Soapbox

I'm stepping up on my soap box today. Reality TV shows are stupid. I say that, yet, I still watch them.

For instance, Monday night on "The Bachelor", Brad sent Sheena home while keeping Bettina. That was definitely a dumb move. Bettina is not the girl for him. I don't know if Sheena is either, but keeping Bettina is just plain crazy. I talk about them as if I know them or have a vested interest in the outcome. I don’t and I don’t. So, how is it that the networks have reeled me in? I can’t explain it!

By the way, my mom was on the Bachelor on Monday night. I swear if it wasn't her, it was her sister (oh, wait, my mom is an only child). Anyway, one of the grannies was a carbon copy of my mother. Good grief!

Then, on Tuesday night, "Dancing with the Stars" shocked me by letting Sabrina Bryan go. She is the best, most energetic dancer on the show this season. She certainly deserved to be in the finale. Yet, she's gone!

I think it's all a scam. They always say "vote" by texting this number. Texting costs. So, who gets the $? Just the phone company? or does DWTS get a kickback? What’s up?

Okay, I'm off my soap box now, but I still think that they're stupid and I'm stupid for wasting my time watching them. From now on, I'm just going to fast forward through the DVR recording to watch the very end and not get so invested in them. Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Garage Sales

I have a love/hate relationship with garage sales. On the one hand, my husband and I love to go to them to see all the neat junk. I usually buy stuff I don’t really need, but that I think is unique or that evokes a memory of some sort. Occasionally, I'll come across a real bargain.

On the other hand, I hate holding a garage sale because it is a lot of work just to make $22.00. Yes, that’s about what I made at our last garage sale. My time should also be factored in. I spent several years accumulating all this stuff to sell, days to go through and select it, mark it, load it and haul it to the sale, unload it, arrange it, sell it, re-load the stuff that didn’t sell and dispose of it. All that for $22.00? Not too cost effective, I’d say. Probably about ten cents an hour.

But, then there’s the bright side of it. I feel better about clean closets. I get to see the people who come to check out and/or buy our goodies and I get to spend the whole day smiling.

I’m hoping for more than $22.00 this Saturday. But, if I don’t make any more than that, it will have still have been worth it because I will get rid of stuff that I no longer need, I’ll get to see friends and make some new ones, and I will have had quality time with my daughter getting ready for it. I’ll keep you posted on the outcome.

Yamaha

I don’t know if you are familiar with Yamaha. Some people are and some are not. Since this is marching season, it reminded me of a story about Yamaha. About 3 years ago, we accompanied our good friends and traveling buddies to watch the high school marching band at the Area competition at the Waco ISD stadium.

It was a nice, warm, sunny day. We had watched several 2-A bands’ programs and were awaiting our results. During the next session and before 2-A results were given, several 3-A bands performed.

Throughout the day, we had discussed the other bands’ uniforms and how they identified their school. We could identify most of the 2-A bands because we were familiar with the school colors. Besides, we had seen many of them perform at the regional contest the week before. Some had mascots on them and others had their high school initials emblazoned on the front. We commented on the flag routines, marching formations, and their overall programs. Chattering would be an appropriate word to use to describe our conversations. We were oblivious to most of the crowd around us.

One particular 3-A band in the next session was entering the field from the left. Their flag corps set up across the field. The flag uniforms were eye-catching and the flags were spectacular. The band members had simple, black uniforms without a mascot or the school’s initials on them. They were all aligned perfectly. The percussion section clicked a very nice cadence that each band member stepped to in unison.

As the drummers came in front of us, our friend asked, “Wonder where they’re from? They are a good band.”

Her husband quipped, “They’re from Yamaha. It says so right there on the bass drum" to which she asked " Wonder where that is?” A dead silence came over our little group immediately before a huge outburst of laughter.

You see, Yamaha is the brand of the drum. . . not the name of a town. Obviously she was not familiar with Yamaha, but now she is.

Narcissism

Several people who read yesterday’s blog asked me what narcissistic tendencies are. By definition, a narcissistic personality is one characterized by an inflated sense of self-importance and an extreme preoccupation with one’s self.

Usually, they envy and expect that others are envious as well. They are self-absorbed individuals who have a pronounced lack of interest in and empathy for others. They expect people to be devoted to them, but have no impulse to reciprocate, being unable to identify with the feelings of others or anticipate their needs. Narcissistic people often enter into relationships based on what other people can do for them.

The person with narcissistic tendencies quickly strays from situations where he or she is not the center of attention and conversation.

I hope that clears it up. Do you know someone like this?

Forgive and Forget

Sounds easy enough. We’ve heard it all our lives.

The Lord has been dealing with me lately. He's been pointing out my glaring deficiencies and urging me to address them. The ending narration from the last episode of Grey’s Anatomy prompted me to think about one of them: forgiveness.

The narrator said, “Forgive and forget. That’s what they say….It’s good advice, but it’s not very practical. When someone hurts us, we want to hurt them back. When someone wrongs us, we want to be right. Without forgiveness, old scores are never settled. Old wounds never heal. The most we can hope for is that one day if we’re lucky enough, we’ll forget.” Unfortunately, the Lord gave some of us longer memories than others.

We all know that it is easier to forgive than it is to forget. The Lord directs us in Mark 11 to forgive others so that we may be forgiven. But, he doesn’t give us a timeline. I have been postponing it, but sooner or later, the time comes to move forward.

Since we are only human, that is a difficult task unless we truly want to live in God’s word. I’ve heard it said that “anger does as much damage to the vessel it is stored in as it does to anything it is poured upon.” I can reason from that passage that not forgiving hurts me more than it does the person(s) who have wronged me. That’s probably true because since I am a middle child, I am the peacemaker. An African proverb says “He who forgives ends the quarrel” and it is the best way to get even. Getting even is not the Christian way, though.

Whenever I feel like I should advise someone to just forgive and forget, I think about the Biblical reference that asks, “Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?” I know that it is hypocritical to think someone else should forgive if I have not.

So, I have decided to take up old Benjamin Franklin’s attempt at building greater character by addressing my faults one-by-one. First up is forgiveness.

For me as well as many other people, the only thing that stands in the way of forgiveness is an apology from the offender. Why is it that people can’t or won’t apologize? I think it’s probably because they were not taught to apologize. Their narcissistic tendencies won’t let them recognize that they could be wrong. Maybe they feel that it would be a sign of weakness.

I personally think it takes a lot of courage to apologize to someone. I remember occasions when young people have come to me and apologized for their roles in a spiteful incident or for unkind words spoken. I was very impressed that they had that kind of moral fiber.

So, I can only hope that I, like the characters on Grey’s Anatomy, can eventually forgive each other and be lucky enough to forget the differences.

Tongue Tangled

Several years ago, my husband had a little (let me put this gently) digestive tract trouble. He was in need of fiber or something along those lines.

He and I along with our son had gone to a nearby town for a movie and a little shopping. Afterwards, we decided to take a different route home. We like to vary the scenery occasionally. We were jamming to the tunes and all was well. We had driven four or five miles on our alternate course when all of a sudden, my husband threw up his hands in disgust and exclaimed “Well, heck! I forgot to buy some of that stuff that my sister told me about.”

I asked, “What are you talking about?”

He said, “You know, that stuff.”

“No, I don’t. What stuff? For what? Which sister?”

Very agitated, he replied, “You know, that Oodamussel that Corky told me about.”

“No, I don’t know that Oodamussel. What is it for?”

“It’s a laxative or something. Oodamussel. . . or whatever it’s called.”

Using my deductive reasoning, I quickly deciphered that since Corky is a nurse and that he was requesting a laxative that he must be mispronouncing the name of the product. So, being the smart alec that I am, I quizzed him, “Do you mean Metamucil?”

“Yeah, Metamucil, Oodamussel, whatever it’s name. I wish I hadn’t forgotten to buy some of it.”

You can figure the rest. I laughed until I lost my breath and tears streamed down my face. Every time I think of it, I chuckle all over again. Needless to say, no one in the family will ever let him live his tangled tongue twister down. We remind him frequently.

Nancy Wood

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me." Are you familiar with that old childhood phrase? Well, as an adult, I now know that that is so far from the truth. While a body will naturally recover from an injury, the harm caused by words can sometimes last a lifetime and rip the self-worth right out of a person's soul.

On the other hand, friendship bonds arise under some of the most unexpected circumstances. As I privately confided in a colleague about a hurtful incident, what had been a casual friendship developed into a long-term friendship. For example, a while back, as she was encouraging me, a friend of mine, Nancy Wood, recounted the following story to exemplify the point she was making.

She narrated this nineteenth-century folktale, the story of a man, who went about town slandering the town's wise man.

Long after he had slandered the town’s wise man, seeing how he hurt the wise man so much, the slanderer decided -- one day -- to visit the wise man's home and asked for forgiveness. The wise man, recognizing that this man did not fully realize the seriousness of his wrongdoing, told him that he would forgive him on one condition. The condition was that the slanderer would go home, take a feather pillow from his house, go to the top of the nearby mountain, rip it up, and scatter the feathers to the wind.

"Then,” said the wise man, “I want you to return to my house.”

Though bewildered by this weird request, the man was pleased to be forgiven with such an easy pardon. He scrambled to the top of the mountain, quickly cut up the pillow, scattered the feathers, and returned to the wise man's home. "Am I now forgiven?" he asked.

The wise man was not quite through. The wise man said, "I have just one more task for you, and if you complete this task, you are surely forgiven. Now, return and gather up all the feathers.”

The slanderer replied, "But sir that is impossible, for the wind has certainly scattered them by now. I could never find nor pick up all of the feathers."

"Exactly," said the wise man. “All of them can never be recovered.”

And so the lesson is taught. Nancy, in her wisdom continued, "You see, ugly words are like a rung bell. Once rung, no one can't un-ring it.” She advised, “All you can do is forgive because the Lord says you must. Forgetting will take more time.” I love her and her counseling and I miss her even though we stay in touch. Thanks, Nancy, for your friendship and guidance. You have blessed me by being my friend!

To Be Misunderstood

"They may see the good you do as self-serving.
Continue to do good.

They may see your generosity as grandstanding.
Continue to be generous.

They may see your warm and caring nature as a weakness.
Continue to be warm and caring.

They may see your honesty as boldness.
Continue to be honest.

They may see your opinions as haughtiness.
Continue to form your own opinions.

They may see your optimism as childish.
Continue to be optimistic.

For you see, in the end, it is between you and God.
It never was between you and them anyway."

Quotes to ponder

“Always look a person in the eye. If a person doesn’t have a good countenance, then they are no account.” --my Grandmother Johnnie Massingill

“Believe in yourself. Never bend your head. Hold it high. Look the world straight in the eye.” --Helen Keller; significant because Helen Keller was blind.

So often these days, I notice people just going about their daily lives in such a swift pace that they don't even acknowledge others as they encounter them. To establish eye contact is more and more uncommon. People often seem surprised to find someone looking back at them. I suppose it is because of my Momo Johnnie's influence that I have always looked people in the eyes. I believe that most other people respect that countenance. I have always interpreted it as having confidence and a positive demeanor. Momo Johnnie undoubtedly equated a good countenance with good character. I'd like to think thatI possess those qualities.

However, I find that whenever I am in the city, I am hesitant to look people in the eyes because we are cautioned that doing so could be dangerous. It is very difficult for me to change my ways though, so I accompany the eye contact with a broad smile hoping to send an assuring message.

Funny how body language can tell us so much about each other, isn't it?

Hay Rides

Hayrides whether with or without hay are among my best recollections. Whenever we were young, our church youth group would have hay rides with real hay every fall. We’d coerce some of our parents to use their pickup to pull a flat-bed trailer loaded with hay. Of course, we would pile on the blankets and take along flashlights. Never have we told more intriguing stories. We would usually discover something either imaginary or real to scare the bejeebies out of us. One time we had to search for a friend’s false tooth among the hay. Have you ever tried to find a tooth on a haystack? Somewhere along the journey, we’d have a planned stop for a big pot of stew or chili. After miles of riding, we’d gather back at the host’s house and play games until midnight.

About the time I thought that my hayriding days were over, we were invited to another. One Thanksgiving, we went to my son-in-law’s parents’ home to celebrate. His whole family including grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins attended. His dad, Ricky, insisted that we go on a hayless hay ride. It was really more of a blanket/lawn chair ride. We didn’t care. It was going to be fun because the air was brisk and crisp. The unfamiliar countryside of East Texas was gorgeous with many different fall leaf colors.

We all jumped onto the trailer and found a seat. The entire family some 30 strong set out on our big adventure.

Now, Ricky is mischievous. He loves to play practical jokes and aggravate the little kids. He’d start and stop the pickup to get us off balance. We would scold him, but the more we’d fuss, the more he’d knock us over. We all got caught up in the ride and our cares faded away.

On a long, straight stretch of road, Ricky opened his pickup door leaving it wide open and jumped out only to stand in the road. The pickup just kept on moving slowly forward. He scared us to death. We thought that the pickup was moving on its own volition unattended. It was very distressing. We all yelled and squealed at Ricky to get back in, but to no avail. In fact, the trailer passed him by. Panic was setting in. Then, he began laughing and slapping his thigh.

He had abandoned the pickup, but unbeknownst to us there was a passenger in the pickup that we could not see. His wife, Elizabeth, was actually steering the pickup straight as an arrow.

We wanted to hurt him. He’d nearly caused us to have heart attacks, but we just chuckled and chided him instead.

Reminiscing about hay rides stirs up great fall memories.

Born Again

About a year after the bombing in Oklahoma City, a documentary came on television named “Oklahoma City: A City Reborn.” My ten-year-old son and I were sitting on the sofa watching the program. We were engrossed by the images as the story unfolded. I could tell that he was intensely interested.

After a few minutes, he turned to me and said, “Mom, I’ve heard that word ‘reborn’ before. I think it was at Sunday school.”

“Yes, it probably was.” I answered quickly because I didn’t want to miss anything on the program.

“Mom, what does ‘reborn’ mean?” he asked.

Because there was a long commercial break, I carefully explained what being ‘reborn’ in the Biblical sense meant. I continued that it was associated with being baptized.

The program came back on and we were once again captivated. He asked, “Mom, we’re Baptists aren’t we? That’s why I was baptized, right?”

I promptly replied “Yes,” hoping that he would stop with the questions because he was interrupting my concentration.

“Mom, didn’t you grow up Methodist?” he quizzed.

At that moment, the program was once again interrupted by commercials. “Yes, I did, son.”

I turned to him intending to explain how that change had transpired. Before I could begin, he asked the most unexpected and amusing question. “Mom, if I had grown up Methodist, would I have been Methotized?”

Needless to say, I still chuckle today when I think of his logic.

Angel Unaware

Sometimes when I least expect it, I receive a blessing and so it was last Wednesday.

It started as just another mundane, non-descript day. Nothing special about it. I had gotten to school early to do some paperwork. I went to my duty station and then I got on with my classes. The students were all well-behaved and I felt good about the lessons I had presented.

That afternoon because our maintenance man was spraying for insects in our hallway, I left my room a little earlier than usual. On my way home, I stopped by Haile’s Convenience Store to buy our weekly newspaper. Again, nothing special. I do the same thing most Wednesdays.

I parked and walked inside to pick up the newspaper and pay the clerk. As I turned around to leave, I heard a sweet voice behind me say, “Hello, Brenda. How are you today?” That in and of itself surprised me. Nowadays, it’s not so common for someone to call me by my first name. I whipped around to see who had spoken to me.

It was Sylvia Haile. She had a soft, sweet smile on her face. She had paused in her journey across the floor taking some papers to the office. I replied, “I’m just fine. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m doing well.”

“How about your grandchildren?”

“They’re all fine, too. Just growing up so fast.”

“I haven’t seen you in a long time. It’s good to see you again. Take care.”

“You, too.”

Something inside made my heart leap. I walked away with a wonderful, warm feeling. This simple exchange had “made” my day. I smiled the rest of the evening as I reflected on seeing Sylvia.

Now I count Sylvia is a friend alright. She’s one of the kindest, gentlest, most beautiful women I know. She’s a wonderful mother to her three boys and a wonderful grandmother to their families. We have gone to church together for some twenty years. However, I wouldn’t characterize our relationship as close.

It really touched me that Sylvia had taken the time out of her busy day working at the convenience store to pause and single me out by name just to say hello.

So often people just go about their way and are too busy to exchange greetings except for a quick grunt or nod.

I could not let her simple, gracious act go without acknowledgement. At church on Sunday, during our fellowship hymn, I sought Sylvia out. She was in the choir. I approached her and told her just how much her kindness touched me. She was so surprised. She thanked me for telling her. With mist in both our eyes, we hugged, exchanged compliments, and returned to our seats.

A simple exchange between two women strengthened our bonds and our faith.

On Wednesday, God sent me an angel, unaware that she blessed my life.

Thank you, Lord, and thank you, Sylvia. I needed that.

Lamkin, Texas -- God's Country

The name Lamkin reminds me of lambkin which is a more formal name of a little lamb. The Leon River runs beside Lamkin. Leon is the Spanish name for lion. So, as in Biblical stories, the lion lies down with the lamb. That act symbolizes peace and understanding.

Lamkin truly is God’s country. I’ve always known it. Ever since I was a child, a warmth and sense of sanctuary enveloped me whenever I returned there. It is where I felt most safe and secure.

Roy Rogers' Rider Club Rules

Growing up in the country, we didn't have a television until I was about 5. When we finally got one, I loved watching the westerns. My favorite was Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. When very small, I would ride my "imaginary" horse all around the yard holding the reins out and whipping my hip to make him go faster. I'd have my little hat on and we'd prance and trot and lope until we were both exhausted. We'd lose track of everything else around us for hours on end. My little horse loved to go in difficult spaces and trot up and down and around the shrubs. We preferred riding on the hard, caliche road to riding on the grass because his little hooves would make a clip-clopping sound on the road that they couldn't make on the grass. Roy and I would let Dale ride with us sometimes as long as she didn't get in the way. We had adventures to experience and neither Roy nor I had time to waste on Dale.

Later on, I got a real horse, Papoose, a sorrel mare. She was my mother's baby sitter. Whenever Mom would wash clothes, she would put me on Papoose and swat her on the rump. If she went south, I'd end up at Harrison Ellenburg's barn where she'd eat oats until Lela turned her around and sent me back home. If she went west, Mom knew that I would be at the Eddleman's where Papoose would eat the green grass over the septic tank. Euel would swat her and send us home once she'd had enough to eat.

I loved horses and I loved Roy Rogers. He was one of my best friends. He was such a nice guy. He always did the right thing and whenever he encountered the bad guys, he'd always come out on top. He was living proof that nice guys can finish first.

Recently I discovered a "hard country" radio station (87.9 or is it 89.7?) that plays all of the really old songs from the '50's, '60's, and '70's. Almost every morning, they'll speak about that time period when life was so much simpler. I become very nostalgic. Once a week or so, the radio station announcer will recite Roy Rogers Rider's Club Rules. They take me back to that part of my life. It's remarkable how pertinent these rules still are today. They have served me well and continue to be a good mantra for all to follow.

Roy Rogers Riders' Club Rules:

Be neat and clean.
Be courteous and polite.
Always obey your parents.
Protect the weak and help them.
Be brave but never take chances.
Study hard and learn all you can.
Be kind to animals and take care of them.
Eat all your food and never waste any.
Love God and go to Sunday school regularly.
Always respect our flag and our country.

Crohn's

Have you ever had a virus that made your abdomen cramp unbelievably? Nauseousness. . . chills. . . pain like a vise grip on your innards?

Imagine what it would be like if it lasted every day for eleven years. Everyday. . . stomach tossing and tumbling and having to dash to the bathroom. . . cockle-burs being pulled backward through the intestines.

That’s Crohn’s disease. It’s a hateful disease. Living with it means scheduling my life around treatments, bathrooms, and food or the lack of it. As one might expect, depression and its problems follow.

Although I have probably had the disease for the past 28 years, I have been officially diagnosed with it for the past eleven. It is unpredictable and vicious. Over time, I have learned which foods aggravate it most so I avoid them, but I can also say that at times anything ingested will make me sick. Eating a food one day doesn’t mean that it won’t make me sick the next. It’s just so finicky.

It’s unpredictable because just when I think that the treatments have it under control, it will flare up again. The treatments range from sulfa drugs, to chemotherapy-like tablets, to steroids, to infusions. The treatments used to settle my digestive tract temporarily, but because Crohn’s is so vicious, it would just become angry and come back with a vengeance. I currently am at the end of therapies except for surgery. Remicade is prescribed for patients with both Crohn’s and rheumatoid arthritis. It works to reduce the inflammation associated with both. It is also an immunosuppressant drug which means it compromises my immune system (and I’m a school teacher?). My gastroenterologist said that they call it “liquid gold”, but that it was more expensive than gold per ounce. He was right. Each treatment is $7,500. I am re-fueled every 8 weeks with an infusion that takes two hours.

For a few days before and a few days after, I am extremely tired and lethargic. But almost immediately after the infusion, I regain my strength. I will have to have the infusions for the rest of my life. Ugh!

I know several people who have been diagnosed with Crohn’s. It affects both male and female, young and old. There should be one perk with the disease—--being skinny, but that doesn’t even hold true for me.

One of my doctors told me that I would just have to learn to deal with it as best I could. I have tried the optimistic approach. I look on the bright side of situations even when there doesn’t seem to be one. I accept and tolerate a lot of things that I normally wouldn’t. . . all in an effort to co-exist with my Crohn’s.

Hey, I know where all the best bathrooms are. I know which restaurants will honor my requests for no black pepper and no iceberg lettuce. I’ve learned what products are made with real or imitation vanilla.

I don’t want Crohn’s to define who I am. I want to go about my life without regard to it. In fact, I hardly ever speak of it except to remind my classes that I have an infusion coming up.

I’ve heard that old adage, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It hasn’t killed me yet, so I guess I’m just getting stronger.

J.P.

I want to go to Circle T for the ranch rodeo. J. P., my son-in-law, will be involved. I enjoy watching his activities. He's some sort of "judge" and has to be inconspicuous which for J. P. is not all that easy.

Speaking of J. P., he is one fine, gentle man.

Whenever I thought about the qualities I hoped for in a husband for my daughter, I thought about the usual ones: good to her, tolerant of me, has all his teeth, eyes track forward, a healthy head of hair would be nice, you know, someone we all could be proud of. However, what she got was so much more. J. P. is one of the very nicest young men you'll ever have the pleasure of meeting. He's quiet, thoughtful, intuitive and perceptive. Because of these qualities, he is very wise.

He can read people like a book and peg them every time. Even people I have known for years, when asked, he will reveal some shrewd,unique observance of their personality. He likes most people, but prefers not to be in crowds. The metroplex makes him crazy if he's there very long at a time.

Some of the really respectable attributes that he possesses are that he is a Christian man who enjoys the outdoors (i.e., hunting, fishing, camping, team roping, ranching). He is a darn good cowboy poet, too. Some of his poems are so very insightful. Most deal with his outdoor life.

There are also a number of things that he is not: a drinker, a dipper, a smoker, a skirt-chaser, nor a slob.

He never forgets to give/get a hug whenever he leaves. That warms the mother-in-laws heart! We have a mutual respect for each other. He knows I love him and I know he loves me. I feel so blessed to have him as a part of our family.

Friday Night Lights

Yesterday was an early release day. We got out of school at 12:30. It was really nice to have a little 1/2 day break.

I am so pumped. Friday Night Lights came on last night. It is so entertaining especially since I work with high school kids on a daily basis. I can see so many of the things depicted in the program that are actually true. There are also things that are way off base for our little school.

However, I do question the wisdom of showing Friday Night Lights on Friday night. The reason is that the very people that it most likely would appeal to will be at their own Friday night lights at some football stadium supporting their Texas team. Hmmmm... go figure!

Later!

Inaugural Blog

I'm really excited about my new blog. I can see so much potential in its use. However, I'll probably just use it for my own therapy. It will be cheaper than counseling. Often when I just talk things through, I'll think more clearly.

This past weekend, I attended the funeral of my dear friend's mother. Although it was very sad, I came away from the experience renewed. Usually the two situations don't go together, but this time they did.

I took the time to visit with my friend and her family. I knew most of them pretty well, but I had not had the opportunity to enjoy their children. Visiting until midnight, we recounted old times, told stories on each other, renewed our relationships, and got reacquainted. I came away feeling happy and peaceful even though the event had initially been a somber occasion.

As I drove the few miles home, I wondered why this visit had been so meaningful to me. It occurred to me that my friend and her family had made me feel so welcome, warm, and comfortable. They valued my friendship and treated me with the utmost respect (even as they were teasing me). I felt like I was going to cry because this kind of unconditional acceptance has been lacking for me. I felt, at long last, that all was right in my world. Funny, isn't it? How a simple day of fellowship can so profoundly change a person's outlook!

I made a vow that night that I would try to recreate this feeling more often. It is one of the best sensations ever!

May God bless you.