Followers

Gee....time flies when you're having fun. I've been so busy trying to avoid the election campaign, watching gas prices go up, and dodging pink eye at the preschool where I work, that I didn't realize it was so close to the deadline for signing up as a Follower to win a free book!

But before we review the fine print of that offer, can we talk about this Follower issue? See, it's Sunday and today I did what I've done for the last 51 years of Sundays - I went to church. Church was great today. (Umm...I'm don't mean some Sundays aren't great...) However, today we baptized three people at our church. One was an almost 80 year old gentleman - and a gentleman he is. Sweet spirit and can tell a story or two about the good 'ole days! The other two were a grandmother in her 60s and her 8 year-old great granddaughter. How cool is that?

Just a spiritual refresher course here, in the Baptist tradition - and many other denominations - we baptize to show that we have given our lives to Jesus and decided to follow Him. It's an outward expression of an inward decision.

Now ya gotta know, we Baptists dunk 'em. A precious 5 year-old, who'd apparently never seen a baptism, sat my me in church today. When the first person went under and came back up dripping wet, she said in wide-eyed amazement for everyone to hear, "Was there really water in there?"

So I got the privilege of explaining to her the symbolizim of being baptized to indicate a decision to follow Jesus. It must have scared her because after I'd whispered the condensed version of Baptism 101, she asked, "When can I go home?"

Maybe you can see where I'm having a hard time with this blog follower business. Follower boxes are on blog posts and websites everywhere. And what does being a follower mean in blogworld? Well, I'm a follower on some other blogs, and I hope it means that I'll just pop in, read the new post, maybe make a comment, and then get back to polishing my nails or cleaning the bathroom.

So it's just a little awkward asking people to follow me when for 51 years I've heard about following Jesus. But, now that you know you're not required to give an offering

or listen to a sermon (which aren't bad things to do!), if you haven't signed up to be a Follower, you might want to click in the blue box to the right that says, "Join this site." And that, my friend, enters you into the drawing to win a free book.

Then, if you want to make a comment on the blog and, in turn, post this blog on your Facebook or Twitter page, you can have two more chances to win my book MORE THAN JUST A PRETTY FACE. And you don't even have to get wet to follow!

REMEMBER: DEADLINE FOR THIS OFFER IS WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 29.  (See previous post for full contest entry details.)

Happy following!

FREE BOOK!

Still pondering whether to buy my book, ponder no longer – jump into the pool of names to be drawn for a FREE book. (Ya gotta love free!)

Even if you're a guy and hesitant to buy a book called MORE THAN JUST A PRETTY FACE...

I'm sure your mom, wife, sister, niece, boss, co-
worker, ...some female in your life…would love to
get a book that makes her smile everyday for 30 days.
So, go ahead - check out the instructions

For your chance to win a book, follow one or all three of these easy directions:

1.) Become a “Follower” on my blog and leave me a comment below that you've done this.

2.) Leave a comment below telling me why you should win.  Even though this will be an old-fashioned draw the name out of the hat event, I’d still love to hear your reasons!
(EX: I would arm-wrestle you for a free book....)

3.) Share about this giveaway on Facebook, Twitter, or your own blog; and leave me a comment telling how you did this.

THE BEST NEWS…if you follow all THREE of the above easy directions, you will have THREE chances to win.

You can even leave comments anonymously. . . 

                                                          
just be sure to leave me your email address so I can notify you if you win.

DEADLINE FOR ENTRIES IS BEFORE I GO TO BED ON WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 29. 

So if you want to make sure you don't miss out, enter before I go to bed on Tuesday, February 28. That way you're in! 

BOOK SIGNING!    Visit Mardel Christian Bookstore (7102 W. 119^th – 119^th and Metcalf – Overland Park, KS) on SATURDAY, MARCH 3, 1:00-3:00 p.m.  I have a book signing and would love to see you. Of course there’ll be chocolate at the table. And a special gift for everyone who buys a book.

Love and Kleenex Boxes

When I think of Valentine’s Day, I think of . . . kleenex boxes. I’m so ancient that I have fond memories of my craft-challenged mom and me, her equally challenged daughter, spending hours creating Valentine’s “mailboxes” (from kleenex boxes) for the cards I would get the next day at school.

Back then we didn’t have to be politically correct and give cards to everyone in our class. So I carefully analyzed who did and didn’t give me a card. (I might have been young, but I wasn’t above revenge and grudges.) And, I also painstakingly scrutinized each Scooby Dooby Do Valentine’s card that I gave. Because there was a big difference if it said, “Dooby do you want to be my valentine?” or “Be my dog-gone Valentine” and I wanted to be perfectly clear with my intentions (or lack thereof).

I’m also old enough to have had the privilege of actually celebrating Valentine’s Day at school. Some schools can’t do that anymore. Apparently love has become such an offensive topic that Valentine’s Day can’t be mentioned. Schools just ask confused children to bring mushy, affectionate cards to pass out to everyone in the class, without a clue as to why they are doing so.

And, of course, Valentine’s Day makes me think of love. I’m fairly perplexed at how current generations process and show love; and maybe it’s just me, but here is how I recall love being shown, clear back from the 1960s:

First love: We weren’t smart enough to hide or fight love. We just swung and played in the sandbox. We didn’t even know about cooties.

Second love: We’ve grown up a bit and if I should like you, I will act like I hate you. This could involve throwing mudballs or calling you “Stupid” - all the while hoping you would get the message that I like you. (Not sure which gender came up with that winning plan of action.)

Third love:  I won’t talk to you in public if my life depends on it, either to say nice things or pretend-hate  you. I will sneak glances at you across the classroom and go out of my way to pass you in the hallway. But most of all, I pass messages through mutual friends. (Who aren’t paid near enough as intercessors and note-carriers.)

Fourth love: We can now “date,” “go steady,” “go with,” and be officially girlfriend/boyfriend. This experience rivals the world’s largest rollercoaster ride.

Fifth love: Get married. (Ahhh, marriage – what a novel concept!)

Sixth love: K-I-S-S-I-N-G….first comes love; then comes marriage; then comes Susie-Q pushing a baby carriage…Which just leads to grandkids and AARP.

Looking around, I realize there is a lot of breaking up and carrying on these days with this thing called love. But if you happen to decide to commit to one person, you can reach Seventh love (not to be confused with Seventh Heaven).

Seventh love: You stand beside the hospital bed and hold the hand of your Seventh level partner after a stroke or heart attack, praying like crazy. Memories flood and, in spite of years of annoying habits, you’ve never loved them more than now. And even with the possibility of death, you know you wouldn’t have traded this relationship for any amount of money or possessions.

I haven’t been in the life or death situation, but I know some who have. And they are reminders of God-intended love. What an example to those of us working our way up through the levels of love. I applaud and thank you!

More Than Just a Pretty Face

In case you’ve spent sleepless nights pondering whether or not to buy my book which is featured to the right of this blog, here are a few paragraphs from the Introduction:

I sat on the bleachers at the ballpark and watched my Little Leaguer.  Another mother sat nearby and I glimpsed her golden, bronzed body.  Is that tan real? I pondered as I suspiciously eyed her appendages.

         I chided my critical attitude and tried to refocus on the game until I noticed another mom.  Her silky hair fluttered as she bounded like a gazelle to her place three rows above me.  How did she get her hair like that?  I tucked my wavy, coarse hair behind my ears.  Within moments, another woman pranced in with her usual perfect outfit, coordinated with necklace and earrings.

Before you can say, “Mirror, mirror on the wall…” my eyes darted around and analyzed every other female in the grandstands.  Tanner.  Skinnier.  Silkier.  Me?  Pale. Frizzy.  And poster child for Chocolate Overeaters Anonymous. 

I reviewed my options as this point: (A) have my son join another team;  (B) bring homemade cinnamon rolls to every game and maybe all the moms will gain twenty pounds; or  (C) wear a shirt that says, "BODY NOT AS BIG AS IT APPEARS.”

Well…you’ll have to get the book to read the rest. But I can tell you that wasn’t the last time I stressed over my appearance. Like today, when I was meeting my hairapist for coffee. Oh, you do know what a hairapist is, don’t you? It’s the person to which you trust the very hairs on your head and, when you slip into the magic chair, asks you about your life; and suddenly you open up like you were on Jerry Springer. Personally, I think there’s some magical chemical in that spray bottle. Seriously, why else do they spray your hair when you first sit in the chair? Maybe it’s called “Reveal All” or something like that.

By the way, maybe you’re asking how I got a personal coffee session with my hairapist. You probably can get a session with your hairapist too - if you pick up the tab. And well, it helps if you played softball with her when you were ten and went to Junior High School together.

But, before I saw her today, I made sure my hair was as good as it could get. Which isn’t easy for me. (You can read about that on page 139 of my book.) I just didn’t want her to look at me and think, “After all my hard work on that head of hair, and she shows up looking like this? This is not good advertising.”

So whether it’s disobedient hair, my passion to weigh what my driver’s license says, or the quest for the perfect cellulite reducing lotion, thoughts on outward appearances scream for my attention. I’m not sure when the female species become obsessed over their looks. Sometimes I think it would be nice to go back in time and only have to worry about Sesame Street, naptime, and getting a birthday cupcake.

But what makes me happier than a good hair day is knowing that I can be beautiful to God no matter my dress size or how many wrinkles I have.

 And if you want to know how I believe we can be that beautiful woman - 

buy the book! (Yes, this is a shameless advertisement!)

Disclaimer: photos of beautiful models in this blog not included in the book.