Precious in His Sight

Our sweet little Bree-Bree

Hallelujah - she's here!!!

If you've been keeping up with my FB and newsletter posts (and I hope you have!) you know exactly who I'm talking about.

She's been referred to alternately as:

• Baby #1
• Girl Baby
• The firstborn twin from different mothers

She's the tiny but enormous blessing that many of you have helped bring into our family with your prayer support, financial support, and words of constant encouragement.

We are very, very happy as we await the birth of her brother, the other twin from different mothers (Papa God blessed my daughter - who is my best friend as well as backdoor neighbor - with an adopted girl and a biological boy due within 2 weeks of each other). Nothing but joy, joy, joy, singing bluebirds and misty sunbeams. Right?

Well, almost. Sigh.

Alas, isn't there often a fly in the pudding? A rip in your jeans? Someone who throws lightning bolts at your parade?

This particular fly/rip/bolt-heaver was an acquaintance on the tennis court next to mine the day after our precious blessing was born. The very day the adoption papers were signed and sweet Bree-Bree became a forever piece of our hearts.

"So she's adopted, is she?" this woman asked, as soon as I finished gushing out the awesome story of her birth. "Does she, um ... does she look like the rest of you?"

"Well, not exactly," I naively answered. "She's got dark hair and the rest of the family are more blond, but it's no big deal. She'll also probably be quite tall and my side of the fam are all shorties but that's cool with us."

"Dark hair?" the woman continued, glancing around to see who might be listening. She leaned in close. "What about her skin tones?" I honestly had no idea where she was going with this.

"Uh ... I guess she might have a little more olive tones than we marshmallows do." What in the world is she getting at? I thought to myself.

Then she dropped the bomb.

"She's not ... she's not black, is she?"

I swear I felt like someone had socked me in the stomach.

Indignation erupted somewhere in my gut and rage poured of me out before I could stymie it. I don't even remember what all I said, but it was loud and clear and included the fact that my family is colorblind and proud of it and when my daughter and her husband applied to foster and adopt, they prayerfully specified that children of ANY race were more than welcome to be loved and loved and loved some more in their home. We fully expected a child of a different race and we were delighted about it.

As I paused to take a breath, I recalled the pain of the friend who confided that her parents refused to accept the beautiful Latina and African-American daughters she and her husband had adopted. They only sent Christmas and birthday gifts to their four biological children and ignored the other two. At this moment, her pain became my pain.  

I felt disgusted just having this conversation. Are you kidding me? How do people like this sleep at night?

Before me flashed the lovely face of my best friend in college, Nadine, who used to laugh about being able to easily pick me out of the crowd in the photos of her wedding - the only pale face amid hundreds of color.

And my current BFF and heart-sister, Eddie, who is one of my most beloved spiritual mentors. And happens to be black. (By the way, Eddie considers herself black rather than African-American, so on the rare occasion that a label is required, that's how I refer to her too.)

I've decided that if I ever need a racial explanation, I prefer peaches and cream. No. On second thought, make me white chocolate.

I love the way my Indian friend Lali refers to people flavors. She considers herself  "curry" and other races as chocolate (black), vanilla (white), swirl (mixed), salsa (Latina), sushi (Japanese), mango (Filipino), pineapple (Polynesian) ... you get the idea.

Seriously. Why can't we all realize that our different flavors are simply Papa God's way of spicing up our world?

So after I removed my tennis racket from this woman's throat (not really, but I did consider stuffing it where the sun don't shine a time or two) I said a prayer for her. And for me. And for all the children of the world who have to deal with bigotry ... red, brown, yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight.

Jesus loves the little children of the world. And so should we.

Make Your Bed

Make your bed.

These are the surprising words that Women of Faith veteran Patsy Clairmont credits with saving her life in her book, Stained Glass Hearts.

Here's her incredible story as I recounted in the chapter of my book, Fear, Faith, and a Fistful of Chocolate, about dealing with anxiety:

"Patsy, even as a believer, was unable to accept responsibility for running away from people and things that intimidated her. In her mind, her fear-avoidance behavior was always someone else's fault and out of her control. Patsy downed tranquilizers like candy and became drug dependent.

After suffering hundreds of debilitating panic attacks, Patsy finally reached a breaking point. This was not living. She was the equivalent of a breathing corpse. Something had to change.

One morning, while she was hiding beneath her blanket, Patsy heard her Savior's still, small voice whisper three life-changing words to her tormented heart: Make your bed.

No kidding.

Although at first 'Make your bed' didn't sound much like a divine directive from the Master of the universe, it was brilliant, really. So simple ... it was something she could actually do. Patsy felt powerless to address the mountain of problems in her life, but by golly, she could make her bed. And by making her bed, she couldn't still be cowering in it. She had to get up and start putting one shaky foot in front of the other on the long, twisting road back to living."

Make your bed.

Three simple little words. Yet profound healing power is contained therein.

These very words jumped out at me recently while I was reading the story of Peter performing a healing miracle in Jesus' name in Acts 9:33-34.

"And there he [Peter] found a certain man named Aeneas, who had been bedridden eight years, for he was paralyzed. And Peter said to him, 'Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you; arise, and make your bed.' And immediately he arose" (NASB).

Funny, I'd read that story dozens of times before but  somehow had never noticed those particular three words. But this time, with Patsy's story fresh in my memory banks, they glowed like neon lights.

Make your bed.

Wow. These simple words were astounding game-changers in the lives of Aeneas and Patsy. So how do these unlikely but powerful words apply to me? How do they apply to you?

Perhaps it has something to do with motivation. With taking the first step away from our stagnancy and moving forward. With shucking our old normal and taking the risk to seek a better normal. With becoming more obedient, courageous, or dependent on Papa's strength rather than our own.

What if complacency is robbing us of the "more" Papa God has in mind for us to be and accomplish before we burst through Heaven's gates?

Or maybe we simply need to change the sheets. Hmm.

Make your bed.

What do you think, BBFF? (Best Blog Friend Forever) How does this three-word mandate apply to you?

A Cheek Tweek from Papa God

Me (left) in gangsta hat

Ha! I had to laugh out loud.

Not a tee-hee, no. One of those tilt-your-head-back-open-your-mouth-wide-and-let-it-rip kind of laughs.

Matter of fact, I'm chuckling now just thinking about it.

I was walking down a long corridor last week in the Orange County Convention Center (Orlando) toward the massive entrance doors to the ICRS (International Christian Retailers Show).

Speaking gig hat

As you can imagine by such an ostentatious title, this was a big deal. The cavernous place was stuffed with publishers, publishing house editors, manufacturers, bookstore owners and managers, authors I'd long idolized, literary agents, publicists, and just about anybody you can think of even remotely associated with Christian publishing.

Gulp. I was a little intimated and a lot nervous.This was the big time. All the players were here. I felt like a pet rock at a Barbie Doll convention. So out of place. Confidence subzero.

London touring hat

As I approached the enormous bank of double doors, each manned with uniformed Convention Center personnel, I was completely engrossed in my own thoughts about which meetings I was scheduled to attend, where, with whom, and when. No doubt my concentration scowl was front and center on my distracted face.

Stonehenge hat

Then it happened. A cheek tweek from Papa God. Just like you might do to a scared little kid you wanted to love on. And my herspective completely shifted. Here's what went down.

I came out of my stupor to become suddenly aware that the two twenty-something Convention Center staff young men standing at the door I was about to pass through were wearing huge smiles and had apparently just said something. To me.

Scottish cap in Scotland

"Uh, excuse me?" I stammered, unable to resist smiling back at their engaging expressions. Were they trying to engage me? Whatever for? Could that be ... admiration (???) on their faces? Or maybe it was constipation.

"You're rockin' that hat, girl," said the cutie about one third my age.
"Oooh, yeah," agreed the other fellow whose diapers I might have changed, nodding like the bobblehead on my car dash. "Rockin' it gooood."

Irish lass

Rockin' ... stylin'... smokin... these are not terms usually applied to me. And certainly not by young men who, by evidence of the elaborate tats peeking from beneath their shirt sleeves and the hip diamond earring studs they sported, were laboriously bobbing and weaving around fashion knockout world.

But I could tell they weren't making fun. They really meant it. Go, girl.

boating hat

The unexpectedness and absurdity of it all brought instant anxiety-reducing laughter into my stressed-out day. I howled.

"You made my day, guys. Thanks!" I called as I entered the lion's den with my chin a little higher and my shoulders a little straighter.

Posing hat

Yep, it surely was a cheek tweek from Papa. And from a most unlikely place. He knew I needed something outside the box to give me that little zing of confidence I'd evidently left locked in the 110-degree car (this was in Orlando).

He knew I needed to know I'm not a pet rock. Hey, I'm Seffner Barbie. (I just had another great guffaw there, how 'bout you?)

Hangin in Liverpool with John Lennon

But most of all, Papa knew I was a stress mess and needed to laugh. Because laughter is a catalyst to release the joy of the Lord in our spirits. And our spirits need Jesus joy spurting upward through the crusty outer layers like a volcano erupting and covering us and everyone around us with Papa's incredible love.

Your cheek tweeks from Papa probably don't have anything to do with hats. But they still serve to remind you of his never-ending affection for you, boost your confidence, and paste a goofy grin on your granite-hewn face.

Won't you share with me a few of your recent cheek tweeks from Papa God?        

Lots of Winners!!!

Hey, hey - we've got some winners here! Ten to be exact.

Congrats to the fine folks below whose names were drawn in my "Them Babies Just Keep on Bouncing" contest.

Each will receive the Too Blessed to be Stressed Baby Blessing of their choice. To find out more about each Baby Blessing, hop on my website http://DeboraCoty.com and click on the "Books" dropbox, then Too Blessed Babies.

Some products aren't available just yet (such as the Too Blessed to be Stressed 2016 Planner, the 3-Minute Devo for Women, and the Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook, but as soon as they are released, I promise I'll get your prize to you).

Please don't fret if your name's not on the list this time; stay tuned for another great giveaway coming up in conjunction with the fall release of the Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook (and I'm talking prizes including not only free autographed books but also GROCERY STORE GIFT CARDS for buying the ingredients to try out the Cookbook's 110 terrific recipes requiring less than 20 minutes prep time ... plus a few ultra cool surprises!)

So without further ado, here are the winners of a free Baby Blessing!

Angela Holland                           Kathy Newborn
Rick Jackson                              Paulette Smallwood
Adriana Fuentes                          Kathy James
Kristen Schuettenberg                 Pamela Black
Tina Rae Collins                          Ana Raquel

Congrats!! Just e-mail or FB message me with your choice and mailing address and your prize will soon be on its way!




And here are your prize options:

Too Blessed to be Stressed (original book)
Muy Bendecida Para Estar Estrasada (Spanish version of original book)
Too Blessed to be Stressed Journal
The Bible Promise Book: Too Blessed to be Stressed Edition
Too Blessed to be Stressed Cookbook (releasing Nov 1)
Too Blessed to be Stressed Wall Calendar
Too Blessed to be Stressed: 3-Minute Devotions for Women (releasing this winter)
Too Blessed to be Stressed 2016 Planner (releasing Sept 1)


A whopping THANK YOU to all my BBFF (Best Blog Friends Forever) for entering - you're always a winner with me!

Hugs,
Deb