Old Pink Bibles

Emily couldn't find her Bible this morning. This is not a scarce occurrence, what with my housekeeping skills and her six year old short term memory. She can remember exactly what I mumbled as I left the Dollar General three weeks ago, but where she put her bible last Sunday is a conundrum.

Anyway, this week, since she couldn't find hers (and that was the END of the WORLD), I dug my old grade school Bible out of the closet. I retired this bible when I received a bible for my high school graduation. I have been using my "graduation" bible ever since (thanks again Beulah Baptist Church). So, I dug out the pink bible that my grandparents gave me when I was little and handed it to Emily. I wish I could say that it was a magical moment, and all the wisdom from that book was immediately imparted on my daughter; but, alas, no. She said, "It's too heavy!" and "I don't ever have to really use mine anyway." Now, granted she is six, and she can't technically can't read so I assume this is a rational response.

On the other hand, whatever her refusal meant, it got me to flipping through my old Bible. This is the Bible that I studied when I accepted Christ as my Savior. This is the Bible that I read the night that my best friend was killed in a car wreck. I vividly remember locking myself in my bedroom the night that she died and reading Psalm 23 and Psalm 102. I remember finding comfort in Joshua and Timothy. I fell on this old Bible when I was heartbroken and grieving.The words in it's pages gave me comfort and answered my questions during that terrible time.

I flipped through the pages this afternoon and looked at all the sideline notations and highlights of my youth. These are the scriptures that I clung to during my teenage years. Granny taught me how she notated her own Bible and I made similar marks in mine. I read this Bible the night I found out I was pregnant with my first child. I knew that I hadn't pleased God. I knew that I had disappointed my parents. I wanted to find an easy way out. I read scripture after scripture and realized that God doesn't make mistakes. I continued to study and make notations (there are notes with dates next to the scriptures that I clung to at that point in my life). I realize, looking back, that God never left me through those times. I didn't know where my life would take me at that point, but I always felt God near me. That pink Bible was with me too. It wasn't easy being a teenage mother in small-town Mississippi, I read that Bible (even after I got married) and craved it's comfort during those hard times.

When I opened my old Bible tonight the page it fell on was Ephesians 6:11, "Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil." There were many other notations, but this highlighted passage reminded me of that teenage girl that was new in faith and tried so hard to live up to the "perfect" Christian standards. The spirit of God got me through those thoughts of failure. God accepted my repentance and nurtured me and stayed with me throughout the hardship of a teenage pregnancy. God was with me years later when the father of my children decided that he didn't love me anymore. He was with me when this man that I had mistakenly put my faith in failed me. That taught me that nothing on this earth is worthy of my faith. ONLY God is worthy of my faith. He will never leave me, He will never forsake me. His love is forever.

Years have passed and my faith has been aged just like my old pink Bible. It may be worn around the edges, the cover is scuffed, the pages are brittle; but those highlighted passages continue to comfort me. The words are still there and they still minister to me. God never left me, even though I despaired and begged him for a different path. He showed me that His path is the right path. His way is the right way. My way is futile. He led me here. He gave me Sam, and Nolan, and Jason, and Emily. He has richly blessed my life. I am not worthy of a single blessing. He blesses me anyway. Psalm 105:4 is underlined in my old pink Bible. It says "Seek the Lord and his strength: seek His face evermore." No matter which Bible I turn to, I hope I remember to seek Him.

Emily woke up today and, before her feet even hit the floor, she told me, "God loves me, Mama. And I'm so glad that He gave us Jesus so that we can be with Him in heaven." My six year old daughter told me that. She said that without any coaching, or prompting by me. She already "gets" this raggedy Bible and she can't read a word of it. I know because of my children, that after all the hardships and disappointments, I'm doing something right. Thank you God for reassurances and for old pink Bibles.

Concerning the Author

I'm torn.

Life as a "Mommy Blogger" might be "just fine." But somehow I want more.... I'm drawn to be the political blogger, the religious blogger, the family blogger and the comedic blogger. I just don't know which blogger I want to be right now.

So I choose to be ALL bloggers. You don't know what you will get with me. I'm like that in real life too for those of you that know me.

Which brings to mind the fact that, not all of you know me. Not all of you know me. I'm a stranger. So let me tell you a thing or two about me.... (see below)

I'm Heddy (aka Heather). I've had that nickname as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl I stayed with my Granny a lot. Granny was my mother's mother. She lived in an apartment adjacent to our house. I could tap on my bedroom wall and she would tap back anytime I needed her. We had our own form of Morse Code.

When I wasn't tapping on my wall I was at her house. She kept her fridge stocked with soda's and candy bars. She kept her bread box stocked with bacon cheddar fries, cheeze-n-crackers and more candy bars. We never wanted for junk-food when we were at granny's house. This is probably the reason I can be a Curvy Girl Blogger as well.

Am  I still confused about my identity? You would think that by now I would know who I am. Maybe I'm a healthcare blogger.... no.... I've been out of that for a while. I don't feel like i should alienate my self with the 'mommy blog' title. I just don't know yet what describes me.

I am an almost 32 year old mother of three blogger. You can do the math. My oldest is almost 14 years old. He's an angel. Maybe I could be the teenage mother success story blogger. I had my second  child two years later... Maybe that makes me the "I'm on the fast track to life blogger." My third child is a feisty curly headed product of my second marriage. She keeps me on my toes and she WILL be the cause of ALL my gray hairs. Maybe that makes me a mommy daughter blogger, or try for second love blogger. I could also review netflix selections for a blog, or maybe just write about how I longed for a vacation home.

But that doesn't really tell who I am either. That tells the mommy blog followers who I am. I am also a registered nurse. I worked hard for that title despite the fact that my marriage was falling apart at the time. I'm a stay at home mom now. I worked hard for that title too. It's an achievement in my opinion. I found a husband who could support my ambitions to be able to stay at home and raise my kids. I know at any moment I can go back to work. I also know that, if the opportunity presents itself I can run for office. I can go back to school, I can teach school, I can do WHATEVER I want to do right now. I graciously thank my husband for that and I'm not ashamed of being grateful.

First and Foremost I am a Christian, I'm opinionated, talented, creative, honest, intelligent, hard working, faithful, fair.  All of that is by the grace of God. I'm also a civil rights advocate living in the middle of a civil rights battleground. I hope that I am fair minded and thoughtful when it comes to political issues. I am staunchly Libertarian as long as being Libertarian doesn't mean that I have to staunchly be anything. I am strongly opinionated in my beliefs whether you like them or not. I will agree with you as long as you successfully prove to me that you are right. I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong as long as I have been proven to be wrong.

I'm new to the blog-o-sphere but I can guarantee you that I will talk about my family. I will talk about my religion. I promise to talk about my political beliefs. I also promise to talk about any social/ethical/economic issues that come to mind. I'm not promising to be your favorite blog, but i promise that I will try.

I am me and only me and I hope that's enough for you.

Bad Weather and Granny

I originally penned this back in the days of MySpace. It was written as a MySpace note, if ya'll remember those.... My Mom had saved it (to my good luck) and I, thanks to her, am gonna share it once more in honor of  "Severe Weather Awareness" week. I have some good/bad memories regarding severe weather. Lots of people in my family are really anxious about these NWS warnings that we so frequently get down south. So in honor of them and my dearly departed grandmother, I give you this. It's dedicated entirely to Mary George Chaney Boyd; may she look on me and smile.



It's supposed to be bad weather tonight... most people don't even mind. They go on with their lives as if nothing is any different. I, however, always think back to my childhood.........

My grandmother (Granny) lived in my mother's house from about a year after I was born until the day she died. She convinced my poor unsuspecting daddy to build her an apartment (adjacent, but not with open entrance to his living quarters) attached to his house. Poor daddy didn't know what was coming. On the plus side, in Daddy's court, she kept me and my brother a lot when we were little. Anytime the wind blew wrong, she threw my brother and me in the hallway.  If it was especially windy, she would throw the couch cushions on top of us.

The worst nights were when we had a bad storm and the power would go out. Remember Daddy has tolerated Granny's presence in his home since he was in his thirties. He has also learned to keep his mouth shut and deal with it. On stormy nights she would always sit at the end of the kitchen table usually smoking a Kool (she quit when I was seven). She had several rules for the four grandchildren and their parents.....

1) Stay away from the front door... you'll get hit by a flying limb.

2) Stay away from the sink and don't go to the bathroom (apparently aunt somebody got struck by lightning washing dishes)

3) Don't sit under the ceiling fan (if the house blows away the last thing you want to hit you is the ceiling fan)

4) Turn the TV off and unplug it (even though it is our best way to get the weather). We don't want to buy a new TV if lightning strikes.

5) Don't go outside... even three hours after it passed. Some man was standing on his deck three hours after a storm, one time, and lightning struck him and he hasn't been the same since.

6) Forget the rest of you... "I'm (Granny) getting in the hallway... get off the couch so i can have the cushions."

We always heard the same rules. But i digress, when the power went off (inevitable in rural Mississippi) we would sit around for hours and figure out how to entertain each other. My sisters were way too good to play with my brother and I; they usually sat on the couch and ignored us. My dad would look for batteries for what seemed like hours, and, if he was lucky, he would locate enough for a radio and at least we could listen to country music. My mama lit candles and my great grandmother's oil lamp. This "Lamp" was a fixture in our house. It was your typical hurricane lamp. But... according to Mama it was "a hundred years old" and "it will set the whole house on fire if you touch it." Many a time I was informed that "That Lamp will blow you to New Jersey". 

Granny's job during all of this chaos, was to try not to get on Daddy's nerves and to entertain me and Gabe (my little brother). In that spirit we played games. Not board games, no, we were way to creative for those. We played "My Ship Goes Sailing", "I Spy", and, my all time favorite, "The Quiet Game". We always fought, I always lost the quiet game. Nikki and Lisa ended up playing with us despite their "I'm too cool to play with little kids because I am a teenager" attitudes. Gabe would spy nothing so that he could be "it" all night long. Mama would guess occasionally and Daddy would grumble for us to be quiet (from his perch on the recliner) every now and then, although we never complied. 

Hours would pass until, inevitably, we heard that familiar "hum" and every light in the house would come on. At that point, we would all say "The power's on! YaY!" (in unison) and we would go back to our corners. Granny would go back to her house (an apartment on the end of ours) unless there was another line of storms on the way. In that case she would sleep on the couch, just in case her end of the house were to blow away and ours didn't. It never did. 

It's weird though... I never had a scary experience with thunderstorms/tornadoes. Yet, no matter how many storms move through I find myself warning my kids, just like my Granny warned us. "Get away from the windows. Get out from under that ceiling fan. Don't you dare take a shower, or wash dishes." I repeat those warnings because, once upon a time, I had an aunt, and she got struck by lightening while washing dishes." I still don't know if she recovered. 

The Big Stuff

Over the course of our marriage, which has been admittedly short, Jason and I have learned that it is best not to bring up certain politically charged topics. The reason for this is that we don't agree about everything. What???? you may ask. How can two people commit to each other when they don't agree completely on every political agenda?!? I'm gonna tell you... we agree to disagree. Yes... We AGREE to DISAGREE. You probably find it easy to scoff at that, but it's the truth. This doesn't mean we don't occasionally (or as often as the news cycles roll) argue about certain topics. We watch the news together frequently. The nightly news segment often ends with one or both of us saying "Time Out!". At that point we change the subject.... no questions asked.... we just change the subject to something else that we can agree on.

Now don't get me wrong. Jason and I are not political opposites by any means. We are both Conservative Christians. We agree on all the big big party defining stuff that conservatives pride themselves on. We both believe in the Bible first and foremost and above all else. Besides that, I label myself a Libertarian and he labels himself a Republican. On the majority of issues we tend to fall on the same side. If he would only agree with me, we would agree on ALL of the issues and be the perfect couple. But alas, he is too stubborn (aka wrong) to agree with me and i have to concede that, although I love him with all my heart, he just can't be right ALL of the time (ha!ha!).

We agree to disagree on these "big" issues in order to preserve our marriage. We step back from our arguments, we calm down, and we decide to love each other anyway (despite our stance on gun control or the death penalty). It took a LONG time and a WHOLE lot of prayer for us to get to this point. We used to stay up all night long and argue about this stuff. We finally realized, through prayer and meditation, that the big stuff didn't really matter. Now, before you close the webpage and dismiss my ideas, I ask you give me a minute to explain myself. I promise it won't take too much longer.

The big stuff doesn't matter. (exhale) What do we think is the big stuff??? All the stuff that makes national headlines outside of our personal relation ship is the BIG STUFF. It's the stuff that philosophers have debated for centuries. It's the stuff that you hear every time you tune into Fox News or CNN. In my opinion it's the stuff that doesn't affect my marriage at all.

So tonight, after only a little fussing about the Big Stuff, I got to thinking about the Little Stuff. I got to thinking about how he always leaves his shoes and pants next to his chair in the living room. I got to thinking about how he puts his wet towel on the floor next to his dresser instead of in the hamper. I also got to thinking about all the times he has had a smart comment about me leaving every cabinet door open in the kitchen, or me not putting the ketchup back in the fridge. He has just as many little things to get mad about as I do. And when we get mad about the big stuff those little things have a way of bubbling out too. That's what makes us really mad. That's the stuff that we throw in the argument that really hits under the belt. It's personal stuff. It's stuff that festers and lingers and turns into big stuff over time. We can be arguing for hours about whether or not guns should have longer waiting periods but the moment it gets personal, the moment he insults my housekeeping, or the moment I insult his work ethic, then it gets serious.

We talked about this with each other over the weekend. It actually came up because we were laughing over a facebook post that we saw that started out trivial but quickly got personal. How easy is it to get in arguments with people we haven't seen in four or five years? It's so easy to tell them what we think and either forget about it and move on, or cut them our of our lives (via internet) altogether. Jason and I have been discussing this a lot lately. How easy the "little things" get to us when we don't have to confront our 'friends' face to face, but how we let them slide when it's a friend that we do interact with.

We've been working on it in our own marriage as well.  We've realized that we have gotten so good at looking over the big stuff that we have forgotten to overlook the little stuff. See, I believe that the little stuff is the stuff that destroys relationships. Irreconcilable differences are common. It takes irrevocable commitments to overcome those differences. The commitment to love one another, no matter what the other says or does, is the most holy and the most coveted commitment. Satan wants to make thos little things become big things. That's his job. He puts those little things under your pillow so that you think about them after your partner is asleep. Those little things destroy our marriages. Not many marriages have failed because of a debate on which political candidate to back. Marriages fail because of one spouse not emptying the dishwasher and because of another not calling to explain why he was late. It's the little stuff that destroys our marriages. I'm working on not letting the little stuff destroy my relationship. I'm trying to deploy our big stuff tactic on the little stuff... I'm gonna take a deep breath, love him, and move on... little stuff or big stuff. There's a million reasons I love him. Those reasons are way more important than those few things that get on my nerves.  Little or Big, He's mine and I am his. We love each other first. And that's the really Big Stuff.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins." 1 Peter 4:8

Almost Valentine's Nine Years Later.....

Nine years ago, about right now (to the minute) I was driving home from the most confusing first-date of my life. It was "almost Valentine's Day". The day before when sad couples that can't get sitters; or even sadder couples that are cheating on one or both of their other parties go out for a "romantic" night. We met for dinner, we laughed and talked. He wore a ball cap the whole time (which totally turned me off) and it didn't look like he had shaved in a week. I on the other hand had shaved, had my hair done, bought new make up and a new outfit... My shoes were killer stilettos that KILLED my feet. He didn't seem to notice.

My back up "do you have an emergency" caller called and I told her no it was going great, I didn't have an emergency. After dinner we rode around town a little and ended up driving by my favorite night spot in town and I asked him if he wanted to go in for a little while. He said....... NO. NO?!? What the heck??? He said he better get back to pine hill (wherever that was). It was late (8:15) and he better not stay too long (uhmmmm... okay??). We said good night and I drove home.

Driving home, I'm thinking, "he's just not that into me. I'm a mature enough woman to see the signs. Obviously he wants something different." After many other excuses, I emailed him (yes, email, cause i'm a giant social chicken) the next day and told him we weren't going to work out. Nice knowing him and what not. I thought that was it, but a week later I couldn't find anyone to go out with on my birthday and I called him, what have I got to lose, right?!? Turns out he was ticked and he really did like me but he was just a gentleman and didn't think it was appropriate to stay out too late on a first date. After a little convincing on my part he agreed to see me again.

We met for the second first date at my favorite nightspot and he had shaved, he had his hair cut, no ball cap, and he had on nice clothes.... I on the other hand had not put a thought into what I had on except to appear as uncaring as humanly possible. We danced and laughed and talked and talked and the rest is history. I am so glad that I went to eat with him on Feb 13 and I am so glad that I was lonely on my birthday and called him back and convinced him to see me again! I love this man (it's Jason if you hadn't guessed) and will love him for many more almost valentine's days even if he doesn't shave (he hardly ever wears a ball cap though, I won that one).

So here we are, nine years later. He's putting in a movie for Emily (part of their nightly routine). He'll follow by saying "Ummm-Ummm! Muahhh! Love you Pumkin!" He'll then wait for her to fall asleep, cut off her night lights, lock all the doors and cut out the fifty lights that I left burning when I went to bed. He's tired, he's worked all day (most days) but he still has time for me too. I adore this man. I'm so glad he answered the phone on my birthday.

Why I'll Make My Bed... If I Want To... Or Maybe Just Stay In It and Watch Netflix

A few weeks ago I saw a blog that was about why a woman made her bed everyday, you can view it here. At first the feminist that I keep locked away started banging on her cell door screaming "this is what I'm talking about! Women like this one keep knocking down any hopes of equality..." and all those other things that feminists are prone to say. 15 year old Heddy still listens to her from time to time. 31 year old super domestic mommy of three Heddy also sees the other side of the spectrum. That Heddy sees how nice it can be to devote time to her husband, her children, and even (gasp!) herself. Then, there's that in-between Heddy; the one that might rather let the beds keep while she sits on her butt in the living room and watches Netflix all day long.

The thing is, I am supposed to agree with the lady that makes her beds. I don't. I'm messy sometimes. I let chores back up sometimes. I don't always unload the dishwasher and there are occasionally dirty dishes in my sink (someone pick that lady off the floor if she reads that). I agree that my house is more efficient when it's clean. My household also thrives in glorious inefficiency a lot of the time. So do I. I have never been that person that didn't  have a wrinkle. I'm the one that probably has mustard dried on her boob from the burger she ate while driving kids to practice. And that's fine with me. It's fine with my kids, and it's definitely fine with my husband...(he happens to love my boobs even if they do occasionally smell like mustard).

My problem with the article is that, now, every time I make my bed I think about that stupid article. Then I walk into my kitchen and I feel like it's not clean enough. I feel like I'm not good enough. And I think that's pretty sad. Suzy Homemaker has no right to make me feel that way. She doesn't even know who I am. That's why I am writing this. I want you to know that you don't have to make your beds if you don't want to. I think you are doing a great job. Your kids are alive. Your husband likes your boobs. And you aren't driving yourself and your family crazy with your manic tendencies. You might want to catch up on Netflix today (I'm currently binge-watching with The West Wing), I say go for it. I'm not gonna judge you I promise. I think we ladies tend to do enough of that and I, for one, am over it.

Loads of Laundry and Loads of Prayer

 This is a post from a month or so ago.... I got so much feedback on it i thought I would share here too. Enjoy!


I got angry tonight. It happens to all of us sometimes, I know. I also had one of those moments where God pretty much turns me on my head and shakes the anger from my soul, but I will get to that part in a minute.

It all started with laundry. I HATE doing laundry. Well tonight I cooked a big ole supper, one of those that messes up every single dish that I own. After I sat down to eat I remembered that I hadn't put Emily's sheets in the dryer. So, i put my plate aside and go to the dreaded laundry room. My laundry room is my deep dark secret. I don't mind washing the clothes. Heck, I don't even mind putting them in the dryer. It's the part after that that I can't stand. So, sometimes, maybe once or twice a month (especially around vacations or holidays) the clothes will make it out of the dryer and no further. At this point they seem to call all of their laundry buddies and have a big ole party just outside of my dryer. Tonight they had attracted many friends... about six loads worth. All those clothes and I still had to put Emily's sheets into the dryer. This meant that I would have to pull yet one more load of clean stuff out of the dryer and let them join the party. So I do that (what's one more load) and go back to the kitchen to retrieve my cold plate.

By this time Emily and Jason have finished and their plates are stacked next to the sink. Not in the sink, no, that would make too much sense. Almost as much sense as in the dishwasher, but that's a different story. So I quickly eat my meal and immediately start cleaning all the dishes. No help from the husband, or the daughter, my boys are in MS, but had they been here they probably wouldn't have helped either (grumble grumble grumble). I put the last plate in the dishwasher and it's time for Em's bath. I wrangle her into the bath tub. I have to get her a towel out of the laundry party cause there aren't any in her room. While she's bathing I remember her sheets and pull them out of the dryer and put them back on her bed. In the mean time I find yet another load throughout the house and i put them on to wash.

After Emily is in the bed and Husband is watching some show about surviving in the wild (how would he survive without three shirts a day?), I go to the laundry party and bust it up. I'm grumbling, and fussing, and fuming. And then I pick up one of Sam's shirts. It's not a special one but it's one that he wears a good bit. I stop and say a prayer for him, and hope that the next time that he wears this shirt that he has a good day. I pick up the next item, one of Emily's dresses that she has worn so much it has holes in it and I laugh and fold it carefully. LAUGH??? But I'm still angry, no time for laughing and praying and sentimental folding..... i fold some towels and bath cloths (they're easy) and then dig back in. I find some of Jason's grease stained work clothes. I thank God that he has a job and that he provides for us. A pair of Nolan's jeans with grass stains (thank goodness he can run and play and slide in the grass), Emily's shirt with a chocolate stain (thankful that we have so much food that we even have dessert), And it starts coming easier and easier...

I'm praising God for each piece of laundry and praying for each person in my family that it belongs to. Before I know it, all those clothes are put away and I'm not angry anymore. In fact, I'm happy, and grateful. What a silly problem to have too many clothes when others don't have a warm shirt to wear. How silly to complain about putting clean clothes away when others long for clean clothes. Like I said, God shook the anger right out of me and replaced it with all these praises. He's good about that. I'm writing this so that next time it piles up maybe i will remember to be thankful instead of angry.

"My dearly loved brothers, understand this: Everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger,  for man’s anger does not accomplish God’s righteousness.  Therefore, ridding yourselves of all moral filth and evil, humbly receive the implanted word, which is able to save you." James 1:19-21

St. Valentine and the Devil

Earlier tonight, I may have ruffled a few feathers earlier when I mentioned Satan and Valentine's Day in the same sentence. My original post was, "Valentine's may just be a holiday devised by Satan to destroy loving relationships..... I don't think I have ever had one that didn't start or end with a fight. Opinions? and even success stories are welcomed...." I'm not implying that Satan is responsible for Valentine's day or that celebrating Valentine's day some how invokes Satan. What I am saying is that we allow Satan to totally ambush and ruin our sweet Valentine's day. Everything that Hallmark tells us to expect is ruined by sin. We have to compete with our friends and wish that our husbands give us a Facebook worthy gift. We secretly (because of that devil on our shoulder) hope that we get a better, more expensive gift than that girl that has the Facebook perfect husband. This often turns into seeds of resentment or jealousy or envy in our own relationships. We resent the fact that our husbands only got us a box of drugstore chocolate when Facebook Fannie's husband got them a watch. We are jealous that Neighbor Nancy got earrings when all we got was a watch. We are envious that Perfect Patricia's husband got her a car when all we got was a night out on the town. The thing is that real husbands, real men, don't think about valentine's day. It slips up on them. They are too busy thinking about their wives every single day of the year. They are too busy making every day special to care about one single day. The other thing is that all those women with the fabulous gifts wish that they could spend one Thursday afternoon just talking to their husbands. They wish for once that their husband's would stop them in the midst of cooking and cleaning and tell them that they are beautiful and that they are loved. My point is that Satan takes every opportunity to seep into our lives and tell us that we aren't good enough, or pretty enough, or loved enough. Valentine's Day is an excellent opportunity for him to do just that. It's happened in my life before. It will almost assuredly happen again. In the meantime, I'm gonna focus on the fact that I am loved and cherished, even though he may not always have time to pick out the perfect card. I know he loves me and whether it be flowers or candy or a smack on the cheek I'm not gonna let Satan ruin those special moments in our marriage. I'm learning this one step at a time.... "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in LOVE. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." Eph. 4:2-3