Tribute to Ernest Angley

I have had a seriously difficult time with religion in the south. I see the Church of Christ's on one corner, the Methodist's caddycorner, the Presbyterians across from them and by golly a good ole Southern Baptist caddycorner from that.
And their not talkin'.
As in ever.
Because Caddycorner #1 thinks that Corner #2 is going straight to you-know-where, and Caddycorner #2 thinks that Corner #3 shouldn't be baptizing backwards and Corner #4 thinks that Caddycorner #1 ought to be resting on Saturday, not Sunday and that all that hoopin' and hollerin' is way too loud and they should not be allowing drums in a church building.
This is where I, as a born and raised Southerner, get very embarrassed. I don't know why I take this so personally quite honestly, I mean to each his own right? Live and let live. But it just doggone gets under my skin.
My hairdresser says the injustices of the world drive me crazy. Yeah, somethin' like that.
The injustices of our religious system make me even crazier.
My husband was raised Church of the Brethren, which is basically MENNONITE.
You come down here to the south askin' for the local Church of the Brethren and they're like, um..the brethra' who?
And then good ole' non-opinionated ME, was raised, well... I'm not quite sure but somethin' like Southern Baptist with a twist of "let's stay home and have church of the bed and watch Ernest Angley on TV."
That IS how I got "saved" you know.
Good ole Ernest.
SHOULDABOUGHTAHONDA'! SHOULDABOUGHTAHONDA'! SHOULDABOUGHTAHONDA'!
He said if I wanted to go to heaven, not hell, I needed to put my hands on the screen, right over his and say a magic prayer that would catapult me right to heaven when I died. I thought that was a pretty good idea. After all it was free, and I didn't have any money anyways I was only ten.
I tip-toed to the TV screen, stretched out my ten year old fingers, RIGHT over his so each finger matched his just perfectly. And I said it. The prayer. The big one.
Not a dang thing happened.
I'm not sure what I was expecting. Some big man to come down from the sky and sit on my head, for the house to shake, or for the Ark-Angels to sing a merry tune... but nothin'. Just plain ole nothin and the next thing I know is my hands are spread on the TV set with the Palmolive Liquid Lady.
Hmmm.
But what happened next was quite wonderful. I was introduced to a sweet youth group and was given a "tape" of Sandi Patty singing Via Dolorosa, and the rest they say is "history". I listened to that song so many times my yellow Walkman broke.
And forever I would know in my heart that the God of the Universe sent his only son to die so that I could live shame free.
Emphasis on free.
And free I am to this day. Mistakes, screw-ups and all. I'm free.
And for that my friends, I am truly thankful.
Thankful that Mr. Ernest Sweet Shouldaboughtahonda Angley got up and put his crooked little fingers on that old television screen, so that I could begin the most grace-filled adventure of my life...
Mistakes and all...

DawgDung and The Replacement Principle

Well like granny says, "If you git cold at night you just throw another dawg on the bed!"

Overwhelmed is putting it lightly. This has been a hard month for me. Man oh man alive. Where the heck fire did February go? It's March? Really?? Hmmm... Well I had a very difficult class in school that I just finished. I wanted to jump off a bridge but I ate chocolate cake instead.
I have a 4.0 in graduate school right now, which makes me feel very smart. My dad always says I'm smart. Now I'm proving him right.
My daughter and husband and son made a chicken tractor on Saturday. From a BOX SPRING. Yes sirree. That's what happens when you live in Maury County, OUTSIDE Williamson and outside the city limits. We be countrifried.
My heart seems a bit neglected. I haven't written in weeks. My hair is funky, my dog needs a bath and I need to learn how to take better care of myself. Do any of you relate? Seems like every day I wake up thinking... I need an hour or two to just spend with me. Me and the God of the Universe need an hour or two. And then email calls me and the house is a mess and my cat needs petting and my bed isn't made and what's happening on Facebook and what about those old emails and then what about the curriculum I haven't finished and.... Well you know how it goes.. before you know it the hour is up and yet again, you are left in the wind.
The wind. Gone with the wind that hour you wanted for yourself. And the God that loves you.
Wonder why we do that?
Wonder how as women we seem to put ourselves dead last?
I would love to offer you all the solutions in the world and make you think I've got it all figured out, but friends, I'm here to tell you, I'm here on this planet struggling just like the rest of the human race.
What helps me is to reframe my thoughts and use the Replacement Principle. Ever heard of that? Well my good friend Sue Ellen taught my all about it. Let's have an object lesson.
SO! How am I feeling right now? Like a piece of dog dung if you want the honest truth. Now I can either spend the rest of my day feeling like dawgdung or I can use the Replacement Principle. Now. What is the opposite of DawgDung? Go to your Opposites Dictionary and you will find that the opposite of DawgDung is GoodDank. Now that doesn't make a lick of sense does it? Nope. So you have to dig on down into your own heart dictionary and find the answer for yourself.
Today I feel like DawgDung. But I am choosing to replace this with something positive so that I won't feel like DawgDung all day and then make my kids and husband and the postman and my pets feel the same DawgDung way.
So I choose to find a word I can live with. How about Content and at Peace. Let's look at this further.
Content means...happy enough with what one has or is; not desiring something more or different; satisfied.
Peace means....A state of quiet or tranquillity; freedom from disturbance or agitation; calm; repose .
So instead of meditating on dawg, I'm meditation on the fact that right now, in this moment, I am happy enough with what I have and am, I am not desiring something more or different. I am satisfied. I am meditating on the fact that I have the great privilege to enjoy a state of quiet, tranquility, a freedom from disturbance or agitation, a calm. A "peace" that passes all understanding, that can only be found by searching within, finding the gem, finding that God gave us the ability to live in His peace anytime we want it.
I once heard a friend talk about good boundaries. How good boundaries are like a fence with remote control panels. We have the remote control and have the ability to open and close as we wish. Isn't it interesting to know that God doesn't make us open our fences? He lets us open and close as we wish. We can open our fences and let him in today, and all the good things he made for us to enjoy- or we can keep our fences closed. I think I'll open a panel or two ;)
I'm feeling better already, how about you?
It is not our circumstances that create our discontent or contentment. It is us. -Vivian Greene
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
he who can call today his own; he who,
secure within, can say, tomorrow
do thy worst, for I have lived today.
-John Dryden
May your day be filled with peace and contentment today. And always remember, when your morning gives you DawgDung, you can always throw it over the fence.
Love and Blessings,
Stacy

Courage

Courage is a thing that I sometimes have, and well I sometimes haven't. And I know that was bad grammar. Some days I have the courage to try things that by all sets and standards our culture says, "How dare you." Like living in a non-electric cabin for 18 months, bathing in a converted horse trough, talking to ballroom students while peeing in my outhouse, watching my husband gun down a flogging rooster. You know, courage, the kind you get when you decide to birth a child with absolutely no drugs, and heck-why-not-no-hospital-either. I had the privilege of birthing both of my children at home. Rebekah took 54 hours. Ouch. Luke took two and a half. Ouch. Courage. That something that rises up in you that says, "I'm going back to school. Period. I don't care if it kills me." And here I find myself in graduate school, dad-blame it, and will graduate at the end of next year. The end of next year was comin' anyways.
Courage. The thing that allows you to go against the grain. To move into a 100 year old farmhouse with falling down window shutters, terrible landscaping, one nasty bathroom, and a huge hole in the kitchen floor while you are simultaneously seriously pregnant, toting around a precocious two year old. (Before we tore the thing out I could pee and spit in the sink at the same time.)
Courage. To live among the renovations.
One year later and by golly we did it. The year went by anyways. Why not.
Courage.

Eleanor Roosevelt says, "You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do."
Courage.
Courage to start a business with no money. Courage to believe God is in the revealing. The day by day unfolding of His will for us. And not a day, or an hour sooner.
Wonder why.
Maybe it's because He is teaching us courage.
I wrote a poem once in the midst of great trial, of terrible heartache, yet I could feel the heartbeat of the Creator as He walked with me in my pain. Here it goes, this one's for you, and me.
"This flower represents HOPE. Hope that I will have the COURAGE to live. Hope that I will remain seen...noticed. Hope that before I die, I will mean something to somebody. Hope that if I am trampled on, I will leave a scent of LOVE and FORGIVENESS. Hope that my life will make a difference among so many lives. Hope that each day will represent a different color, a different shade of GRACE. Hope that I will bear seeds that produce flowers who are beautiful, strong, and always know where the original seed came from. Hope that when it is time for me to fade, that I will fade with grace. And when it is time for me to die, that I will WORSHIP." --Stacy Jagger

Today I wish for you COURAGE. Strength to try. For the best way out, is always THROUGH...

Gratitude and Jailhouse Rock

My mentor, Sue Ellen, who is almost 80 now, who was married 50 years and who puts me in my place on a very regular basis in her loving, yet bold way, says that it is best for our brains to make a gratitude list each night, ten things at least, in order to wake up in a good mood.
Now you need to understand that 99.9% of my life before I began this practice I have woken up in a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mood. So to write this list each night has become, well, a necessity.
(I don't wake up with a rifle or anything, it's just this lingering pissation that I somehow pick up in the night and it generally takes three cups of coffee and about two solid hours for me to get over it. Not that my family even knows about it, but it's just- there. So the gratitude list friends is my saving grace.)
Here it goes.... Gratitude List January 18th, Year Two Thousand and Ten.
Number One. I am thankful today for a sense of connectedness to my neighbors and my community.
Number Two. I am extremely thankful to have had a mentor for almost a decade now who has been God's instrument of teaching me to love myself and to accept mine and others' faults and limitations.
Number Three. I am thankful for the experiences I have been given to find my own authenticity, my own voice, my own life.
Number Four. I am thankful to have been set free from the laws of religion. The closer I feel to God, the less religious I seem to be.
Number Five. I am thankful for my beautiful children who are turning my hair gray, my eyes black and my heart into gold.
Number Six. I am beyond thankful that I get to live in a piece of history, and that Henry Delk and his family left a legacy of peace, kindness and warmth where the walls speak in our 100 year old farmhouse.
Number Seven. I am thankful that God in his mercy has put the pieces of my marriage back together and is leading us into His plan for our lives, together.
Number Eight. I am thankful I live in the free-est country in the world.
Number Nine. I am thankful that I don't have to watch the 5 o'clock or the 6 o'clock Bad News.
Number Ten. I am thankful that Elvis shook his hips the way he did in Jailhouse Rock.
Goodnight friends. I'll let you know in the morning if this worked ;)
---Stacy

Ghetto

My three year old is entirely too responsible. This morning I was running late trying to get to grad school on time. I am studying to become a family therapist. So, as usual, my car is a complete wreck. And there is the coffee cup in my coffee cup container that was OLD coffee, cold and totally didn't want the ride. So. In my grown up, spontaneous way, I took and threw it out the window. Onto MY lawn. Okay let's back up here. We live on 10 acres. Nobody cares that my coffee cup is in the lawn. Nobody can SEE the coffee cup.
Except for my three year old.
Who is entirely too responsible for her age.
After a long, beautiful, arduous yet completely intellectually challenging day, I came home ready to jump on trampolines, watch Little House, read The Tale of Benjamin Button, whatever my little babies' hearts' desired.
And what did I get?
Reprimanded.
I walk in and the first thing my three and a half year old daughter has to say to me is, "Mommy did you throw your coffee cup on the lawn?" My husband is washing dishes trying not to completely crack up. "Yes Rebekah, I did." "Mommy don't do that again. That was ghetto." "Oh really!? Ghetto huh? Did I just get busted by my three year old?" "Yes mama. That was ghetto why did you do that?" "Well honey I was running late and I didn't have time to come back in the house so I thought I'll just throw this on the lawn and when I get home I'll pick it up, take it in the house and wash it."
"Mama." She shakes her head.
My husband's face is red because he is doing his very best not to blow. The kind of "Bahahaaahaa" blow. So in my "therapist-in-training" way I just laughed for him. And I apologized.
"Rebekah I am very sorry. I was wrong. You are right. That was ghetto. Now let's make a pizza for dinner."
Good Lord people, just when you think you can get a break. Just when you think you can SQUEEEEZE one by, you get completely full-on busted by your daughter who has been alive a total of 42 months.
42 months.
I'm happy to be humbled. She's right, I should have learned this lesson years ago. Don't be ghetto throwin your coffee cups in the yard.
So be it.
Can't wait to see what lesson she gets to teach me tomorrow.
---Stacy

World Peace and Marshmellow Pig Skin

So today this country girl went to the city, and let me tell you, I wasn't too happy about it. First of all, I'm not a big fan of concrete. Second of all, like my hairdresser will tell you, the injustices of the world drive me crazy. I only listen to the radio when I am in the car, WITHOUT children. And that isn't often. So we're talking maybe once a week. And I hear all this mumbo crap from every talk channel and my brain starts to fry and then I start thinking about Jesus and the manger and Eve and when things were simpler, easier, caring-er. I watch the cars go by and my memories flash through my mind like pea soup on a rainy day in Albania. And I think why was I born in Nashville, and why did all those people die in Haiti and what the heck can I do about it here? It's not happening here, right? Right. Or not so right. Not sure which. A mixture of heartache and callousedness. Is this an HBO special? Do I get to turn this off now? Is this suitable for children? Aren't I a child?
This is a blog. So I get to say anything I darn well please. Which is the whole point right? Well let me tell you. I don't like going to the city. I want to stay home and be a farm wife I guess. A farm wife and pretend I live on the prarie in 1850 except I don't.
I don't.
The little girl inside me does though. And she's having a blast. She likes it. She's happy there. She paints there. She sleeps by the fire there and reads books and plays Checkers and makes hot apple cider and pumpkin soup and roasts marshmellows over the fire.
Speaking of marshmellows. Did you know gelatin is made of pig skin? Gross. This should be on the LABEL people. Ingredients: Sugar, Pig Skin, Sugar, White stuff, High Fructose Poison, and PIG SKIN.
Okay I'm back. So I'm at moms here to study for a test. Can you tell I'm workin' real hard on that? I'll get to it. Yeah...that's the ticket. Right after dinner with mom, a movie and a real hard nap!
I'm 35. I'm a mommy. I'm in grad school. I'm sad for Haiti. I want to live in the garden of Eden and pretend none of this ever happened. I guess that's me and Sandra Bulluck...both of us praying for peace in the world...
One day. It will happen one day. It's going to be a friggin' long time from now but one day.
It will be here.
No more crying.
No more sadness.
Just peace.
Ahhhh.
I can feel it already.

"Ladybug Sings The Blues" by Ron and Stacy Jagger

Lucy the Ladybug had just moved to town.
She had no new friends and was feeling quite down.
"Poor pitiful me," she cried. "What shall I do?"
And Lucy the Ladybug began to feel blue.

When up hopped a grasshopper with a "How do you do?"
You're looking quite sullen. Are you feeling blue?"
"Of course I am," whimpered little Lucy Ladybug.
"I'm new to this place, and I've not met the first slug!"

Then along came a bee, a spider and a flea
All crying together, "Poor pitiful me!"
They each thought that theirs was most terrible news,
And each of them had gotten a bad case of the blues.

"Well hello there," said grasshopper, tipping his hat.
"Do you all have the blues? Just what's up with that?!
Then each bug sang its sad, sad song.
And when the others were singing, they each hummed along.

"My flowers," sang the bee, "were as tall as a tower
When a lawnmower came through and each one devoured."
"And my web. Oh, my web," moaned the spider in tears,
"Was knocked down by a broom when I'd lived there a year."

"But mine is the worst," cried the flea in a fog.
"For I've just had to leave my favorite dog."
"It's the collar he's got. I just can't stand the smell,
Such a horrible smell that words cannot tell."

Then the grasshopper hopped to a tall flowering weed
And clearing his throat declared words we should heed:
"While each has the right to feel down, it is true,
Sometimes just a little good action will do.

To spin a new web or to find a new dog
Is just what one needs to get out of a fog.
Often the things which worry us most
Work out in the end to be blessings almost.

Lucy the Ladybug started to giggle,
And one of her wings, it started to wiggle!
"I cannot believe it!" she laughed through her grin.
"I felt all alone and now I have friends!"

"And I," said the flea, jumping up on a log,
"Am on an adventure to find a new dog."
"To spin a new web!" barked the spider with glee.
"And to find some more flowers," buzzed a happier bee.

So think on these things next time you feel down,
And try a big smile instead of a frown.
Then lend an ear and help somebug through
When somebuggy you know is singing the blues.

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/ladybug-sings-the-blues/1707986

Good Friends and Nice and Easy

Once in a great while I am completely perplexed by the generosity of a good friend. My mind at times cannot conceive why someone would be so sacrificial and nice to me. A sisterhood in the making. A friendship on the loose. A poem waiting to be written on childhood and caring and loving each other, in spite of daily aggravations like stretch marks, tired eyes and broken dreams. In the midst of life on life's terms we are given, on occasion the gift of a friend, and it soothes our aching souls like warm pumpkin soup by the fire on a cold January day.
All I needed this morning was a couple hours of sanity to take care of some grad school business, some time to read my text and think straight with no "mommy mommy mommy" or a 10 month old climbing my legs or "powing" my face to show his baby manliness.
And wala'. A good friend arrives. With a present in hand, coming to serve. Asking nothing in return.
Miracles still happen. Nice and Easy Root Touch Up and the kindness of a good friend.
For that I am truly thankful.
-Stacy

It a rare thing when your life is changed by a box of six dollar Clairol Nice and Easy Root Touch Up. But I'm here to tell you friends, my life has been forever changed. This gray headed 35 year old woman THANKS the Lord for the miracle.
Praise Him.

Genius

It is in the small, silent spaces in life that I realize how richly blessed I am. How many lovely, wonderful, good-listening friends I have. What a wonderful family God has so lavished me with. The phone rings with a friend of many years, and I sigh in relief that in this chasm of a world, I am not alone. The silence is deafening in a home with a sleeping baby, and a husband gone for the evening. But in this silence I get to take stock of the bounty of blessings and I count one by one. Occasionally interrupted by grumpy voices of irritation that my life has not turned out exactly as I had planned, I look through my mind’s eye of the road less traveled and I am thankful for my somewhat uneventful, ordinary life. I am thankful especially for my loved ones that love me in spite of my mood swings and post-partum blues singing. I am thankful for my home that breathes a sense of humor in every corner, except for my bedroom and master bath that reeks of adultness. Speaking of adultness, I am one now. That is somewhat scary to me, as I always have my inner two year old climbing on every counter of my mind, screaming “mine! mine!” and crossing her arms in disbelief that the world, in fact, doesn’t revolve around her after all. What a bummer. My mentor, just yesterday, suggested that I might think about the possibility of surrendering my sense of self-importance, as it might be getting in the way of surrendering my life to the care of a loving God, just for today. For when our lives are run by self-importance, it is much easier for the prayer to get switched to “My Will, Not Thine, Be Done”. I am sure I would be the next in line for the God-position. After all, don’t I know best? Oh my immature, shortsighted mind. I can’t get her to listen for the life of me. But all is well. I am human yet another day and I have two rather large thighs to prove it. Yet grateful they work, even if I will never grace the cover of Mademoiselle or even Plump Petite for that matter. I am keenly aware today, that God needs a cracked pot. His sick sense of humor requires it, you see, to have his Glory Shine Through. Liquid gold glory just a’pourin. All because of my thighs. Man am I holy or what.

Anyways, thanks for listening to my rather poetic wandering there. For a minute I thought I might be a genius. I’m coming out of it now. Back to earth. Back to the dishes and the fact that I am teaching the neighborhood kids how to sing Zipadeedoodah. You know, Zipadeeday, My Oh my what a beautiful day? Yeah, that one. It is a beautiful day after all, isn’t it? At least when I look into their faces I believe that. Even when it is snowing (not—Nashville weather men are liars). Sorry Demetria. She’s not the weatherman, I just thought she deserved an apology anyways. It’s either my codependency or I am starting to feel guilty about making fun of her hair all these years. That’s what you get when you never leave your hometown, even if it is Nashville…

I Am In It

Every Friday I get to go to my womens’ writing group, which I love. I get to write whatever I want with no one critiquing me. Just for the sheer joy of writing. Nothing more, nothing less. Here is a poem to encourage you to stay in your journey, be present for it, experience it…the joys and sorrows, the ups and downs, the twists and turns…

“I Am In It”
by Stacy Jagger

All of my experiences
One by one
All locked up together
Meaningful and few
Precious, like stones
Diamonds among them
Taking each one
To make something beautiful
Time is not lost
Lost is not time
I am on time
Not late, nor early
I am neither young, nor old
Depending your stature
Compared to Mathusala
I am a mere child
Wisdom I have sought you
Though too stupid to know if I have any
Smart enough to know
The only problems I have
Lie between my ears
Seeds thrown
This way and that
Water them and watch them grow
For there is no easier or softer way
The road is slow and easy
Bends from nowhere
Just to see them
And for no other reason
For the journey is the reward
And I am in it

Sushi Magic

Today I went to the International Market to get a present for my honey. I bought him all the stuff to make sushi at home, as we love California rolls and pay dearly for them at Wild Oats. We decided hey. How hard can it be? So I went to the International Market and left my friend Angie in the car with the baby while I quickly ran in to get what I needed.Well they don’t tell you that no one at the International Market speaks English. I was walking up to all the Chinese folk saying, “Do you speak English?” By the way, that place smells majorly of fish, and what in the world do you do with duck feet? I mean really people that scares me.Anyways, so I would ask, “Do you speak English?” and they would say, “Mmm, no English.” Again to another, “Do you speak English?” and again, “Mmm, little English.” And so I would tell them, in all my southernness, although I was trying to put a little Asian twist to it, “Okay, so I am wanting to make sushi at home and I need one of those rollyup thingies to roll it up with.” And let’s just say they couldn’t understand a word I was saying, either that, or they were pretending…not sure which.
So FINALLY! I found this couple who looked kind of, sort of University-ish, and I said, “Excuse me, but do you speak English?” And they said yes, and so I told them how I was wanting to make sushi at home and I was looking for one of those bamboo looking rolly-up thingies, and they started DYING LAUGHING! I mean pointing at me and laughing and their eyes completely disappeared they were laughing so hard. Saying, “You make no sushi at home, much effort, you rice fall apart, you makey no sushi.” And I was really offended. I’m like, “Yes I am, I am going to make sushi at home.” I told their seven year or so old son, “Your mom and dad are laughing at me!” And he said, “Yes! Hahaha! You makey no sushi.” And I said, “Yes I am. Well let’s just say it will be an experiment. Now where are the rolly-up thingies, and the chopsticks, and the rice cookers and the seaweed?
Thankfully, they sent me in the right direction. Because I didn’t have my glasses on, and that made it all worse. So I got all I needed and went back in line and the same family started laughing at me again. BUT! I got what I needed out of him b/c he told me, “You go to Sushi Magic on internet.” I said, “Sushi Magic?” He says, “Sushi Magic. You must put vinegar in the rice to make sticky rice, or you no make sushi.”
I thanked Mr. Chinese Laugh-At-Me and went on my merry way, but I did recognize that even the Chinese cashier was snickering. I’m like “What’s the big deal people? Sushi can’t be that hard!”
So I’ll keep you updated on the Sushi Adventure. In the meantime, if you are secretly wishing YOU could make sushi at home, visit www.sushimagic.com
Other than that, Happy New Year…all the way to China and back…

Casket-Sleeping, Elf Costumes and my Granny Gown

OK so I went to this cute little shop in my neck of the woods called “So Cool” which is where my paintings are sold. Yes, I paint. Fun, whimsical art. And while I was there I ran into a neighbor who said she spent two hours reading my journal online b/c she thought it was so funny. And I’m like, well dang! If I had known I was that funny I would have been writing every day! So Mrs. Monk, this one’s for you…and by the way, your new hairdo is fabulous…
So do any of you have issues with getting your husband to do what you want him to do? I’ve been trying to figure out the gift of reverse psychology lately, wondering if I get a little twist on my basic manipulative strategies, maybe my daughter’s nursery will finally get finished. You see, we had the wild notion, don’t ask me why, that our child would stay in our room for the first year b/c she is breastfeeding and you know the whole attachment-parenting thing. Uh. BIG MISTAKE. Hello. Not gonna’. And I begged my husband to help me get the nursery done like my 2nd trimester and here we are, with a six month old, still working on that ding-donged dad-blamed flip-flarned room. Not to mention the fact that I kept the FULL BED for our master bedroom b/c I was so darn STUBBORN, HEAVEN-BENT on keeping this old, rickety 100-year-old antique iron bed, and you know, apparently nobody was FAT back then, because WHO CAN SLEEP IN A FULL BED NOWADAYS WITH A MAN THAT SNORES AND YOUR BABY THAT COMES TO NURSE EVERY TWO COTTON-PICKIN’ HOURS?? It’s like rollin’ over in a casket. Somebody HELP me. I don’t mean to lament, I mean I am seriously grateful for our sweet and humble abode. But come on people, what was I thinking?
In other news…my friend Sally came over this week and took pictures of the baby at our house. What a friend—she traipses down here with all her gear and this time showed up with a doggie-elf costume, and what do you know, it fit Miss Bebe just perfectly. Check her out. Is she not the cutest thing you have ever seen in your life or am I biased?
AND. I bought a granny-gown today. Yep. A granny-gown. I’m talking the full-blown flannel long funky gown with the cotton lace and the whole nine yards. OK, maybe not nine yards, I hope not nine yards. And I’m talkin’ Granny knew what she was doin’ cause I’m as warm as toast. They’re on sale at TJ right now for 16.99 so go on down there cause I’m startin’ a revolution. Before you know it, Granny gowns are going to be the rage and Miss Victoria will be out of business…
Other than that, I’m just enjoying my neighbor’s reindeers and trying to catch up on some housework and reading…. I hope you are all enjoying the traffic and all of the tinsel and the fifteen renditions of Here Comes Santa Claus. I’m thinking about decorating my pink flamengos with Santa hats. What do you think?

Big Girl

I’m a big girl now. All my life I have kind of thought of myself as the “little sister”, the “Oh, would she please grow up” type, but now I am officially a grown-up, and I think I like my new mom shoes. Speaking of shoes, I wore my favorite worn-out garage sale cork sandals to the opening of “How To Eat Fried Worms”, starring Luke Benward, the son of my roommate from college oh-too-many-years ago. He was fantastic, please go see it. My husband took it upon himself to give the boy a standing ovation, the only one to stand up at the end of the movie, he kept clapping incessantly until everybody got the hint. He says because a little voice told him to because he regrets not doing it the last time he heard that little voice at a low budget wedding he attended by some aquaintences of his and he has regret it ever since because nobody stood up for the bride and he wishes now he had and here was his chance to remedy the situation and of course I was thinking, “Ok, so now you decide to lead.”
Bebe is wonderful, except right now she looks like scarface because she keeps scratching herself in the night. I finally got some of those pitiful mittens that make her look like her hands are missing, but it is helping, hopefully, and we are enjoying her coos and goos and her poopy diapers that have changed from pumpkin spice to scary green. This past Sunday she was dedicated at my sweet little church, my little unglamorous 40-person meetin’ house in the middle of entertainmentville. It is such an anomaly because it is the most unprofessional church on the block and I Love It. Grandma Barbara and two other ladies sang “The Old Rugged Cross” beautifully out of tune and I cried with tears of joy. It was almost like I was in Dirtville, Idaho. Praise to whom all blessings flow. Other than that, I am just the passy slave and I have officially lost the battle to Fisher-Price. It seems I spend half my day saying “Where’s the passy? Where’s the passy?” and tripping over bright-colored plastic things I swore I would never let in my house. Well, those days are over.
I’m off to speak/sing for a womens’ retreat this weekend. We’re starting to book me for womens’ retreats and concerts so please spread the word of love and I’ll come out and be a blessing, and be on my best behavior, I promise.
Thank you all for supporting me. I am really glad to be doing this kind of work. It seems it is what I am made for.

The Valvoline

OK so I got my first public breastfeeding experience at the Valvoline. Yeah, the Valvoline. It was way time to get an oil change, like ten thousand miles, yeah I know it’s better for the engine to do it every three but I honestly hadn’t looked at that little sticker in the upper left hand corner of the windshield in months, not sure how many months, obviously because ten thousand miles went by. Anyways, so it was a million degrees last week here in Tennessee and I was sweating bullets, and my daughter who is now all of four weeks old, was also sweating bullets. She was starting to give me that look like, “I’m getting ready to blow. Feed me now, or I am going to blow.” And God knows I didn’t want her blowing at the Valvoline, plus I’m a pretty nice person and I generally do not condone the starving of children, so I decided to take her inside the little lobby inside the Valvoline, you know with the linoleum flooring, the ugly black and chrome chairs, the funky car magazines and Ellen Degeneres on T.V. So I sit down, and I get out this really handy thingamajig called a BeBeAuLait which is basically a glorified apron that you hang around your neck and it has this underwire contraption at the top so that you can look down and see your child, but no one else can see you. So I get her all comfy and ready to go and this burly, non-shaved, 60-some-odd year old construction worker of a dude decides to start telling me every joke he has ever heard on the planet. And then he decided to rant on about how much he loves children and how I should really enjoy these years because man do they fly by and all about his oldest daughter who is living in South America as a missionary and how she’s not planning on settling down anytime soon, no sir, because she wants to see the world.
And all I could think of was, “Okay, I’m sitting in the Valvoline, my child is slurping like a banshee, and this old guy is trying to pretend he isn’t totally uncomfortable with the fact that there is a small child breastfeeding in his presence, although I am completely covered (to the pride of my Mennonite-at-heart husband) and that he has taken it upon himself at this very moment to pass down all of his various bits and sundries of knowledge and wisdom on this new mother who gives a crap. And at that very moment, on the Ellen Degeneres show appears the something dolls, the voo-doo dolls, the pussy-cat dolls, something vile like that, and out they storm with their thighs and their leather and their pursed lips doin’ the MilliVanilli while they seduce every man in America and about that time the Valvoline boy tells me where the remote is if I would like to change it and I said yes I would and thank God Mr. Rogers Neighborhood was on and the little train was just getting ready to come around the corner. Whoo, saved by the train.
All that to say, motherhood is wonderful. I am fully embracing it and I am taking care of myself in the process, which is nice to admit. My husband is awful helpful and he just got me a double barrel electric on top of all that.
So. I’m not sure where June went. I don’t remember June. June doesn’t remember me. But I’m planning on writing June and asking June how June was because it’s all a blur to me. Other that that, I’m just trying to figure out what day it is, where the passy went, the “passafrasser” my husband calls it, and how to take a bath once a day.
So how are you? Please write and tell me because I am home most days wondering.
Good morning July…

54 Hour Labor and Not Even an Aspirin People

“I have a whole new appreciation for the cross”…were the first words that came out of my mouth after birthing the most beautiful child in the world, in my eyes of course. My first thoughts as she was lovingly placed on my breast were “Now how did I end up with an African-American child?” That was before my midwife explained to me that her dark purple color and smooshed nose would soon turn pink and perk up in a matter of minutes.
Fifty-four hours is a long time to be in labor. I mean for cryin’ out loud isn’t that like two marathons? I think of Jesus because on his way down Calvary he never asked for an epidural, or valium, or even a shot of tequila for that matter. I’m not sure why I decided to go totally natural, and a home birth at that, other than I really hate hospitals. They need to open those windows and let some of that sick air out and some fresh air in. And come on people can’t we decorate a little? So drab. And I really don’t like being told what to do, like ever, so the thought of having strangers in charge of how I birth my child was kind of out of the question. I guess I’m a little right of center. Or is that left of center.
They say I’ll forget all the pain. I say I don’t forget that easy but man it was worth it. Even if my cankles still haven’t gone away and I feel frumpy and granny-like, kind of like Mama on that show back in the 80’s, what was that show called? You know the one with Carol Burnett and whats-her-name…
This birth has been such a time of healing between my mother and I. We have had more quality time together the past five days than in years combined. Not to mention there’s something pretty intimate about attending someone’s birth, especially the birth of your very own grandchild.
So Rebekah in the Bible was the grandmother of the twelve tribes of Israel. I love that. Well I just love grandmothers in general. I miss mine. She would have loved to sit and rock this wee one.
I have officially “entered the sisterhood” my friend Evangeline tells me. The motherhood tribe of women who can just look at each other a certain way and there is a certain knowing, a bond, an unspoken thing. Glad to have so many sisters.
My husband looks at me different, and he cries when he thinks about what I went through to get this small child here in this world. Thank God we breathed together through the whole thing, and now I have a charm bracelet with a heart that says May 31st, 2006 with Rebekah Lee “BeBe” on the other side, a gift from my better half. Good man. A real good man.
My heart is a bigger container today. So is my cervix but that is a whole other story. For those of you who prayed for me, thank you from the bottom of my heart. In the meantime, I have a little miracle to tend to.

Keeping It Positive

My back hurts. Really bad. I’m due in four weeks. It’s getting’ kinda hard. I made a permanent indention on my side of the bed and when we turned over the mattress, I made another indention. We’re havin’ the baby at home. Yep with a midwife. Ron’s freaking out. He says he’s not, but he is. I know, I’m his wife. We went garage saling and well actually Ron went garage saling when I was out of town and called me to tell me that he found some onesies. I bet the ladies there thought that was hilarious, my husband going through boxes of baby clothes to find the onesies. My father in law is in town. He’s helping around the house. I’m a cleaning fool. Not sure what has come over me but I have completely cleaned out my pantries, laundry room, drawers, desk, under the beds, organized closets, the whole nine yards. I planted a garden with my mom and niece on Tuesday. That was fun. I dug the holes and Mallory planted the plants and when we got tired Mom took over. She’s good at that. I have successfully, so far, prevented Fisher Price from taking over my house. But I will be updating you on that fact, b/c I have a feeling that you become a mom and you just don’t care anymore. I have a baby shower at my house Saturday. My sweet friends are in charge, I’m just hosting the location so I don’t have to haul it all home…I will already be home. You know the whole home thing. That’s where I am most of the time these days, home. Kind of funny because I never wanted to be home much as a kid, but now I have my own house and my own husband and my own car and life and pregnant body and now I want to be home a whole, whole lot. I am eating ice like my life is dependent on it. Midwife says my iron is low. That’s not all that’s low. We won’t go there. My garden makes me happy. We had maids come and clean my house b/c my back can’t take it, and that makes me REAL happy. Thinkin’ about getting one last pregnancy massage before the big day and that makes me happy too. The Japanese people really like my music, they’re buying CD’s left and right, and that makes me happy. We got a new puppy, he’s a golden retriever and he makes me happy too. So we won’t talk about swollen feet and ankles and cankles and butt pain and insomnia and breakouts and moods swings today ok? Let’s just keep it positive. Amen.

Jesus Feet

Today I received a quote from a precious woman who speaks at women’s’ retreats and conferences whom I had the privilege of meeting a month or so ago at an event. I’m putting together promotional materials for my booking person to send out for me to do women’s’ events and she was so kind to send me this.
“Stacy Jagger led me to the feet of Jesus with her own transparent worshipping heart. From the beginning to the end of our retreat it was apparent that Stacy's artistry was intended only to lead us to the true Song of our hearts.”
--Sharon Hersh, speaker, author, counselor
So I started thinking about the feet of Jesus, and just wondering what his feet might have looked like. Were they good feet? Funky feet? Pretty feet? Dirty feet? Did he go barefoot a lot? How many pairs of sandals did he go through while he was here? Did he make his own sandals or did someone make them for him? Did they resemble Berkenstocks in any way? Did any of his toes twist and turn like mine do? Did he ever, ever consider the possibility of a pedicure? Did hair grow on the tops of his feet or just his toes? How many miles a day did he walk? Did he ever have a bunion? Or a wart? Or really bad calluses that peel off after they get all dead and big and yucca? How did he clip his toenails? Did they have clippers back then or did they just rip ‘em off? Any ingrown toenails? Did anybody ever give him a foot massage? Reflexology? Did he sleep with socks? Or did he prefer to sleep with his feet hangin’ out the bottom of the covers? Were his toenails thick? Or thin?
When they say we are now the feet of Jesus and we get to do the things he would have liked to have done had he stayed here on earth for 2000 years, does that mean that all of our funky, pretty, callused feet get to go where He would like us to? Like the prisons? The orphanages? The old folks home? How about our neighbors’ house to mow their lawn when they didn’t ask, or the grocery store to encourage a clerk who is pregnant and tired on her poor little Jesus feet.
When I look at my feet I don’t think of Jesus. But I am starting to wonder if I should. Instead of thinking of what color toenail polish would go well with my sandals this spring, I wonder if I could just forgo the pedicure and take my Jesus feet down to the orphanage that is less than a mile from my house, a house full of young women forgotten, right in my back yard. I wonder if they would like me and if they like to sing. And I wonder by writing this if I am getting myself some accountability of taking my Jesus feet somewhere important, somewhere that will matter, other than under my sheets. Not to put myself under a guilt trip or anything, but I am keenly aware in my 8th month of pregnancy of how self-centered my little Jesus feet have been. Me, me, me I exclaim. But wasn’t it Jesus that said if we lose our life we will find it? Truth is the me me life is boring and unfulfilling and ridiculous. I’m ready to experience something other than my four walls and the paved ditch I drive each day to do the same thing over and over and over again, like a rat in a cage, not realizing all the while that the cage door is open and I am free to peek around the corner and see what else is out there in this great big world. And my sweet little non-pedicured Jesus feet will take me there, if only I will listen and ask for the next right step, and take it.

Just As I Am

There's an old hymn we sing in the deep south to try and get as many people saved on a Sunday morning as possible called “Just As I Am”. I started pondering this hymn’s rich words, although I knew them by heart, chapter and verse, as well as grandma quoted John 3:16.
Just as I am, without one plea,but that thy blood was shed for me,and that thou bidst me come to thee,O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
And I begin to realize it is not so hard to believe that the God of the universe loves me enough to want me to come to Him. The hard part all of my life is figuring out who “just as I am” is. Not who I wish I was, used to be, ought to be, could have been. But who I am today. With my big protruding Buddah belly, my swollen ankles, and my scared little heart I sing…
Just as I am, and waiting notto rid my soul of one dark blot,to thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Now I know my soul definitely has a blot on it. I feel the blot as soon as I get out of the bed in the morning. I give my blot over to God or that blot runs and rules my day. It is amazing that when we give our blots over to God he has the ability to cleanse it, like Ajax, one day at a time. And the truth is, we wake up every morning with a new blot that needs some Ajax.
Just as I am, though tossed aboutwith many a conflict, many a doubt,fightings and fears within, without,O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Yes I toss myself about. And when I’m still I have the mind of a monkey, going here going there, swinging from tree limb to tree limb trying to make sense of the jungle. And Lord yes I fight with my own self. And who is this Lamb?
Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;sight, riches, healing of the mind,yea, all I need in thee to find,O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
There is true healing in God’s word and life. None other compares. My mind heals as I renew it day by day.
Just as I am, thou wilt receive,wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;because thy promise I believe,O Lamb of God, I come, I come. I’m feeling better already, aren’t you?
Just as I am, thy love unknownhath broken every barrier down;now, to be thine, yea thine aloneO Lamb of God, I come, I come.