Posted in Uncategorized

Always Remember, then act…

I was in Mrs. Wright’s (or was her last name Adams?)  Home Ec class. She was a hoot! Fashionable in wearing black of what I can remember, with a loud, in-your-face personality, kinda chaotic but in a knowledgable way that made learning fun!

It was second period, on a 4-block type schedule. At this point most of us were counting down to 3rd block, which meant 1 of 2 things… You either had to endure another class before lunch, or you were preparing to partake in the standard lunch line choices, or a slice of grease-soaked pizza, or perhaps just grab a pack of crackers at the school store. Anyway, everything seemed to add up to a quite normal day until during our lesson she got word to turn her TV onto the news. This was odd. And then we began to watch. In awe. In terror. In sadness. Witnessing the horrific events of what would become known as 9/11.

My dad worked at the high school, and it would be best to note here, that he’s a retired Army veteran, who lives exactly what he was taught and trained…love your country, even to the death. I asked if I could go to him. I knew if I wanted to feel safe, getting to my dad was key! He was on planning period and as I entered into his office, I fell into his arms. I hugged my daddy as if I were a toddler scared of a dog about to “get her.” But I was. I was scared. What’s happening to the safe place we call home? Is more still to come? Will life as we know it be the same?

I don’t remember much else about that day, besides keeping the news on that evening with my family to see the coverage. To see the replays of those planes and the smoke billowing through the streets of New York as the towers fell & people run for cover.

15 years later, and I watched those replays today. I listened to Darryl Worley’s song “Have you Forgotten?” I saw the planes. The smoke. And heard the cries and horror of voices on those videos. And I thought “my how we live our lives filled with worry, and anxiety, with arguments over differing opinions of parenting, religion, car seats, even bullet journaling (as I’ve found through a FB group), etc…, yet we should be thankful for the freedoms of free speech and free worship and, and, and…”

We should live from a place of love.

So like many of you have posted today, remembering where you were, what you were doing, let’s continue to never forget, always remember BUT let it drive you to act.

To act with love❤️

Posted in Always Coca-Cola

but first…Coke

I think the original “but first” phase started as “but first coffee.” Well, that’s according to a Google search and we all know Google is Gospel! Beyond that, I cannot tell you if it originated from a shirt from some boutique on Instagram, a meme on someone’s Pinterest board, or just a blog, as there’s no WIKI site for explanation (and for the record, I am not the first person to google “where did but first coffee come from” because it pre-populated into my search bar…)


I have loved this phrase, but it doesn’t work for me because, I have a love/hate relationship with coffee…

You see, since my childhood I always loved watching my grandparents and dad drink coffee and always thought I would grow up to do the same.

Until I tried it.

Then I wondered why in the world would someone ever want to drink the stuff.  It’s bitter.  It’s tasteless.  It’s strong.  It’s typically hot. (I hate hot drinks).  And while I know there’s sugar and cream and flavored creamers, all that is just…work!

I want to pick up and drink something and have the reliability that it will have the same consistent mix time and time again, and if that variable is dependent on me… Well let’s just say I can’t even boil water some days, so creating a perfect mix coffee day-in and day-out, is Out of the Question.

And did I mention that I do LOVE the smell of coffee.  It’s so warm and awakening to my nostrils, even to the point that every time I get a whiff, I want some.

Then I end up trying it again.

And no. Just no.

So in my mind, every time I see the phrase “but first coffee,” for me and my “vice” it needs to say

“but first Coke”

Preferably McDonald’s fountain Coke. Or Weigel’s Vanilla Coke.  Sometimes Cherry Coke from a can.  Rarely Coke from a bottle😝.  And on occasion, Mountain Dew.  (I’m not picky or anything…)

So yeah. Coke is quite important for my daily ability to function, even my toddler sits in a drive-thru and yells “I want Coke.”  Not because she’s had it, but because she knows this is regularly ordered.

And while I’m not clever enough to change the phrase, someone did & thanks to a sweet friend, I copied her and vuala, my knock-off Yeti is complete!❤️

Fun Fact: For all you die hard coffee & Friends sitcom fans…I found it interesting that the country of origin for coffee is…Yemen😂

Posted in Jesus Jabbers

Airplanes, Airports, Anxiety, & Jesus

I truly believe that all of us have some anxiety when it comes to travel, especially alone. For some it’s probably suppressed deep-down, almost to the point of non-existence & for others it’s like a “glow.” You know, like the “pregnancy glow,” which by-the-way I’m not certain why it’s called a glow, it’s just sweat from all that extra weight you’re now carrying around…anyway, kind of the perfect analogy.😉

On one of my many traveling excursions, it turned out to be quite life-changing. One, which of course held moments of blatant obvious anxiety, that I hide SO well, but where as soon as I landed back home, I would know the exact purpose for my whole trip. So let’s begin, shall we…

You know the old saying, “Third time’s a charm,” well sometimes that’s even true with airline check-in desks…

Just like everyone, I started my journey at the check-in desk, only to find I was actually in line for the “Cargo” check-in. For those like me, this is Not for the average traveler, thus I looked like a fool standing at the desk. Just waiting. Thankfully a nice Delta agent asked if I had cargo, “yes, but I only need to check one of my bags.”🙈  He politely informed me I was in the wrong line, so I proceeded to move over…to the United Check-In (I was flying Delta). Again, the nice man picked up on my “glow” & asked if I was flying United. Of course, still unaware at the time (yes, one can be THAT blonde), I replied “No, flying Delta.” Let’s just say, I finally made it through security, onto the plane, and in Germany.

After sitting in economy for an 8+ hour flight, overnight, feeling like death as you start your day in Europe (this never changes), I had somehow thought it would be a great idea to head to our company headquarters for a meeting. Meaning, after picking up my luggage & getting my rental car, I headed to the airport’s womens bathroom to “get ready” & slip into a business suit… Hindsight is 20/20. Never. Again.

As the trip proceeded, there weren’t many high points above what I’ve already noted. No WIFI. Rain everyday. Forgot my umbrella. No fridge in my room (for the Cokes I packed-Duh!). Practically falling asleep at dinner with my colleagues (that same first day when I had decided it was a good idea to attend a meeting after no sleep in an airplane seat for 8 hours). And the worst migraine ever!

At this point I’m sure you’re wondering how I ever gained purpose from this trip.

Me too!

Turns out, it was all about the flight home. Every piece that contributed to a negative experience was All worth it for what I was about to encounter.

About halfway through our 10 hour flight home, I noticed this woman. A mom. Like the rest of us. Put together enough to look like we “have it all together,” but inside we are tired & worn out from the endless demands of motherhood. She was traveling with her young son, somewhere about the age of 3-5. Her son had been good but was getting to the point of being “over it.”  Mind you, my kids would have been obnoxious about the time they make the announcement that it’s safe to use electronics, so I wasn’t complaining. As I turned around, I saw her. The real her. Wiping up her spilled drink from her son’s tantrum that he was beginning to throw, & I could sense her urge to want to break down…but how could she? On a plane, surrounded by at least 80 people, who would become witness to a solo parent having a breakdown, & no one to console her. So I went to her.

I offered my iPad, but as I’d observed, she said he was simply ‘over it.’  Now I could have returned to my seat, felt like I had obeyed the unction of the Holy Spirit, or how some say, I had “done my duty,” but I hadn’t. So I bent down beside her, placed my hand on her arm, & God did the rest. I told her it was Okay the point her son was at, & not to stress. I encouraged her to know that those who have kids understand & those who don’t, don’t have a clue. I prayed with her. I let her know that if she needed anything the rest of the flight, I’d be glad to help. And I went back to my seat…feeling like I should have done more. At that point, I just prayed. For her. Her son. And an opportunity to help more if needed.

As we landed & went through passport security, retrieving luggage, customs, security, etc…I would see her. Never in a moment to offer help, but randomly.  And at the same time, I saw others see her. Mis-judge her. Critique her parenting. Comment on the child’s behavior, who at this point had been up for 15+ hours, drug through airports, sat on the longest flight of his little life, & still had to endure more. Are you kidding people?? At that point, even I want to act like him and throw myself onto the floor in refusal to remove my shoes for a security checkpoint, when I’ve never even left the airport.

And as I saw all of this, I realized how we are often too quick to pass judgement on others, offer them our expertise, without knowing what time their day started, or what flight path they have just disembarked from.

“Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” ~Rev John Watson

I read this at the start of that trip. Such words have never rang so deep in my soul.