon.  The flowers wilt.  The lights dim.  The shadows get darker.  It's easy to fall into that trap of complacency.  Especially after a month of frivolity, of planning for a big event, of great expectations.  When the day of celebration is over, life has to go on.  It has to get back to normal, or what we consider a typical routine.  And sometimes, after a season of dismissing routine, we find ourselves yearning to live on the edge of expectation, of excitement, of finding something new beneath the tree or around the corner.  We are ready for change and don't even know it.  We want to take down the tree, bring back the familiar things we are comfortable with seeing.  However, that does not satisfy that inner desire for freshness. 

We want that zest, that energy, that anticipation to be restored, to linger, to feed our emotional needs.  Little do we realize that it is our mind and spirit that needs to be energized.  We need new batteries.  Fresh flowers.  Warmer, sunnier weather.  And no, it is not a vacation we need--though one might be in order if we fail to give our bodies any rest.  So, what do we do?

Plan.  Plan the garden.  Plan a pergola.  Plan a day trip to the nursery.  Plan an afternoon in the mountains (easy to do here in Lawton, we have Mt. Scott and Medicine Park just 20 minutes away).  Go sit by a lazy river and watch the barge flow by.  Go visit the zoo or aquarium.  Head for the biggest florist shop in town.  Go breathe life.  Bring home some plants or start some hyacinths in a bowl. Take some pictures. Buy a jigsaw puzzle of flowers and beautiful things. Peel an orange and read a new book.  Paint a picture.  Make something--anything...just don't sit there in neutral.  Go visit some shut-ins with a box of your Christmas photos. If nothing else, go buy a box of "Thinking of You cards" and send them to everyone you think may need a bit more zest in their life today.  ~hariette petersen

Photo provided by Vicky Doran, my new Pinterest Pal. Visit her today HERE at DAY BRIGHTNERS.

Close Encounters Part 1

Who really understands you?  Do you have someone who gets you?  When was the last time you connected, truly connected with someone close to you? or for that matter, anyone?  Have you ever had an encounter with someone who totally understood why you feel the way you do?  Why you are disappointed over what some may find trivial?  A close encounter is one in which a person not only understands how you feel, but why.  They see beyond the actual circumstance for your pain, the origin for your hurting, and they care...simply care that you hurt.

Right about now, most men might say, "Huh? What are you talking about, lady?"  Most men I've encountered seem to keep disappointment all bottled up inside, have heart attacks and ulcers, or explode with anger and walk away when obstacles and aggravations come their way.  They rarely open up and let the world see that vulnerable side of themselves.  To be fair, many women are just as guarded, perhaps for different reasons.  For men, I think it is one of pride and ego.  They have this thing about letting anyone be privy to weakness, or inability to solve a problem...after all, they are men.

Women, on the other hand, unless they dared place themselves in a world of competition with men, are more likely to admit a personal fault, a fear, an irritation, a complaint, a disappointment.  We're more likely to guard ourselves from sharing the depths of our hearts because we've been burned, or betrayed, or encountered disloyal people with whom we share our innermost thoughts.  Some of us don't like to admit our spiritual failings, where we are not showing perfect trust and faith in God.  We also know we have a reputation for murmurring, complaining, whining and nagging.  So a lot of times we stuff our feelings, too.

However, I think we, being women, as a whole, still find that release valve within our souls incapable of holding forever the hurt we experience.  Like I mentioned in my last post, sometimes it only takes one thing--the expensive brisket no one shows up to eat, the wrong kind of hinges to be placed on a door, the tiny details of one's life no one seems to notice or care about--to become the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back of emotions.  And then, well, the dam breaks and we cry.  Those closest to us are sometimes shocked.  It's so out of character for us.  Others think it typical--nothing seems to make us happy after all (even though many things make us happy), but you won't change their minds, they think they know you.

When that camel is broken...when the bubbles burst, and daydreams are crushed by evening darkness, we find ourselves seeking solace in the oddest places.  While some turn to yardwork, to scrubbing walls, to purging closets, to riding bikes, to running like Forrest Gump, others turn to painting landscapes, to making jewelry, to playing trumpets.  Some lie in bed, dig into a half-gallon of Rocky Road ice cream, but, me?  I tend to throw a pity party.  The problem with that is, many of the closest people in my life aren't all that excited about joining me.

Fortunately, I have some friends who "get" me.  God brings these friends into my life in the strangest ways.  selahV (to be continued HERE/link )

SelahV's Saturday Synopsis of Blogs

"SelahV's Saturday Synopsis"

 is my short summation of various blogs (not to suggest this defines the whole of either the blogger or blogger's potential--just the singular post to which is linked in my biased opinion), which I find saliently define the assigned word I award it.

I have no magic polling system which determines the substance of another's mind or spiritual condition.  I can only read and let the Lord use what He uses to feed me a word of encouragement, an inspirational thought, an uplifting slice of life, or edifying breadcrumb for my soul.  I do hope you'll take a few moments and visit the posts I've stumbled upon this week in a search for more positive approaches from SBC bloggers in venue of world-wide witnesses so often overlooked.  Ironically, this week I've chosen all women to spotlight.

So....here goes:

SOUND....For this word I choose Hart for Him, "Encouragement for the Journey". In this day and age, the following quote is one of the most timely and sound pieces of advice ladies can see and hear: " Ladies all of us need to be reminded, from time to time, that what we wear and how we present ourselves does matter."....To read the rest of Dianne Hart's post, just patter over HERE and be encouraged for your journey in spiritual awareness.  Have a heart...go read it.

SOOTHING....for this word I choose "For a Little While", Am I An Unbelieving Believer?  This following phrase jumped out at me when I saw its preceding post with the most darling photo of the writer's 3 year-old son leaping with joy:  "Last night Lily said to me, “Mommy, last night I was praying in my bed that God would..."  To read the rest of this post tip-toe over HERE and stay "for a little while". Her photos are like sunshine.

SENSATIONAL...for this word I choose Kentucky WMU, Linda Cooper's Closing Words: "Did you know that when you have WMU in your church, praying and giving is stronger and a higher % is given to the cooperative program.  We sure have influence!!!!  You all will have to help me on this one…Did he say that WMU pushes pastors or PULLS them along?"  To read the rest of this challenging audacious statement, click HERE.  Seriously, she's serious and in this blogger's opinion, Spot-On.

SENTIMENTAL...for this word I choose More Precious Than Jewels, with a video of "A Late Night Talk".  This post is a superior example of what all dad's should do for their children.  Short videos where you interact a bit with your child.  Having lost a son, and knowing how precious the moments of life are, I can attest that this post is a prime representation of what is definitely "more precious than jewels" left behind to a child without a daddy.  Take time to look at this video and then make time to follow it's simply example.  To see what I mean, go HERE.

SUPERIOR, SALIENT, SOLICITOUS, SIGNIFICANT...for these words I chose Unlocking Feminity with the post "Pink Nails and Princess Boys".  Folks, this post should knock the socks off ya.  Words that clinched the award for Superior blogging are: "Can a man wear a pink dress shirt, and avoid confusion about his masculinity? Culturally – yes. But can a man wear pink nail polish with the same effect? Culturally – no."  To read the entire piece, go HERE and unlock your feminity while understanding masculinity.

SIMPLY SO So...beyond description...for these words I chose My Messy Manger, with "Little Joshy's Passion of Christ".  Truly worth seeing this reenactment of The Passion by a little boy. To see this video presentation go HERE.

Occasionally one word cannot suffice in defining a particular post.  Therein lies the reason I gave four words to one of the blogs.

In future "SATURDAY SYNOPSIS" posts, I shall explore more words such as: STUPENDOUS, SERENE, SUFFICIENT, SUBLIME, SATISFYING, SUBSTANTIAL, SILLY, SARCASTIC, STIFLING, SMOTHERING, SATURATING, SOULFUL and maybe even STUPID.

Should you have a post which you feel best described by one or some of these words, feel free to comment and tell me about them.  Who knows?  I might agree with you.

drum roll, please... My EARTH DAY Contribution...

In honor of Earth Day my granddaughters and I recycled clothespins into caterpillars, un-used coffee filters into wings.  The glory of new life came to marker-colored filters being spritzed with water.  As water touched their coloring, glorious fusions of brilliance appeared.  Just as they struggled to make their crafts, I told them how butterflies struggle to get out of their cocoons.  So they have freedom to fly.

I taught my granddaughters about new life in Christ by way of creepy caterpillars turning into beautiful delicate butterflies.  Girls hate caterpillars...creepy creatures.  Girls love butterflies.  Fascinating creatures.

Ironically, in the center of this filter, Kinsey drew a heart (Haylee's is upside down below); and that heart ends up being the very center of the butterfly we create.  Ya gotta love how God brings all things together for His purpose and plans, sometimes.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new." 2 Corinthians 5:17 NKJV

When we place our faith in Christ, we become new.  We get new life.  We are born again.  We died to the old life and rise to walk in the newness of our life in Jesus.  selahV

To see HOW we gave these filters NEW LIFE visit my

KIDS' MATTERS BLOGSITE.

YES...that means you need to click on the link and go see how cute these little gals are as they diligently create their butterflies and give them new life.  There's more to the next post than meets the eye.  So...c'mon over and check it out.  Try it!  You'll like it!

TICKLED TO PEDDLE PINK amid the howling beasts

I love pink.  I like pink dresses, pink blankets and pink roses.  I love pastel blue, lavendar and pale green.  Anything that's soft and feminine, to me, is ideal to lavish upon my darling granddaughters.

I read an article on AOL a few weeks ago about an author who is opposed to pink being peddled to our precious little girls.  Seems she is not just against girls prancing about in pretty pettifores; she doesn't like the princess-image being force-fed to girls via fairytales...there are no Prince Charmings or White Knights.  Very few girls grow up to be princesses.  If I didn't know better, I'd think most girls grow up expecting to live in vine-covered castles, fulfilling fantasy marriages complete with twittering birds and talking mice at their beck and call.  The villains sucking the brains from our vulnerable little girls are Disney's line of princesses: Cinderella, Snow White, Beauty, Mulan, Sleeping Beauty, and of course, that wicked Little Mermaid.

According to Parent Dish's Tom Henderson, the author of "Cinderella Ate My Daughter", Peggy Orenstein, offers an ominous outcome for girly-girl imaging.  She is concerned the "prince" her daughter marries and vows to love and protect her will run off and marry nurse-Nancy as soon as he's finished dental school.  After all, once a Beast, always a beast. 

I might agree with her position if not for one thing.  Reality.  I grew up in the age of Barbie and Ken.  My sister-in-law passed her collection of Barbies onto my little girl.  Although Barbie donned a fresh gown every time she twirled around, she also had attire complete with briefcase and hard hats.  Barbie portrayed a working gal.  Yeah...that liberated woman who brought home her own bacon and wouldn't let Ken open her pink car door.  She could be a nurse one day and a doctor the next; a model in a gown or a CEO in a three-piece pantsuit and tie.  I do not recall one apron or rolling pin in the pink plastic wardrobe.  It's an absolute miracle my daughter grew up to be a stay-at-home wife who raised three children and is now homeschooling her two little girls.

But back to the princess plight.  I was fortunate; Cinderella didn't eat my daughter.  She grew up reading all the fairytales and watching happily-ever-after movies.  She wore pink and played with Barbie.  But she lived in the real world, unspoiled, and learning what it is to be a Proverbs 31 virtuous woman.  She didn't model herself after the folly of the world because we brought her up in the admonition of the Lord and prayed with her, over her, and for her throughout her life.  And no, life has not always been a rose-garden.  But she's learned how to pull the thorns from her thumbs and move on.  Sometimes the brambles seem overwhelming as they wrap around her life.  But in these times I'm glad to see she's developed the character of all those Disney princesses who suffer unkindness, calamity, and misfortune.  She's stood strong and uncompromising.  Though buffeted by life's storms, she still looks to the One Who calms the waves and trusts He will speak as only the Prince of Peace can.

In the meantime we paint pink playrooms, buy pink bows and purchase princess pajamas.  We crown the girls with jeweled tiaras.  And as we sip sweet tea from our china tea-cups, we delight in telling them they are, indeed, princesses--that someday they'll wear a robe of white and dine at the table of the King of Kings.  selahV

ANOTHER POST YOU MAY ENJOY at my "Feminine Matters" blog.

 

One of the Happier Women

I know a bunch of them.  I know a slew of ladies who were once sucked into the hype of the Women's Liberation Movement.  Sounds so liberating, doesn't it?  Women burned their undergarments, and scoffed at their mothers' and grandmothers' apron-strings.  They scorned women who "chose" to stay home, change diapers, and bake cookies.  The "libbers' got up earlier than usual, donned their jackets, skirts and pantsuits.  They dropped off their children to the daycare of choice and went hopscotching off to work in their high-heeled pumps.  Of course, not all women did that.  I know.  I had some dear ladies who cared for my little ones in the sixties and early seventies when I swallowed the feminine rhetoric hook, line, and sinker.  Only I struggled to get myself up, juggle meal preparations, and homemaking.  I battled the guilt of leaving my children without a mom to lay claim to fulfilling life? 

Praise God, the Lord showed up at my doorstep through the visitation of one of those women who found purpose in being a wife, mother and Christian witness.  Only the Father above knows what may have happened to me had I continued on the path that liberating women were paving for me.  I'm one of the lucky ones.  I'm a much happier woman today than I was in the 60's and 70's.  Then, life was all about me, my happiness, my comfort, my goals, my ambitions--my freedom.  Welcoming Christ into my life opened my mind, heart and soul to a freedom and liberty no movement on this earth could equal.  The Lord restored to me the years the locust had eaten.  As I sit here thinking about the wasted years and lost memories, I remain forever grateful for His abundant grace.  Without Him happiness would still be the momentary high from a raise in salary, a job promotion, a pat on the back, and a cold, empty heart.  selahV   

CHRISTIANITY CAN REVERSE UNHAPPINESS IN WOMEN?

Indeed it can, according to Mike Adams, in his article entitled Bluer than Blue. He boldly states, "Christianity ended slavery and it ended segregation. It is even powerful enough to end feminist anger and reverse the decline in female happiness."

Interesting in reading Bluer than Blue, Adams relates a portion of a conversation he overhears between a sociology student and her professor, just as he was "coincidentally" (yeah) reading the article that prompted his own post.  Read some snippets:

“I never really knew, until I took your course, that marriage was oppressive in the sense that it benefits men more than women.”

“I never really considered the fact that a wedding dress is an expression of latent heterosexism.”

“I never really considered the impact of large expensive weddings on the workers who, for example, make wedding dresses. I had never known about the wedding industrial complex as a form of capitalist exploitation.”  [excerpt from Mike Adams, Bluer than Blue]

Shocking?  It was, and it wasn't to me.  Seriously, folks.  In a society filled with continual updating of politically correct words and phrases we can use, I am rarely surprised at anything the liberally socialistic-controlled education system dishes up to our impressionable children.  However, as I read Adams' article I couldn't help but ponder the conversations I've read in forums with ladies all across the country of late.  These ladies are just moms and grandmothers who want the best for...get this...their children and grandchildren.  Some ladies work, many do not.  But they have a common bond to see our government get out of the way of our freedom of speech, religion, education, the pursuit of happiness.  They see themselves as patriots, and Christian ones at that, seeking to build a better America.

Another thing that came to mind as I read Mike Adams' article regarding the unhappiness of women as a result of the feminist movement, was Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary's degree programs for women.  These programs are sometimes criticized for their focus on homemaking skills.  Yet, as I listen to Dr. Dorothy Patterson and Dr. Terri Stovall, Dean Women's Programs, share their thoughts at this site, I cannot help but believe that women are being given far more than a brownie recipe to combat the world view of destroying the traditional home as we know it.  Click [HERE] and see if you agree.  If programs like these at Southwestern were used to teach minister's wives and women throughout all our Southern Baptist seminaries, we might have women's ministries in churches that could curb the flow of women at abortion clinics and unhappy feminists living lives in confusion and loneliness.  Indeed, some of the most relaxed forms of gospel sharing by our missionaries is done through the hands-on work of missionary wives and women teaching crafts, cooking, hygiene and homemaking skills to women and children in foreign countries. 

Truth be told, we need women more than ever.  We need women to help change the course of the marxist attack on traditional family today via sociological education women are receiving in colleges across America such as Mike Adams related above.  Happy women make happy homes.  Adams article may be closer to understanding the old addage, "if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy", better than any man today.  selahV

IF YOU LIKE ME...OR NOT

...I knew you'd enjoy seeing these precious little girls.  My eldest granddaughter, Bethany, spent a half-hour on her little sisters' hair, then got them all gussied up and took them to the meadow at my daughter's house.  She took their pictures, made a Father's Day card and album for dad.  And she gave me a framed photo of the sweethearts.  I played with the photos today and added some captions, so I could add them to my journal.  Just thought I'd give ya some ideas on what to do with your photos.  Enjoy....

  

AIN'T WE SWEET?

HAPPY MONDAY!

TIME FOR A TEAPARTY!  

God is sooo very good to me!  selahV 

WHERE I DRAW THE LINE WITH WORKING WOMEN SUCH AS...

MY FRIEND FREDDIE. 

She is one of those working women who makes all women long for a tenth of her energy and enthusiasm.  Nothing ever slows her down.  She's a marvelous cook.  Fabulous homemaker.  Great mom, loving grandmother and devoted wife.  She is a community organizer's dream volunteer.  She's a servant--in the world, and in her church.  She visits the sick, comforts the grieving, gives to the poor and is bold in witnessing.  She is an example of superwoman that few can equal.  In fact, when the Holy Spirit was doling out gifts, I do believe He lingered quite awhile over Freddie and decided to give her a chunk of many.

HOWEVER...

while I might follow her lead in many areas, and long to have a large portion of her drive and tenacity, there's some places where I must draw the line.  When Freddie decided she wanted to do this to celebrate her 60th birthday, I said, "No way, no how, no SelahV."   

CANVAS, PAINT AND SOUL

She wanted to paint.  I set up the paints, the canvas, and gathered the brushes.  But HayJae wasn't satisfied.  "You paint, too, Grama."  So I did.  And this is the result.

I am not an artist.  I play with paint.  Phyllis Franklin paints.  From her heart flows the peace and contentment of God's place in her life.  Sometimes she is not satisfied with what she feels inside.  But onlookers who wander onto her blog landscape can clearly view the inner sanctum of her soul if they choose to take the time it takes to have a cup of tea. 

Take a moment and think about what picture we would see if we were to look inside your heart today.  selahV   

I MAKE A LOUSY FEMINIST...

I hated working outside the home.  Literally hated it.  In all the positions I've ever held, (mostly in sales or sales management or marketing), I always had particulars in the jobs that I didn't like.  I never really aspired to be a manager or hold a big-deal position.  Just always kinda happened.  Never felt like I was looked down upon because I was a woman (only because I was a Christian).  In fact, the only people who seemed to treat me meanly were other women who worked and wanted my job.  Then there were the women who worked and were mad at me because I didn't work.  (Talk about feminism at its worst.  So much for a woman's right to choose.)  [FOR MORE...}

FEMININE MATTERS~~TO DRINK OR NOT TO DRINK

DO I REALLY HAVE TO?  I suppose I do.  For so long I've been an avid opponent to imbibing but I am such a coffee hound that I never had much use for any other beverage.  Some will pray I'm reduced to nothing when I over indulge but many will join me, so misery will join misery in a song of sorts as we drown our sorrows each day.  While others drink in moderation, I'm afraid if I want to prove a point, I'm forced to drink till my kidneys meet my eyeballs.  [FOR MORE...}    

WOMEN! WE'RE SO PREDICTABLE

  OR ARE WE?  Is that a fair statement?  Woman are predictable?

My husband told me the reason he loves me so much is because I'm unpredictable.  Go figure.  But truly, although men can't figure us out, they think they can lump us in a bunch and say we act the way we act and think the way we think because, well--we're women!  Are we being profiled?

As I've already posted, I will be writing a devotional over at sbcImpact on a daily basis under the subtitle Daily Impact and launched on September 1st.  I already posted a little intro to see what interest might be sparked by the plan running around in my heart and mind as to the format, the voice and slant of my new Baby.

I say Baby, because it is brand new.  It shall have--to my understanding--no other participants contributing to the posts.  Just me.  So what's up?

A couple of commenters, and I admit they are a bit biased toward me, have noticed what they view to be a hand on a Bible that, in their opinion, looks like a man's.  Since I wasnt' there to take the photo and to my knowledge no one else was in the mix of conversation, I'd have to agree that the hand does look more like a young man's hand than a 59 year-old woman's.  That said, I have to laugh.

My very first blog about what I hope to create with the site is greeted with a discussion thread dividing over gender issues.  It's hilarious!  I am also, to date, the only female on the collaborative blog and I think that is daringly fun.  I rather like being a mother hen and for most of the contributors--if not all--I am their elder.  RESPECT.  I might finally get some.  I may even let the grey grow out in my hair.  No more Clairol #44 for me!  Who knows?

Well, my dear readers--and you know how nice I am to you over here--would you take a minute and drop by Daily Impact and cast your vote on the issue.  Men are welcome--in fact, I encourage you to help me in this search for truth and journalistic integrity.  selahV

MODERN DAY WIFE~~ NEED SHE BE VIRTUOUS?

"Who can find a virtuous wife?

For her worth is FAR above rubies."  Proverbs 31:10

FAR ABOVE rubies.  The value of a virtuous wife.  It's amazing how brilliant a virtuous wife is according to Proverbs 31.  She's competent, diligent, hardworking, intelligent.  She's a multi-tasked, multi-talented person.  She is courageous, wise and honorable.  She's a business woman, a cook, a seamstress.  She shows hospitality and compassion.  AND...

"Her children rise up to call her blessed; her husband also, he praises her." {28

In the instant-pudding, microwave, fast-food culture we live in today, we have all but forgotten the worth of a Biblical virtuous woman.  Is she an illusion?   

In today's society we are raising girls to look for careers outside the home.  We are teaching them to seek the most high-paying jobs.  We are teaching them the main priority is financial success, and career satisfaction.  We are instilling in them ideas that they can do anything they want and anything a man can do.  I wonder if we are neglecting to teach them the value of being a virtuous woman--a God-created woman who helps her husband and nurtures her children. 

Have we passed the threshold of no return as we leave childrearing to daycares and school systems?  Have generations of working women, and also divorce--necessitating women to work--abolished virtuous homemaking skills?

Have fast-food restuarants and supper-on-the-run replaced the need for family dinners around the table? Has this destroyed the conversation and communication lacking in homes today?  Most women are too tired to come home and cook a meal--after all, there's the laundry to do, bills to pay, and often presentations to create for work the next day.  Therefore, mothers do not have time to teach their daughters how to cook, sew, or budget a paycheck.  They leave for college with no idea how to sew on a button or wash their clothes.

Often, a young women fantasizes a marriage and homelife that mom and dad never delivered.  She vows her life will be different, her marriage will not be like mom's.  She longs for what she'd been created to have in all its fullness and is shaken when life doesn't measure up to the fantasy of family-centered life.  Have we failed her?

If a virtuous woman was worth far above rubies in Solomon's day, wouldn't she be of far greater value today?

JUST WONDERING....WHAT CHARACTERISTICS DEFINE A MODERN-DAY VIRTUOUS WIFE? selahV

[copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007]