Mother's Day Give-away. If your name was drawn, be sure to contact me ASAP in order to receive your prize before Mother's Day (can't send it without your address!).
First of all, I'm delighted to share the names of the 5 winners of their choice of my newest Baby Blessings:
Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook
Too Blessed to be Stressed 5 Minute Devotion
Too Blessed to be Stressed Coloring Book
So happy for you ladies! Just message me which Baby Blessing you'd like and your mailing address I'll get it in the mail right away.
And without further ado, the winner of the GRAND PRIZE, including a copy of each of the new babies PLUS a fabulous kitchen decom-stressing kit is:
Super Contrats to you, Michelle! Again, send me your mailing address ASAP and I'll get your Mother's Day gift from me off to you ASAP.
Many thanks to everyone for entering!
Please stay tuned for more giveaways coming down the chute:
July release of the Too Blessed to be Stressed 2917 Planner and Sept release of the Too Blessed to be Stressed 5-Year Keepsake Journal.
Thanks so much for following. A BIG HUG to all my BBFFs! (Blessed Blog Friends Forever)
Saturday, April 23, 2016
|My Fearless Leader|
Not when you're with a 4-year-old.
Having magnanimously bestowed upon my grandbuddy Blaine the title of Fearless Leader, I was obliged to follow in his footsteps wherever they may lead.
So instead of taking the nice respectable road as I suggested (begged is probably more accurate), Fearless Leader lit off through the Christmas tree farm the size of two football fields.
I'd no choice but to follow.
And of course we had to fight off attacking bad guys left and right with our laser sword sticks along the way, which meant zig-zagging back and forth across the gargantuan field to make sure we hadn't missed any concealed enemies.
This was a bit difficult for me, since the bad guys were invisible, but Fearless Leader seemed to have no problem at all locating their hiding places. We were aided in our quest by Batman, Superman, Spiderman, and Larry Boy (in case you're not tuned in to the preschool set, he's the Veggie Tales superhero).
Silly Mimi couldn't see them either but Fearless Leader humored me by channeling their voices as we soundly defeated foe after foe.
An hour later, we emerged on the other side, victorious, exhausted, and plastered with dandelion parachutes. We must've run through millions of those things in our relentless pursuit of truth, justice, and the Mountain Way. It seemed whimsically appropriate to be snow-covered with one of the imaginative staples of childhood.
Fearless Leader said we must be gonna have a LOT of our wishes come true. Cool.
So from now on when I pass that Christmas tree farm, I shall never look at it the same way again. Life's full of battlefields where you least expect them.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
|Stairway to ... where you want to be|
She'd worked hard to complete a manuscript, only to have an editor (whom she herself had hired) recommend she rewrite the whole confounded thing.
Six months later when she presented the revised ms to a potential agent, the list of re-rewrite points was longer than her arm.
Sigh. I feel her pain. So do you. Climbing, climbing, always climbing. So difficult when we can't see the top of the stairway.
|Overwhelmed by massive goals (Spouse in black at bottom)|
We learn the same lessons over and over again, each time thinking, "By golly, I've got it this time!"
But the beast inside chomps through his muzzle, or the boss lampoons your last nerve, or you decide to defy the definition of insanity and do that same thing just once more, feeling sure it will turn out differently this time.
All these thoughts swirled through my head as Spouse and I tried a new mountain trail this week. You can see from the photos what a piece of gristle it was ... I'm still sore.
|Can I even get there from here?|
Who hasn't felt that way?
But that's not to say we shouldn't try. Because I believe sometimes in Papa God's eyes, the journey is actually our destination.
It seems all uphill for a time, but there are little respites along the way, if we pause to look for them. Like the wee wildflowers (I prefer this moniker over weeds) inexplicably growing among the rocks.
And observing someone else just ahead of us on the trail, getting it DONE. Going through the same huffing, puffing and pain we are, but getting there nonetheless.
|Little snippets of hope|
And then finally, Lord willing and the creek don't rise, we persevere long enough to reach the top, the satisfaction and joy of accomplishment is unspeakable.
Because we ...
Even though we occasionally slid backwards on our behunkuses, we got up, dusted off our fannies, and kept putting one foot in front of the other until we reached the last step.
But you know a secret I've discovered? You may have already discovered it too.
The stairs really don't ever end.
|I'll just wait here|
And that's a good thing. That's the way it's supposed to be.
Otherwise we might spend the rest of our lives lounging by the reflection pool and forget there's more out there. Something different to see, feel, experience at the top of the stairs.
So I gotta go put another cold pack on my achy calf (leg, not cow) and try to think of something comforting and inspirational to say to this writer lady who wants to give up.
Maybe I should just tell her to take a hike.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
|Grand Prize Package|
My new Mother's Day Giveaway is simple: Buy a Cookbook, get a free Baby Blessing!
If you purchase a copy of my award-winning Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook between April 1-30, just CONTACT ME and I'll put your name in the drawing for an awesome Grand Prize Package.
Plus, 5 additional winners will receive BOGO prizes you can share with the beloved ladies in your life on Mother's Day. And you get to choose which of my three newest Baby Blessings will be your prize!
The Grand Prize Package includes an adorable "Will Cook for Shoes" apron (sooo cute!), assorted cool kitchen doodads, a hefty stash of chocolate, and copies of my three newest Baby Blessings:
- Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook
- Too Blessed to be Stressed 3 Minute Devotions for Women
- Too Blessed to be Stressed Coloring Book for Women (plus neon coloring pencils)
So there will be SIX winners in all!
Oh ... there just might be a special surprise for one of you, my BBFFs (Blessed Blog Friends Forever)!
So be sure to hit the subscribe button (top right) - you never know, it might just be you!
Friday, March 25, 2016
movie, The Princess Bride, when the Brute Squad is emptying the Thieves Forest by order of Prince Humperdinck and a very stubborn, inebriated Spaniard refuses to leave?
Inigo Montoya (played by Mandy Patinkin) has lost his way. His one friend (Fezzik, played by Andre the Giant) has disappeared, and his quest to kidnap Princess Buttercup has fizzled.
Not knowing how to get back on track, he follows original instructions from his Sicilian boss, who, unbeknownst to Inigo, has already been bested by Sweet Wesley in a battle of wits: "Vizzini said if somezing goes wrong, go back to the beginning ... so here I am, back at the beginning!"
That scene flashed through my mind this morning as I was reading the biblical account of Jesus and His boys during the days after his crucifixion and resurrection.
The disciples had fled like field mice in a snake pit during Jesus' trial and crucifixion, but eventually regrouped in time to witness the appearance of their risen Lord in the upper room (John 20:26). After Jesus proved to the last of them (Thomas) that He was indeed the living, breathing Messiah, He vanished.
I imagine this left the disciples in an uber tizzy. "What do we do now?" they must have cried. "How do we find Him again?"
But the two Mary's and Salome, the faithful ladies who'd encountered first the empty tomb and then it's newly evacuated occupant, related Jesus' instructions from that glorious Easter morning. "Tell His disciples and Peter, 'He is going before you into Galilee; there you will see Him, just as He said to you'" (Mark 16: 7, NASB).
Notice: Jesus said He'd already told them. Hmm. I guess they forgot.
And being men, I suspect the disciples never would have asked for directions anyway so it's a decidedly good thing that Jesus opted to clue the women in.
(By the way, why do you suppose Jesus singled Peter out in that directive; he was one of the disciples too, right? "Tell His disciples and Peter ...")
So back to Galilee they went, back to their beginning ... to the very place Jesus had called them to himself three years earlier. The place they first met the One who changed everything. The place they began to know and love Jesus. The place where joy and excitement and wonder knocked their dusty sandals off.
Sure enough, Jesus met them there. Being in His presence fired them up enough to change their world.
The beginning's not only a good place to start, it's a GREAT place to return to when we've gotten lost and off-track. When our friends and goals have disappeared; when our vision for the future is gone.
If we return to the joy and excitement and wonder of the time and place Jesus first called us to Himself, His presence will surely fire us up enough to change our world too.
Happy Resurrection Day, my dear BBFFs!
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
|Yup. I'm a piler, not a filer.|
The scene to your left is what I see every day from my computer chair. It's my reference file as I slave away on my 365-day Too Blessed to be Stressed devo set to release in January, 2017.
This file (loosely termed, of course) contains 6 Bible translations, all the books in my "Take On Life" series, several devo compilations I've worked on, 2 topical scripture books, and 3 of my fave go-to references for the numerous names of God.
(I can't believe Papa God isn't one of them, but that's for another post.)
My pile - I mean file - is completely accessible and user-friendly. I can instantly spot what I need and it takes no time at all to refile material for future reference. A simple flick of the wrist will suffice.
Can you say as much about your organizational system, hmmm?
The only downside is that my office floor hasn't seen the underbelly of a vacuum in 6 months, but the roaches seem to be enjoying their soccer matches with the dust bunnies. As long as dog hair tumbleweeds don't roll past the hallway and venture into the kitchen, I'm good.
By the way, if you're a BBFF (Best Blog Friend Forever), you'll be happy to hear that after my pathetic lament about the ravages of Spontaneous Degeneration (scroll back two posts), I now have a sweet domestic savior who will begin excavating my living room in April. God bless her very soul.
So tell me honestly - how many of you neatniks out there felt your teeth go to edge when you first laid eyes on today's photo? Go ahead - lay it on me, baby. I can take it.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
I hate your stinkin' guts.
Which of these would you not expect to hear while shaking hands across the tennis net at the end of a match?
Well, I've heard 'em all. Although the last was supposedly tongue-in-cheek, I suspect there was hidden truth there. (Actually I'm sure of it because it was me speaking.)
Anyway, the point is - losing sometimes clogs our spirits with nasty. Whatever graciousness might usually reside there is thrown under the bus of frustration. We are ANGRY because we/our team/our kid didn't dominate. So anything goes. Let 'er rip. Diplomacy be hanged.
We tell ourselves that's just sports. Part of competition. So it's okay. But it's not.
So imagine my surprise when, at the end of a league match a few weeks ago (in league play, tension is high because the match counts either for your team or against with a championship at stake), my opponent (who lost) did something completely unexpected.
I still can hardly believe it. Are you ready?
She gave me her shoes. Her shoes.
Yep. She shook my hand, asked my shoe size, then handed me the $80 Nike's she'd only worn once."Try them on," she said, mopping her sweaty brow. "They don't fit me right. If you like them, they're yours."
I back-pedaled big time, boy. She'd been a tough, grisly, no-nonsense competitor and I was all ready to dislike her. Then she sucked the wind right out of my sails.
She took me so by surprise I couldn't seem to put a cohesive sentence together. Sputtering nonsense, I plunked down, tried on the perfectly fitting shoes and watched her walk away barefoot with a "so that's that, then" smile and nod.
I was totally reeling the rest of the day. Why in the world would someone be that nice?
Radical grace knocked me upside the head. And made me think. Why is extending grace to someone you don't really know or even like so shocking? Especially for emulators of Jesus. He was the epitome of grace in forgiving his own executioners; aren't we supposed to be more like Him?
Or more precisely, aren't I supposed to be more like Him?
I love my new tennies. I think about that incredibly gracious gal every time I wear them. And they remind me to be radical.
Tell me, when have you last experienced radical grace?
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
|NOT my living room ... yet. But I'm gettin' there.|
Little piles of harmless clutter have gradually turned into lurching Stonehenge precipices that threaten to avalanche and bury my living room.
Friends write finger notes to me in the dust on my coffee table.
My kitchen sink is evolving back into the frightening pit it once was when excavating down through layers of left-behind refuse revealed how many potatoes I peeled for Easter dinner in 2006.
Shudder. I feel so .. so... helpless.
It all started the day after my friend Teresa, who has faithfully organized and cleaned my house once a month for the past five years, left me.
Sniff. Yes, she left me.
Somehow - what was she thinking? - Teresa decided that her hubs being promoted to a new job in another state was good enough reason to leave me to the ravages of Spontaneous Degeneration.
You remember Spontaneous Degeneration, right? The Coty Near-Fact of Science I shared in my book, Too Blessed to be Stressed? Well, here then - let me remind you:
My theory of Spontaneous Degeneration declares that when left in an unnaturally clean state, matter will spontaneously atrophy into indiscriminate disarray.
Yup. You've seen it happen.
A hour after you triumphantly finish slaving over a clean house, mold begins sprouting on shiny faucets, green slime oozes from the vegetable crisper, tiny hairs creep up from the drain and embed themselves in the bathroom sink. Dust bunnies proliferate for a closet reunion.
Black dirt erupts like lava from the carpet nap, clothing magically appears on every piece of sit-able furniture, dirty panties peek from behind hampers just in time for the dog to proudly present them to dinner guests.
You know it's true. And sadly, I am completely defenseless against Spontaneous Degeneration. I have not been blessed with cleaning skills. None.
I am NOT Martha Stewart. Or even the biblical Martha who zipped around cleaning, cooking, and organizing when the Son of God came to visit (Luke 10: 38-42).
On the best of days, I'm neat, but not immaculate. Orderly, but not obsessed. Clean enough for health, dirty enough for happiness.
But I'm in the middle of writing a book (the Too Blessed to be Stressed Daily Devotional, scheduled to release in 2017) that requires my undivided attention if I'm to make my publisher's deadline. So on the clean house continuum, these are not my best of days.
So I've come up with a plan. I shall wear really, really dark sunglasses and leave the lights off. Spouse and I will don shin guards and helmets to avoid injury from the refuse piles and we'll dine out every night at the homes of friends and relatives until they never want to see us again.
So don't expect to be invited to my house anytime soon. But I'll be calling you!
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Actually, it's 5 a.m. as I'm writing this, so it's hard to tell how glorious it is in the pitch dark, but, hey, I have faith.
I was too excited to sleep with the 3 new winners of the Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook drawing dancing in my head, so without further ado, here they are:
Congrats girls! Just message me your mailing addresses ASAP and your prize will soon be winging its way to you!
Many, many thanks to all who entered ... stay tuned for another contest right around the bend. The Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook will be a terrific Mothers Day gift for the stressed ladies in your life, so if you buy one, you can win another for FREE!
A special shout out to the men who entered the drawing - you go, fellas! I'm hoping to see a few Toms, Dicks, or Harrys on the next winners list.
|Cookies & Cream Heaven|
I was trying not to sabotage anyone's diets so I've been posting only recipes from the healthy section.
But now ... hehehe [wicked chuckle] I'm going to do my durndest to make you drool all over your keyboard.
Listen BBFFs, I LOVE seeing your fave recipes from the TBTBS Cookbook on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, so please keep posting those notes and photos and don't forget to tag me. Hearing from you sure makes my day!
Together, let's Eat Stress-Free in 2016!
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
I saw this question on the blog of a lovely young writer named Barb Abel, a single mom of two who wrestles with self-esteem.
I think it sums up the space many of us occupy: Do we respect ourselves enough to consider ourselves beautiful?
And with the start of a new year, most of us are taking a critical gander at our abundant midsections and don't like what we see.
So with my February Weight Loss Challenge (3 lbs in 3 weeks) underway (scroll back to previous posts if you're clueless), I thought I'd share a few of the facts I dug up while doing research for my book, More Beauty, Less Beast. These are from the "Flab is Drab" chapter on outer beauty (although most of the book focuses on inner beauty).
1. It costs big bucks to pack extra pounds. Researchers found that with all things considered (clothes, sick days, food costs, etc), the annual cost of being overweight for women is $524 and a whopping $4,879 if you're obese (40% or more over your ideal body weight based on height, gender, and age).
2. For every 2.2 pounds gained after age eighteen, women's odds of surviving past seventy drop 5%. Prevalent diseases are cancer, heart disease, stroke, and diabetes.
3.Abdominal fat is scary. If your waist circumference is larger than 35 inches, regardless of your health or weight, you have twice the risk of dying prematurely.
4. Like me, many women add 2-3 pounds per year as they age. I call this "Boo Baggage." It sneaks up on you little by little over a decade or two, until one day, thirty rotten, stinking pounds jump out from behind you (or maybe even from your behind) and yell Boo!
5. If you spend eight or more hours per day sitting in front of a computer (or TV), the fat-burning chemicals in your body are diminished by 50%.
Now to be perfectly honest, dear BBFF (Best Blog Friend Forever), I'm hungry as I write this. And despite all these hard cold facts I've just written that should convince anyone to shed those extra pounds, I've got a jar of nuts on my desk that's missing a handful. I was about to say I don't know where they could be - I really don't remember eating a single one - but I just realized I have an odd salty taste in my mouth and a tiny piece of something decidedly nut-like between my front teeth.
Such is the conundrum. The spirit's willing but the flesh is weak. And the Godiva is far too handy.
For those of you who joined me in the January Wt Loss Challenge first leg of my Eating Stress-Free and Healthy in 2016 Contest, and reached the goal of losing 3 or more pounds, I applaud wholeheartedly.
Listen, I reached the goal after the deadline but IT STILL COUNTS. (Hey, it's my contest and I'm makin' up the rules!)
Still, I'm trying again in Feb. The can of nuts has hereby been banished from the house.
I hope you'll give it another go too (except the stinker who wrote that she's ten pounds UNDERweight and her doctor would shoot her if she lost any more), regardless of your results so far.
Sister, let's fight together against the ravages of PAH: Physiological Aging Hypothesis. That's my Coty Near-Fact of Science that states as a woman's age creeps northward, her body parts travel south, and hips expand to incredible new horizons east to west.
Pooh on PAH. I'm tired of being all over the map; how about you?