Laid Back

I told you I was getting more mellow as I aged, just like cheese ;-0! Anyway, I didn't panic today when my husband took the wet/dry vac up the stairs to the bathroom where he was trying to stop a leak. I didn't even ask why my toilet still doesn't work....I think we're just going to Lowe's for an upgrade....see how calm I am. Now, how many milligrams was that?

Where did those auburn highlights come from?

I am having a hair crisis. You know how you have a picture of yourself in your mind? In my mind I was blonde, then dirty blonde, then light brown with blonde highlights. (If I ever get my old pictures scanned, I can show you the blonde part, oh yeah.) So, as I have aged, ahem, my hair has gotten darker, and now that I am probably 30% gray, very mousey. I don't like mousey. I would like to be Paula Deen gray. Right now. A couple of months ago we had to have our picture taken for our new church directory. I wanted my hair colored, but didn't have $100 to blow, so I went to Ulta and picked out a DIY color kit. Everything went fine, the picture was fine, but I noticed that in a certain light I had auburn highlights that I couldn't see in my bathroom mirror. This irritated me greatly, no offense to anyone with red hair, I just didn't have or want red hair......then, you know how it is when you think you know yourself and then wham! Outta the blue! The last time I was at my mother's house I was looking at our senior pictures on the wall when I notice.....you guessed it, auburn highlights in my eighteen year old hair that had never been colored..........darn, I do have red hair.

Holiday Garland Carolina Style

Holiday Garland Carolina Style

This was such a fun project. I wouldn’t have thought of this without the inspiration of the “Nester”. Thanks so much for hosting this “Show us your garland” day!

I used four strand of cheapo garland from Michaels for $1.99 each, and one full strand of grapevine that I already had. The center angel is actually a tree topper from Southern Living at Home (previous life).

I also added magnolia leaves and pine cones from my yard and fresh sprigs of sage and rosemary from my herb pots. I love birdhouses so had to have one on the mantel with some ornamental balls and feathers.

I filled this hurricane from Crate and Barrel with copper, gold, and silver ornaments to pick up the colors in my ribbon.

I followed the Nester’s advice and kept adding until I could barely fit another thing. I used every dried thing I had on hand. The last touch was a perfectly shaped seashell.

And that’s my garland, Carolina style.

Holiday Garland

Check back on Wednesday, I should have pictures of the garland I am making for my mantle.

God's Vessel

I stood at the edge of the ocean today. Whenever I need reminding of God’s awesome power and majesty, my mind goes there. Water everywhere. Not just any water, but an animated, breathing sea that sustains a multitude of life forms. A seemingly uncontrollable, immeasurable profusion of water. How can this be? How do those pulsing, pounding waves stay just beyond the mound of dunes? Sometimes God lifts His hands and unleashes the water and it races forth, spilling out of its well defined boundaries causing roads to crumble and dunes to fall. And we’re always surprised at this daring display of power. Why is that?

The Holy Spirit is as endless and powerful as the ocean. We can fill ourselves again and again, and yet the supply never diminishes. We are the vessels for this mighty spirit. Every Sunday at our church, before we go our separate paths, we recite our commitment, “I will be vessel for living God’s purpose….”

God can fill any sized vessel, yet I bring a thimble, a tea cup, or if I’m feeling especially holy, a bucket. Whatever I bring, He fills it with His spirit like water overflowing and pouring down the sides. Why do I limit the spirit of God within me? Because I am small. I stand by the ocean and think I am insignificant, yet God’s power exceeds the size of the ocean and if I allow Him, His purposes, great and small, will be completed through me.

2 Corinthians 4:7 (New American Standard Bible)
7But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves;

Thanksgiving

It is hard to believe that this year is almost over. We've had our dinner, ham, turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, and turtle cheesecake....then we took a little walk through the cemetery. I couldn't believe how many other people were there! I put some poinsettias on my father's grave as well as Nick's grandmother's grave. I don't always remember, but this should be a good day for honoring those that gave us life.

This year my "thankful" list consists of simple things:

not meeting my deductible on my health insurance

my part time job

having too much to eat

the price of gas this week

someone else's house to visit on Thanksgiving

Nick, as always

God's eternal presence

As we enter the season of advent, take care to be mindful of the Christ child. The next couple of weeks are going to be crazy busy, take time to pray and reflect on the greatest gift of all!

God bless.

The year of living FRUGALLY

This has been a long, tiring week. Let’s just say I was more than a little disappointed by Tuesday’s election results, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. Regardless of the winner, I had started a more serious quest for work. Right now I am working as a substitute teacher at our Christian school. I usually work 2-3 days a week, but this week I filled in all week for the same teacher. Since I haven’t worked full time in a year, I am exhausted! Unfortunately with the uncertainty of our economy I hope to be working full time again soon. I am also exploring methods to simplify our lifestyle.

The largest drain on our budget is, of course, housing. Other than utilities, little can be done to reduce this amount. We have two auto loans, one large; one small, but cutting back to one car would only work if I find a job with a set schedule. Other expenditures are fairly inflexible: insurance, taxes, etc., so I’m looking at food since we don’t spent a lot on clothes, and our only entertainment is cable/internet and Netflix. Food is huge and complex. First of all, we love to eat out, and with our often hectic schedule, this is my biggest temptation. Secondly, we both need to lose weight. Choosing healthy, low fat, low carb, yet economical food takes time, education, and diligence. Today, I don’t feel up to the challenge.

Sometimes I would like to return to our previous house just for the lower mortgage payment, but then I remember why we moved. When we got married we bought a house in a good neighborhood. As time passed, more and more of our neighbors moved away and the houses became rental property. No offense to people who rent, but few renters or landlords maintain property as well as owners who live in their houses. We decided to sell and upgrade. Our mortgage payment increased almost fifty per cent; however, we made the right decision because sadly, our old neighborhood looks run down and unkempt. Aside from living on several acres out in the country, everyone must deal with the dynamics of a neighborhood. Since I am not inclined to be a country girl, we must suffer with the mortgage we have.

And so, I continue my quest for a job, coupons, and bargains….remembering that God has always been faithful to provide us with all our needs…..and more.

HELP

Sometimes I just love my life. I worked a full week this week so today I am doing laundry and cleaning. I am in the livingroom vacuuming while my cat is in the dining room throwing up on the rug!

Lost Shoes

The bright summer sun bounced off of the twisted metal and shattered glass of the Chevy Blazer. Slivers of glass and blood covered the seat and my hand reached out to measure the distance between the crushed roof and the headrest where Jessica last sat. I quickly turned my face away from the wreckage and walked back toward my own car, seeking refuge for my tearing eyes and heavy heart as my brother searched in vain for the favorite pair of shoes that were lost somewhere during the confusion of rescue workers and helicopter rides to Chapel Hill. Several months would pass before I would understand the significance of that day and I could relinquish my guilt.

I had nothing to do with this accident. I was safe, many miles away in my home, when my sixteen year old niece was returning to a church camp with several other counselors and would roll her SUV over multiple times, breaking her neck and arm. Her best friend was thrown from the backseat and died instantly in the middle of the dark country road, a mere half mile from the turn off to the camp. Jessica was airlifted to NC Memorial Hospital in Chapel Hill and would have neurosurgery within the next twenty four hours. The other counselors in the car were bruised and battered, but no one had injuries as severe as hers. We all sat in a huddle in the waiting room, in shock and disbelief, until we received the news that she would fully recover with no disabilities. Even though the impact of the collision had snapped her vertebrae, the break was such that no motor skills were damaged. She would have a metal plate and pins in her neck and a scar that would be covered by her long blonde hair. The relief we felt was overshadowed by the fact that someone would have to tell her about Ricky’s death.

I have always considered myself a spiritual person. Even before I truly came to know Jesus, I knew Him and sensed a purpose for my life. My life is not always orderly. Yes, there are some things that I can be compulsive about, but in other ways, I am a fly by the seat of my pants kind of girl. Mentally, I tend to be all over the place, so I don’t really have a structured prayer life. Of course, I pray. Some days I feel like every thought is a prayer, and I am a strong advocate of prayer; I understand its power. Back in 2001, our bible study was ending at the end of April and our group wanted to keep meeting until the end of May. Our leader decided to help us put together prayer journals. She was so organized in her prayer life. Every day she prayed for a different set of needs . We put together our journals in class, of course, making them “pretty”, and she gave us detailed instructions as to how to go about organizing our own prayer life. I really enjoyed this process. I listed every significant person in my life and my desires for them or the areas in which I felt they needed prayer. My niece Jessica had just gotten her license. She was such a good kid. (still is, but now she’s a woman, yes that’s me cringing) Smart, beautiful on the inside and outside, kind hearted, generous, sorry, I’m gushing. Anyway, I listed safety on the highway, wisdom with friends, career selection, future husband, everything I could think of for Jessica. I truly began praying everyday for these needs, but as is my random nature, I abandoned that rigidity soon after I started.

When I got the call about Jessica’s accident. I was ravaged by guilt. I should have prayed every day. How could I have left those prayers for her dangling out in the air? Where was my spiritual discipline? So many things go through your mind when you are burdened with grief and fear of the unknown. The trip from Fayetteville to Chapel Hill was heavy with remorse. I do not have children, my nieces and nephews are the closest I will ever come to being a parent, but that day, I understood the anguish that a mother must feel when her child is in pain. I wanted to bear that pain, both the physical and the emotional pain, for her. I wanted to spare her this baggage I knew she would carry for the rest of her life. God worked many miracles during that horrible time, some where physical, some spiritual. The staff and members of White Plains Methodist Church in Cary poured their love out like drink offering to Jessica and her family. My brother attended Ricky’s funeral on Jessica’s behalf and heard Ricky’s father profess Ricky’s great love for Christ and his best friend Jessica. He spoke of forgiveness and healing and celebrated the fact that on the last day of his life Ricky spent it in the presence of good friends eating pizza and having fun, and that as a father he was thankful that he knew Ricky was in heaven. What a blessing that my brother who rarely attends church could see the love of Christ in action.

I believe that God ordered my steps the day I saw the wreckage. My brother was left at the hospital without a car and I just happened to be there. Jessica wanted her dad to look for her favorite, worn in just right, Birkenstocks. I drove him to the garage where the car was parked. I saw the crushed frame and the busted glass where Jessica was sitting. I also saw God’s hand protecting her, holding her back firm against the headrest, allowing the break in her neck in just the right place, shielding her young beautiful face from the flying glass. He was there with her protecting her just as I had prayed. Several months would pass before I could come to terms with Jessica’s accident. The Lord reminded me that my trials shaped me and Jessica’s trials will shape her into the courageous Christian woman that He wants her to be. You, see, Jessica loves Christ and after all, He is in control.

I saw a tee shirt this summer that I really loved. It said,
“Scars are just tattoos with better stories.”

We all have scars, some are physical, but they all remind us that God is our Jehovah Raah, our shepherd and protector.

Proverbs 18:10
The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The righteous run to it and are safe.

Cocooning

Right now I am basking in the luxury of a lazy, rainy afternoon. Every living thing except for me is slumbering somewhere in the house so I can cruise the 'net without guilt. I have pizza dough rising in the oven for supper and the new Indiana Jones movie from Netflix ready to go for later this evening. MMMMMMMMMM life is good.

Courtship

Nick and I have a unique story. We met in the 11th grade in French III class. I was Colette and he was Jean Paul. We became fast friends and spent many hours together. I had no idea that his feelings were more than platonic. I went on my way, being infatuated and obsessed with a couple of different guys. Right before we were to part for our senior year of college, he abruptly dropped me. My calls went unanswered and any plans we had made were ignored. Bewildered and angry, I returned to Chapel Hill as a persona non grata in search of a new touchstone. We would not exchange more than a few forced cordial words for twelve years. I remained angry for many of those years. It was an anger born of pain and ignorance. Eventually, I stopped wondering. One evening in May of 1993, the phone rang at my brother’s house (where I just happened to be living at the time) and Nick was on the line. In my excitement to catch up with my old friend, I had forgotten that I wasn’t speaking to him. He had tracked me down after all those years in what could only be explained as God’s hand moving in our lives. We began regular phone conversations and he finally revealed the real reason for our separation, his total and complete love for me which he feared revealing. He decided he could no longer be my friend, yet the potential consequences of telling me his feelings kept him silent. I hate to admit it, but he probably did the right thing. At the time, my unnatural obsession with a guy who could care less about me dictated my alliances. I believe God had great work for Nick to do, and He needed me out of the way. The maturity required of a minister’s wife danced just out of my reach. When I was ready to accept the task, God brought us together. The shock from Nick’s congregation was palpable. He had been at this church for six years and he was the beloved single pastor who they protected as their own child. “Who is this woman? Where did she come from? How long has he known her?” were some of the most obvious questions. Only a few of Nick’s closest friends knew the whole story. The truth overwhelmed me; I can only imagine the surprise to everyone else! After our first reunion, I thought I had blown it. I went to Lynchburg for the weekend. Friday afternoon we went to a church softball game. Before we left Nick’s house we had fixed drinks for ourselves because the field had no concession stand. We had to cross an open field to get to the ball game. I am walking along and I step in a hole. I fall on my knees and my drink which must have been at least 32 ounces, flies out of my hand and pours over my head. My knee is bleeding and my long curly hair is dripping with sticky Mountain Dew. I am trying to get myself together when I notice the look of horror on Nick’s face. When I fell, I exclaimed, “Oh s%*@!” When he finally regained his composure, he helps me up and we proceed to the bleachers, in silence. The rest of the weekend was uneventful. After I left, Nick told some of his friends that he was afraid I had changed too much. We continued to talk on the phone and then started to visit more often and then decided to get married. His friend asked him about his impression after that first weekend and Nick told her, “She’s my diamond in the rough.” Nick loves to tell me that when I get too rowdy. No one could have been a better match for me. We are like two sides of the same seashell, opposite, yet the same.

He is trusting and loving; I am skeptical and reticent.
He is optimistic and sunny; I am negative and moody.
He is generous and forgiving; I am frugal and suspicious.
He is laid back and meandering; I am intense and directed.
He is tactful; I am blunt.

Yet God blends our personalities in perfect balance. Together our weaknesses become strengths. Who would have guessed what could come after,
“Bonjour, je m’appelle Collette.”

Red Cross Blood Drive

Thanks to everyone who participated. Unfortunately I was anemic and couldn't participate :-(.

Spoiled Rotten Girls

Minnie and Jilly don't care if the house is clean, as long as Momma remembers where the dog treats are kept.

Someday my princess will come...I hope she's wearing a Molly Maid outfit!

The other day I spent several hours straightening my living room. How large is this room, you may ask. Not very large at all. First I looked over the room and decided to return all the orphan items to their proper homes. This was my first mistake. I have a habit of hanging my purse on the staircase rail. Here’s my pink elephant Vera, love that one, and my straw summer Brighton, oh, and this little black Vera I had just carried to a funeral. Why is this one here? I haven’t carried it in two months. I gather all my purses and carry them into the bedroom to put them away. Oh, wait a minute; I should put in a load of clothes before I start. What is in these purses, they’re so heavy. Maybe I should clean them out before I store them. I’d better make the bed so I have a smooth surface on which to work. I cleaned out all my purses and I found three dollars, a roll of quarters, fifteen pens, three tubes of hand cream, one Burt’s Bees lip balm, and a book of checks for an account I closed three years ago. Oh, the washer has stopped. Dump the clothes in the dryer and start another load. Back to the bedroom. I keep my Vera Bradley bags in a plastic bin in my closet. I put all of those back in and find a purse I‘d like to carry for a while, so I keep that one out. Then I start pulling down the Brighton storage boxes. One falls and hits me on the cheek. My face is bleeding, so I grab a tissue and sit down until it stops bleeding. While I’m waiting I read a couple of chapters in Digital Fortress. Back to the living room, but first I dump the clothes from the dryer onto the bed. I fold them and put them away after I finish putting away my purses. Then I go into the kitchen to help Nick make a rub for the tenderloin he’s grilling for supper. We decided to eat lunch. After lunch I look at the clutter in my living room. That’s when I decide I need to rest a while and read my email. This is my never-ending story…….

Hot Cars

Today someone was talking about a red Porsche and I said that Nick drove a Porsche before we got married. I said "He used to have hot cars, now he has a hot wife." Of course, I'm talking about flashes and not looks!

Sensible Shoes Sisterhood

You’ve heard of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, well, I belong to the Sensible Shoes Sisterhood. This is what my friends and I call our monthly lunch gatherings. I had never watched Sex in the City, one because we don’t have HBO and two because it isn’t listed on the list of approved television shows for a woman of the cloth; however, once the show started coming on TBS, I saw the advertisements and a few snippets of the show. The women are of course ridiculously beautiful, no offense ladies, but most of us don’t look like that, and rich, and quite honestly, a little sleazy. Anyway, I started hearing references to Manolo Blanicks (sp), and other shoes that cost more than my monthly car payment. Since there are four of them, and four of my crew, I thought we needed a name. Of course, the sex and the city girls didn’t really fit us, so I looked down at our feet one day outside of Logan’s Roadhouse, and it hit me! We’re the Sensible Shoes Girls! We’ve been calling ourselves that ever since, well, one of the husbands suggested that we be sisters instead of girls, and since we are all looking very closely at one side or the other of fifty, sisters it is! We get together for lunch as often as well can, wearing our sensible shoes of course, and instead of cosmos, we drink sweet tea or soda. The conversations are no less scintillating; I wonder if TBS would be interested in us?

World Changers?

I love stories. I love to watch people on the street and pretend I know what their lives must be like. Sometimes I will even verbalize those thoughts to Nick and we will laugh at the possible scenarios, but what is really special is when a story comes to life. The bible is full of great stories, people in crisis, feisty women and stubborn men, rebellious children, and examples for living a Christ-like life. Last Wednesday we witnessed a Bible story come to real life. Nick was teaching a children’s class and I was doing inventory in the Awana store with Cara, my commander partner. I finished before Nick and was waiting in his office when Joe Roy came in and asked me if I had keys to Nick’s truck.
“He has a flat tire, and I’m going to change it for him,” he explained.
I was reluctant to give up the keys because I thought Nick wouldn’t want Joe to do that, but he persisted and together we walked outside. He and a couple of other men started looking at the tire, the spare, and eventually the owner’s manual. There’s nothing like a crisis with a man’s truck to draw a crowd. I think before they were through, twenty people we standing in support of the tire changers. Soon, the spare was on, the flat tire was in the bed of the truck and the tools and manuals were back in their places. The Good Samaritan had come to life in our church parking lot.

Work in the ministry is a lot like sunscreen. People only notice it when it’s not there. Everyday countless actions are completed that go completely unnoticed by most people. Fortunately, most ministers do their work without expecting much in return, however, like everyone else, a little praise goes a long way. I thought Nick might be upset that I had allowed these men to change his tire, but I was wrong. As we walked back into the church, Nick was beaming, “I can’t believe those men did that for me. I feel so loved.” And to think I had almost denied him this little bit of praise.
So to Joe Roy, Jimmy Julian, Cecil Hayes, Walter Peterson, and Bucky Pinnell (and forgive me it I’ve left someone out) thanks for making Nick’s day. We love you!

Southern Living

Here’s another presentation that I did for a WMU meeting one night. You might enjoy this:

Hi, my name is Theresa and I am a home décor addict. You might be a home décor addict if

You named your pets Hilde, Doug, and Frank.

You carry fabric swatches and paint chips in your purse

You can find architectural elements in your neighbor’s garbage.

You know the days for new inventory at TJ Maxx and Marshall’s.

You have more home magazines than the public library.

You’ve rearranged your furniture so many times even the cat can’t find the most comfortable seat in the house.

Why are so many women home décor addicts? One simple reason. We have a need to have homes instead of houses. We need things to surround us that are a reflection of our families. We need our homes to be a place of comfort and shelter. We need to be surrounded by beauty and to enjoy simple pleasures like sipping coffee in our favorite chair or filling a vase with flowers from our own garden. To quote a line from Steel Magnolias, “the only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize”.

How do we create warm, comfortable, and inviting homes? The first thing we do is to determine what our favorite things are and what style we want to emphasize. I am so blessed to be a part of the Southern Living family. For just over a year I have been a consultant with Southern Living at HOME. But since I have at least 20 years worth of Southern Living magazines in boxes in my house, I was a self appointed expert even before that!

The mission statement says it all: “To create a feeling of welcome, comfort, and beauty in homes all across America, while fostering the spirit of generosity in the lives of our consultants and their families.”

One of the things that impressed me about this statement is the fact that we want to reach every home, not just the homes that are expensive or over a certain square footage. I grew up on a dirt road in Massey Hill. I’ve lived in a mobile home, a one bedroom apartment, and houses with anywhere from 1000 to 3000 square feet, however, the elements that made these houses a home, have little to do with the monetary value of their contents. When we gather together our favorite things and display them in a way that is pleasing to us, we have made our house a home.

When I think about my most valuable possessions the items that come to mind are rarely things that I purchased in a store, rather they were gathered about me throughout the stages of my life. I have the antique iron bed that I salvaged from my aunt’s shed, a chipped platter, a hope chest, a raggedy Ann doll made by my brother’s wife, my grandmother’s dresser that survived a West Virginia blizzard. I have carried these things with me wherever I have lived. Even though they may not be showcased in my living room, you will find them somewhere in my home because they are a part of me. So in your planning, make sure that your home reflects who you are.

Here are a few practical tips to get you started:
PAINT THE WALLS. Nothing warms a room faster than painting the walls a warm and inviting color.
Create still life arrangements or vignettes in your rooms. Think about the pages of Southern Living magazine. The rooms tell stories about the people that live in the houses. What is your passion? What do you collect? Incorporate who you are, with how you decorate your rooms. Put out a tea or coffee server on your sideboard or sofa table, just as if you were expecting someone. Fill your guest bathroom with baskets of soaps and fluffy towels. Have fresh flowers on the table even when you’re not having company.
Don’t forget your senses. Don’t just light your candles for company. I burn candles all through the day so when I come in from outside, my house smells delicious!
Vary textures. Use throw pillows and afghans. Layering fabrics over your furniture creates instant warmth. This goes for the floor as well. Even if you have wall to wall carpet use rugs to anchor a sitting area. Rugs on hardwood floors and tile soften your rooms.
Every room needs something living like plants or flowers. And if your green thumb is defective, you can find great fakes!
Books and magazines make great foundations for your tablescapes.
Don’t forget to add something fun.

No matter your living situation, you can make a warm and inviting home by taking the time to discover who you are and how you want that conveyed to your family and friends.

Let me show you a couple of arrangements:
Herbs in lemons
Farmhouse basket
French Quarter Tray

And briefly I would like to talk about my passion, which is cooking and entertaining. I discovered my love of cooking while I was in college. I am not happy cooking for myself, I must have an audience. Even though I am not Italian, I relate to their need to feed and nurture. I began entertaining in my dorm room. With a hot plate, electric skillet, and toaster oven, I was able to create full course meals for my friends. I soon gained the reputation as the one who know about cooking. One day some friends took a day trip to the beach and returned with fish they had caught from the pier. None of them had any clue how to clean and cook the fish. Who would know this? Theresa would. And even though I had never done this myself, I had watched my parents clean and cook fish hundreds of times. And so I was able to accommodate my friends. This is how much of my experience has been gained. Trying new things and not being afraid if something doesn’t turn out perfectly.

Here are some tips for entertaining.
Take a deep breath and relax. Plan your menu and tables, but be flexible. No one will know if your dog ate one of your appetizers.
Prepare foods that you are comfortable with. You don’t have to personally make every item. Buy some things at the deli or bakery.
Present food on beautiful platters and containers. Vary the height and size of dishes.
Prepare most of the items in advance so you can have a shower and be relaxed when your guests arrive.
Don’t forget the candles.
Place the most importance on enjoying your guests and not impressing them with your entertaining prowess.
Practice makes perfect.

Now, let’s give away some doorprizes and then enjoy ourselves!

Other Duties as Assigned

As a minister’s wife I sometimes get asked to do some odd things. I call these things “other duties as assigned”. My husband gets asked to do even stranger things, but he’ll have to post those on his own blog. Because I have been a caterer and church cook, I am often asked for recipes and cooking and entertaining advice. Once for a women’s ministry day at church I was asked to do a cooking demonstration.
My friend Diane and I did this together. This was a blast. I gathered some of my favorite recipes and advice and put this all in my handout. I decided to demonstrate how to roast a whole chicken. I started out by explaining which end of the chicken was “up”. My friend Betty West still hoots every time she thinks about this. She calls it the day I made the “chicken dance.” I oiled up the chicken with olive oil and seasoned it with herbs and spices, I put everything in a foil roasting pan and this became one of the door prizes. I personally thought this was a great idea because the recipient had a free dinner that just needed to be roasted; however, the lady that won this was so disgusted by the raw chicken that she wouldn’t touch it and ended up giving it to her friend! So much for my great idea!

Here’s part of my presentation:

The Hospitable Woman of God
How to Minister and Encourage Others with Food

As women we are expected to prepare the meals for not only our own families, but other families in times of trials and celebrations. The first indication that a milestone has taken place is the appearance of a covered dish. This tradition of sharing ourselves through food began long before Jesus took the loaves of fishes from a small boy to feed thousands. Many bible stories include the sharing of a meal. You may more resemble Lucy in the chocolate factory than Martha Stewart, but nonetheless, part of your role as a woman of God is to reach out in love with food to your brothers.

Many times we must respond quickly to the food needs of a family in bereavement. The key to answering this call is being prepared by having a source of quick and easy recipes, having meats in the freezer and other ingredients in the pantry. In other words, a plan. Rosemary Lemon Roasted Chicken is a delicious meal in one dish, and makes a lovely addition to an “after funeral” meal. Many of you are probably intimidated by cooking a whole chicken, but once you see how easy and inexpensive this is, what I like to call the “holy bird”, will be one of your favorites.

How to roast a chicken in 3 easy steps:
1. Wash the chicken carefully removing any quills or hairs. Also, snip the tail with a pair of kitchen shears and remove the insides (sometimes in a plastic or paper bag).
2. Rub the skin with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Fill the inside cavity with herbs, lemons, garlic, onions, etc. (this depends on the recipe)
3. Place the chicken in a roasting pan, breast side up (think about how to chicken looks standing up, the wings are her arms, so the wings are in front of the breast), bake at indicated temperature (usually 350 degrees) and baste every 20 to 30 minutes. The chicken should be done in about 1 ½ hours, or when a thermometer reads 180 degrees when placed in the thigh area of the chicken. Allow the chicken to rest 10 to 15 minutes before serving.

I like to add red potatoes and fresh green beans to the pan. You can also add several cloves of peeled garlic if you like.

Another recipe that I will share that everyone loves was given to me by my friend Sherese Ivey. She got it from someone in her church in Jacksonville, Florida. I passed it around like the collection plate at a tent meeting. We all had a good laugh when we realized this recipe was printed on the label of Jimmy Dean sausage! Nevertheless, it is a crowd pleaser:

Sausage Croissants
1 pound sausage, fried, drained, and crumbled
1 8 ounce package cream cheese
2 tubes of crescent rolls

Mix cooked sausage and cream cheese. Unroll crescent rolls and fill each one with about a tablespoon of sausage mixture. Roll into triangle and place on an ungreased cookie sheet. If you like you can brush the rolls with an eggwash and spinkle with poppy seeds. Bake at 450 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes or until bread is golden brown. Makes 16 croissants. You can make the sausage mixture ahead and store it in a Tupperware container for a couple of days.

Stay tuned for more cooking advice and recipes.

Hello, God?

This morning our pastor's eight year old son sat in the worship service with us. About the time for the announcements, the pastor's cell phone rings. He makes a joke that his son must be calling to tell him it's time for lunch. We both look down at Josh and there he is holding Nick's cell phone, and yes, he had just dailed his dad's number! Of course he denied this, but the "recently dailed numbers" feature doesn't fib!

Life Beyond a Red Dirt Road

My Personal Testimony

I accepted Christ as my Savior when I was sixteen years old. My parents had been raised attending church, my mother in a white clapboard nondenominational congregation near Charleston, West Virginia, and my father in a Baptist church in Hamlet, NC, however, my father was a weekend alcoholic and we rarely went to church. After being transferred to a different school in 1976, I was invited to attend youth activities at Massey Hill Baptist Church. The friend who would introduce me to Christ would become my best friend and much later, my husband.
My first encounter with Jesus occurred when I was around ten years old in a dream. Our household atmosphere was at best unpredictable and sometimes even violent due to my father’s disease of alcoholism. I awoke one night and saw Jesus standing at my bedside. He was the Jesus from a child’s picture bible. He was wearing the white robe with the purple stole and He was by far the most beautiful, peaceful, gentle image I had ever seen. Years later, I would teach a class on the names of God. My favorite name of God is Jehovah Raah, the Lord is my Shepherd, because He first came to me as my protector. Before I met the Savior, I met the Shepherd, because Jesus always meets us where we need Him most.
Throughout my spiritual journey I have been active in churches, teaching Sunday School, bible studies, and Vacation Bible School, and singing in choirs. My personal growth has come from bible study, prayer, corporate worship, Sunday School, and through service. Since 1976 I have been active in church, but my life changed dramatically in 1994 when I married my best friend and the love of my life, Nick. Nick is the godliest man that I know and I am honored to serve beside him. Our life revolves around the church and the God that we serve and love. Our families are sometimes puzzled at the life we lead, but we are committed to following God’s plan for our life.
During 2005 and 2006, I was challenged with a very serious threat to my health. Throughout the surgeries, physical therapy, radiation treatments, and months of healing, I was given many quiet hours for reflection. I prayed often that God would just restore me to my previous “life before I broke my ankle…”, but I realized after much time, that God’s purpose for my struggles was to transform me. I know that my experiences have refined and purified my faith. We don’t really know what we are made of until we meet a crisis face to face. During my ordeal I made contact with hundreds of medical personnel and other patients, and through the Holy Spirit I was able to convey the love of Christ and demonstrate His healing power and the awesome effects of prayer. One of the nurses at Duke Hospital commented one day on my positive attitude and I replied, “Of course I’m doing well, I have thousands of people praying for me!” I could almost physically feel myself being lifted up to the Lord for healing. The pain of my surgeries has been at times almost unbearable, but our God is so awesome He takes pain and suffering and transforms it into praise.
If I had to describe my spiritual goal, I would have to say that like Paul, my desire is to be “crucified with Christ; nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.” Galatians 2:20 (KJV). And at the end of my life here on earth, I would like my legacy to be that I accepted the call of God and that I was found faithful.

Ocean Breezes and Beach Sand

January 2007
The waves raced up to meet me. The water, although warm for January, sent a shiver through my toes and I felt myself giggle. I needed this, the warm sun, the cold water, the air thick with salt and humidity. I haven’t felt beach sand and salt water on my feet for over two years. As I turned to walk down the shoreline, I could feel my soul begin to heal and my body return to wholeness.

October 2004
Fall is my absolute favorite season. I love the arrival of cool air and turning leaves, fairs and festivals, and Thanksgiving. This year I was working hard, too hard. For several years I had worked as a personal chef and caterer. I also conducted Southern Living at Home parties. I usually prepared two meals a week at church for around three hundred and fifty people. This year I was also taking extra jobs on weekends. Around the second week of October, I woke up with a funny feeling in my right hip. Recently I had been experiencing a lot of nighttime sensations in my legs (I thought I had restless leg syndrome). I went on with my scheduled shopping trip for the week’s meals: several hours in two mega stores followed by sorting and organizing the food in the commercial kitchen. The next two days I spent my usual eight hours standing in the kitchen and my hip was beginning to hurt. I went to my general practitioner and began the dance toward diagnosis: X-rays, MRI, blood tests, etc. I kept on working, cooking and trying to do my home parties, in the meantime, both legs had begun to hurt. The MRI showed some compression in my lower vertebrae. My doctor thought I had a herniated disk and referred me to a neurosurgeon. I thought if needed I could possibly have surgery in January when everything slowed down. It was now the middle of November and I was busy planning for the annual Thanksgiving Feast at our preschool for 450 preschoolers, parents, grandparents, and teachers.

On Monday, November 14th, I had spent the afternoon baking fresh apple cakes for the Wednesday night supper. My husband asked me to assist in Upward Basketball evaluations that evening at our church gym and when we were in the parking lot, I stepped off the curb, my leg gave way, and I broke my ankle, beginning a two year period of surgeries and therapy.

After five weeks in a cast I graduated to a walking boot. I was able to use a walker to make short trips to the bathroom or living room, but my lack of mobility kept me housebound except for doctor’s appointments. In early January I should have been foot racing, but instead my legs were growing weaker and I was unable to get in and out of my bed without assistance. My visit to neurologist had been delayed due to my injury, but I was finally sent for another MRI. This MRI showed a meningioma on my spinal cord. This tumor was causing the numbing sensations in my hips and legs and had ultimately caused my fall. I needed surgery immediately.

No one prepared me for the after effects of spinal cord surgery. My doctor merely stated that the recovery time would be lengthy. I didn’t know that I would not be able to feel my legs, control my bodily functions, or even pull myself up in the bed. I spent five weeks in the hospital and rehabilitation center and weeks in outpatient therapy.

By the time I was able to return to church in my wheelchair, four months had passed. Eventually I was able to leave the wheelchair for a cane and then walk unassisted. However, this freedom was brief, as I started to feel some familiar sensations in November of 2005. An MRI revealed that the tumor had returned. This time I was referred to Duke University Medical Center and the diagnosis was frightening. Another surgery could not guarantee complete recovery and mobility, but without the attempted removal of the tumor, I would not walk. Although there were a few scary moments the surgery was a success. I spent three weeks at Duke and then three weeks in rehab. As a precaution, I was given radiation treatments. That year, we put five thousand miles on our car traveling between Fayetteville and Durham. During these two years, I had four surgeries, twenty-nine radiation treatments, and weekly physical therapy. My MRI in November 2006 showed no tumor even though my neurosurgeon left a remnant, it was undetectable on the image. Finally, I had regained my life.

At first, I was angry at God. My friends had moved on without me, their lives a busy flurry, my life, quiet, spent mostly at home or some medical clinic. My catering business and my consulting business were gone. I could no longer meet the physical demands of cooking in a commercial kitchen for hundreds of people. We were strained financially due to the thousands of dollars in deductibles, unreimbursed procedures, traveling expenses, and my loss of income. Even my hardwood floors were ruined by my wheelchair and walker. I prayed daily that God would restore everything that was taken from me.

As I continued to struggle with my losses, God began to change me. I began to see that His plan for my life was not restoration, but rather transformation. I couldn’t work, but I could reprioritize my spending habits, I mean, how much Polish pottery do I need to be happy? I had been busy working for God’s kingdom, but in the process, I had neglected the one thing He wants us to put first and that is our relationship with Him. My physical weakness forced me to slow down, allow others to minister to me, and to focus on that inseparable bond to Christ. God had enabled us to meet every financial need, although, I don’t know how. My hardwood floors can be refinished, but until then, the scratches remind me how far I have progressed.

Through my ordeal, I have learned that storms will come and how we weather them makes us who we are. Yes, I have many scars, metal rods and pins in my spine and ankle, and nerve damage in my back, but I can walk, a guarantee I was not promised. With each “clean” MRI, I am reminded to be thankful, not just during the season of thanksgiving, but every day.

Training Wheels

When I married my husband at the age of 33, I thought I understood what marrying a minister involved. I envisioned myself giving teas and luncheons for the ladies of the church and serving on the decorating committee. What I didn’t consider was 1) this was the twentieth century, and 2) my husband was not the pastor of a country church, but rather, the youth minister in a metropolitan area. My first inkling that I was unprepared for this mission came about two weeks after the honeymoon. My husband was not at home on a Friday evening and I took a call from a church member. She wanted a babysitter and wanted me to provide her a list of suitable teens. I explained that I really didn’t know any of the teenagers yet. “Well, then, can you sit for me, because I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend at the movies in thirty minutes?” Of course, I declined, and wasn’t I relieved when my husband later verified that babysitting was not one of his expectations of me. Lesson number one: everyone has their own idea of your responsibilities.

Not too long after that, I answered our front door to find a child from church standing there looking red faced and breathless. She explained that her dog had run away and her mother wasn’t at home and could I help her find it. We started out together, but after a few minutes I realized that the child was no longer helping me look for the dog, but instead, had stopped in a neighbor’s yard to play. Why was I out in the heat of summer “helping” this child? About the time I turned for home, a man stopped his car in the middle of the street and asked me if I was looking for a Dalmatian. After I confirmed that I was he proceeded to curse at me because the dog tried to bite him. Okay, lesson number two, dogs eventually come home by themselves.

Over the course of the next three years I would endure many youth trips on smelly church busses, nauseating amusement park rides, lodging in rustic cabins and dormitory rooms, and countless meals of pizza, however, the most humbling experience of all involved a ride in my husband’s truck. Teenagers love to eat, so most activities included food. One Saturday night we were planning a murder mystery party in the fellowship hall. I was making one of their favorites, taco salad. I had only one glitch, the fellowship hall and kitchen was being used on Saturday afternoon so I was going to make the taco meat at home. No problem, I thought. I made up the taco mixture in small batches and then transferred them to one big pot my husband used on the outside cooker for his Brunswick Stew and BBQ Sauce. The pot would easily fit in the bed of the truck and I could reheat it at the church.

Men love their trucks, don’t they? My husband is no exception and has had several different trucks during our marriage. This one was especially unique because it was a restored 1972 Chevrolet that had been his grandfather’s. Needless to say, I hated it. Unlike new vehicles, the steering wheel was where it was, you couldn’t adjust it. Being boldly beautiful, I didn’t really fit well in the driver’s seat, so I avoided driving it at all costs.

When it was time to start out for the church, I covered the big pot with aluminum foil because we didn’t have a lid for it and sat it in the back of the truck. Driving through the neighborhood was fine, but once we got out on the main highway, I noticed that the foil was flapping up from the pot. My husband pulled over to the side of the road. One of us was going to have to ride in the back of the truck and hold onto the pot to keep it covered. My husband wanted me to drive, but besides hating to drive that truck, I wasn’t wearing my contact lenses, so I climbed into the back of the truck. The drive from our house to the church was only about six miles, but we had to take not one but two of the major roads in our town, on Saturday afternoon on a payday weekend. People stared, waved, and some even honked as we made our way to the church. I had not ridden in the back of a pick up truck since I was a teenager, and let me tell you, it’s not as much fun as it used to be. My taco meat and I arrived unharmed and our youth event was a success. The whole incident was but a memory, or so I thought.

Every week during a designated point in the service, the children would be called down to the altar, my husband would give a five minute object lesson, and then he would escort them to another part of the building for their own “church” session. The next morning my husband started his message with this, “Raise your hand if you saw my wife riding in the back of my pick up yesterday.” Now, I sing in the choir so everyone can see me clearly as my face turns purple and at least one hundred people raise their hands! I don’t know how many of those people actually spotted me in the truck, but even after ten years, this is still a favorite story at our church. More than one husband has threatened his wife with “You’re riding home in the back of the truck if you don’t behave!” Lesson number three, my life is never boring.

And the main lesson is this, regardless of how many false expectations I had of church life, my job is to be a supportive and valuable helpmate to my husband, and to be prepared for whatever adventure arises.