Looking back

I can't believe it. Kelley and I were almost run over yesterday morning. The bus comes at 7:55 am and somehow I just can't get used to that, and I keep thinking it comes at 8, so we just stood there, coats on and everything in the kitchen, as it rolls by. If we reeeeeeealy hurried we could race to the top of the street and catch it on it's way out of the neighborhood. So we ran. I had on a bright red raincoat, and as we're approaching a driveway, our neighbor backs out and almost hits us. I think he looked back once, but I'm not sure. Thank goodness we jumped out of the way in time, and even caught the bus, but it really scared me. It made me start looking at the way cars are designed and I notice that so many cars have those head rests across the back seats. How many adults are actually hauling around other adults or tall children that need those head rests? Can they be removed? For sure, they have to be blocking people's ability to see behind them, and for what? Back in the olden days when I was a new driver, cars never had those. I'm also frustrated, being a rather short person, at how much the car manufacturers are raising the level of the back window. Have you noticed that? How can anybody see out back there? I think I'll try and do some research on how many accidents there have been from backing into people. This is such a safety issue, and if a tall guy can miss seeing an adult in a bright red raincoat, what about a child's chances of being seen? Another crusade!

Kelley quote after we attended a Christmas concert: "Mom, why do we have to stand up during the 'Holiday-loo-ya" Chorus?

A teabag for wisdom

Thomas had his wisdom teeth out in his junior year of college. Or, I guess I should say, wisdom tooth. Turns out the kid only has one. After his appointment, instead of driving back to the dorm, we insisted he come home to rest so we could take care of him. After a few hours he had used up the entire supply of gauze the dentist gave him, but the incision just wouldn’t stop bleeding. Thomas got up from the couch and brought me the “emergency instructions” paper and pointed to the part that said to put a teabag on the spot. “See Thomas, aren’t you glad your mother is here” I said, bolting to the kitchen. “I bet you and your friends in the dorm are out of tea.” I’m not sure if it was the packed gauze in his mouth, but he didn’t answer. Of course, it didn’t specify whether or not they meant dry-- right out of the box tea bags, or a wet, used tea bag. I was carefully pondering this when Thomas finally snatched it out of my hand and stuck it in his mouth evidently not noticing the long string with the paper tag at the end that said “Lipton.” “Hang on, honey” I helpfully urged, rummaging in the junk drawer to find a scissors, ‘I’ll cut that right off for you.” Not finding anything but old pens, dead batteries and a kazoo, I motioned for my toothless victim to follow me around the house while I looked some more. Thomas obediently tagged along in his drug induced stupor , with the tag swinging under his chin, while I continued to search in vain. Finally I had an idea. I pulled him into the kitchen, opened up the knife drawer and grabbed the only clean utensil in sight… a 12 inch serrated turkey slicer. “Hold still! ” I warned as I sawed back and forth dangerously close to his lips. It was at that moment I realized something profound. Normal people don’t do things like this.

Hey everyone, for a great movie idea please go support Bella if it's playing in your town. My daughter's college in San Diego is connected to the wonderful young people who made this life-affirming film. It's changing lives and hearts everyday! Let's show Hollywood we want something decent for a change!

Just when you thought you'd heard it all.....

I can't believe it...the lead story on the news last night was that fake teeth from China were being recalled. I'm serious. So, yank those puppies out of your mouth this instant and get to the return counter before it's too late, that is if sucking on all those Chinese made toys hasn't done you in already!

Why I'm not shopping "pink" this year...

Is there any grocery item, wheelbarrow, lunchbox or set of tires that has not been wrapped in pink this month to remind us to be "aware" of breast cancer? Don't get me wrong...I am very interested in finding a cure, as both my mother and grandmother had the disease. It's just that I don't trust the Susan G. Koman foundation to do it. Last time I checked their website, they are still choosing to not mention the studies that prove a huge risk factor for breast cancer...abortion. Don't believe me? Check out this great website: abortionbreastcancer.com. Maybe if I "run for the cure" they ought to "run for the truth." Millions of women deserve to know.

Do you speak cable?

I'm still smiling over what happened yesterday. I finally picked up the 800 number, waded through 200 voice mail commands telling me my call was being recorded, and ordered cable TV. Nothing fancy though...just the sub-low-nobody watches this stuff--bare bones basic. I had to. My show is on one of the public access channels and I really need to see how much that 8lbs. I gained in Florida shows up. I host a life-affirming (translation: pro-life) show called "Woman 2 Woman" and I have had a great time showcasing really fun topics. In October we did "Down Syndrome Awareness Month" because October...well, IS. What an amazing group of moms and daughters we had as well as a theatre troup! It's so fulfilling to be able to honor our brothers and sisters with different abilities and share the message that every person has dignity and value and let's all be reminded to support and love those parents out there who take up the challenge to say "yes" to life!!! Anyway, back to the cable...so the guy says "Sorry, it won't work, because your remote won't get me to the menu." Huh? Let's just say my technical ability wouldn't even compare to those fighting over swings on the playground, but even I surprised myself. I said "Couldn't you just run it through the VCR?" Silence. But, you know what scares me? I mean, if we techno-impaired women have to do all the thinking for these so-called professionals, where is it going to end? Can you see this in your surgery some day? Doctor: "I'm sorry, you're going to die. I just can't repair that valve." Patient: (on operating table) "Well, okay but couldn't you just run a line through that other organ over there?" Scary.

Speaking of Florida... I don't know why, but my friend Janet (see former blog) really likes me and wanted me to be a delegate for the presidential debate she hosted in Fort Lauderdale in September. This was really cool because not only did I get to get away from the kid and dinner duties for three days, I got to wear high heels and pearls. It just seemed so Presidential. Anyway, I understand thousands of people across America had been praying and fasting for the results of this debate, so that we would have a clear--- make no mistake about it--- person to rally behind for President. In other words, Janet wanted God's choice to be revealed. Pretty heavy stuff I thought, but "why not?" One by one we filed into the Broward Center for the Performing arts and were handed an electronic voting device. None of us really had any particular favorite going in. The door was wide open. But, whoa, baby did that change. When the results were tallied, we all sat there in total shock to see what we'd done. In what can only be described as a LANDSLIDE we had overwhelmingly voted for MIKE HUCKABEE. All the months of prayer and fasting had given us what we had prayed for---an unmistakable clear answer and person to get behind. I wouldn't have believed it if Ihadn't seen it for myself. You can hear all about it if you go to Janet Folger's radio show at F2a.org. I even got interviewed on her October 19th show! It's an experience I will never forget...especially since on Monday night after the debate everyone in the hotel (including the candidates) were awakened at 3am with a fire alarm. I was on the ninth floor and the candidates on the 11th. Somewhere on the stairwell are my glasses that I never did find, and now I'm getting by with dorky ones from the dollar store, but you know what? It was worth it!! I'm not kidding....this guy is amazing. So, don't forget...you heard it here first!!!

An Attitude Of Gratitude

I feel so lucky today. Wanna know why? I was just thinking about the fact that I know some amazing women. Three women have come into my life that can do something I think is pretty incredible. Let me draw you a picture. Well, not really because I flunked art. Anyway, pretend you're in a big crowd...say an auditorium full of people. All of the people in the audience have their eyes on an empty stage... just waiting. Let's say the show or the performer they came to see had to cancel at the last minute. And let's say the place is packed and it's standing room only. What would happen? (My mind goes to strange places sometimes...bear with me here) Okay, now...know anyone that you could tap on the shoulder and say "Hey, would you please get up there and entertain these people?...and they could?" Well, I do! Really. Pam Young, Janet Folger and Leigh Anne Jasheway Bryant are three people that not only could walk on stage at a moments notice and entertain 20,000 people, they would actually be better than what the crowd came to see in the first place. I'm not kidding! In a week of "Take your dictator to school day" and zero talent people forced on us at every channel I really have to honor the true gifts these women have in entertaining, encouraging and informing. Gifts I've been so lucky to be inspired by. I've been in Pam's organization class when women laughed so hard they complained their jaws hurt. I've watched Janet's quick wit crack up hundreds of University students where security guards were ordered before her visit. I've watched Leigh Anne take the mic in front of huge crowds after teaching a comedy or writing class, and calmly ask if there were any questions...never knowing what someone may ask and being able to pop off a hilarious answer...every time!!! So maybe they aren't going to cure cancer, end wars or solve the obesity epidemic. Then again...who knows? I just thank God that I have had the honor of calling these special women my friends. They are an inspiration to all they meet and I'm so honored and grateful to know them. So Pam, Janet and Leigh Anne...thank you. You rock!

Why I Have Hope For America

Last week I entered a contest answering the question, "Why Do I Have Hope For America?" It made me start thinking about what's important and what means the most to me. Here are my thoughts:



Last month I visited my oldest daughter in Branson, Missouri where she was skating in an ice show at Silver Dollar City Theme Park. The theater held about 1200 people and I slipped into the second row to watch the show. The finale number was skated to Lee Greenwood’s “Proud to be an American” a song I was so grateful to hear again. At one point in the number the skaters all formed a line across the front of the ice and turned with their backs to the audience raising their arms to the sky. Immediately, two gigantic American flags unfurled on the set. At that moment…without hesitation…1200 people rose from their seats and cheered. Show after show, day after day it never changed. It is an experience I will never forget. After a few weeks the park management had to install a carpet strip between the ice and the front row for the skaters to stand on because so many members of the audience wanted to hug them and shake their hands to thank them. So they did. The people of Branson are really no different than anywhere else. I believe people everywhere know in their hearts what’s important…what’s real. They just need to be reminded. I'm so glad I was.

The Friendly Skies Just Got A Little Warmer...

It happened at the Denver airport. I had just spent a wonderful week visiting my daughter in Branson, Missouri. My flight was really late leaving the airport in Springfield, which didn't seem to rattle anyone around me which I thought was kind of odd...I mean, it was way past the scheduled boarding time and there was no airline employee in sight, no sign, and no plane. I kind of thought there should be a plane. When I started asking some fellow passengers what they thought was happening, the lady next to me just sighed and said something like "It's Missouri" and looked back down at her magazine. So, needless to say the flight was very late getting into Denver where I had exactly one hour to change planes for the flight home. On the way to Springfield one hour had been more than enough time to spot a deli near gate 65 with a huge piece of cheesecake. I was drooling at the thought of my plastic fork digging in and could hardly wait. Only...lightning was now keeping our cozy jet from touching down and it was getting dangerously close to boarding time for my flight. Finally landing, the flight attendant asked everyone to let us connecting fools off first, and I really didn't mean to step on that man's head on the armrest, but it was the last flight home and I HAD to make it. I sprinted past the glassed in cheesecake, and ran like something out of that outdated OJ commercial where he jumps over suitcases and was panting to the gate, gratefully find it still boarding. Only I HAD to use the restroom first, which I did and then rushed on board...but... where was my black sweater? The one I had on a second ago...the one that was part of my favorite sweater set? I hesitantly asked the question. Could I run out and see if I left it on the chairs? They said "hurry." But no luck. I thanked the nice gate agent, Teresa, who really, honestly looked like she cared. If fact, she even asked me to leave my phone number with her, just in case she found my sweater. So I did. But really, it was gone and I knew it. People don't find lost items in this world anymore. At least that's what I still thought as I heard the mailman deliver something big and bulky into the box on the side of our front door. I didn't recognize the return name and address and quickly tore open the padded envelope to find my beautiful black sweater. Alongside it was just a simple business card that said "Teresa Redman...United Airlines." No fanfare. No glory. Just a simple act of kindness for a weary mom. So thank you United. And thank you Teresa. You've resored my faith in the world and busy airports with lightning storms. Now, if I could just locate some of that cheesecake...!

Where Are You Big Bird?

It was a good thing I wasn't really hungry. We had an 11am appointment to take dad to an assisted living place for a tour and then they ushered us into the large dining room for "dinner." What is it about these places that believe old people want to eat "dinner" at noon? Actually, my dad would rather eat "dinner" at eight. After the cocktail hour. But, I guess those days are kind of over. At 84 he's lost driving, living alone and eating when he wants to. Kind of lost the cocktail hour too, but that's a different story. A sort of shy looking girl came by with a cart and asked if we'd like salad. "Do you have any diet dressing?" I inquired. Hey, it was worth a shot. Actually, she handed me a packet of fat free ranch, and I was happy, but I did kind of wonder, how older people with arthiritis would open it. Then came another girl with a cart, this time with little plastic glasses of liquid in them. I couldn't help but think they looked like the pretend dishes my youngest daughters used when they played with their dolls. Pretend this is real. Pretend you're in your own home. Pretend you're not drinking out of tiny plastic doll glasses. We got to choose between apple juice, milk or....really I'm not kidding (I was going to say making this up, but that's so Dave Barry)...prune juice. I asked if they had coffee, and thank goodness they did, and I gratefully turned over the china mug in front of me and let her pour. Sigh. What in the world is the main course going to be? I didn't have to wait long. Chow Mein or Meatballs. The chow mein looked....well...interesting. I said "meat balls please." So did dad. My sister Cathi chose the Chinese option, but looking over at her plate, I don't think she touched it. Dad hardly ate a bite, but I suppose he was kind of nervous being in a new place and all. He did eat the bread pudding dessert though. Good move on their part. Bread pudding. Dad loves that. We looked at the room and it really was great, and had sliding glass doors to a tiny patio and an area where we could put chairs for him to sit outside. He'd like that. Then we had "the meeting." The one where they ask you all the questions, and you hope you answer correctly so your loved one "passes" the test. That's when it became kind of...well...funny. I know it wasn't supposed to be. Really, I was trying to be good. It's just that, the head lady...what was her name?...well, I can't remember...but she was sitting across this big mahogony desk and asking us all these questions and that's when I asked her about times the residents have to be home, like if there was a certain "curfew" or something. Anyway, she smiles. Looks straight at me and says: Okay now I really can't resist because it sooooo fits....And I'm not making this up...."This isn't a facility...we want you to think of this as your neighborhood..." Well, I want you to know , right then and there, as the mother of six kids, who has made it through 23 years of "Sesame Street" my mind wandered immediately to the themesong of that show...you mom's out there know which one I mean..."We are the People in your neighborhood....in your neighborhood...." Oh dear. Not a good plan. I started to laugh. Not just a little giggle... no way... a real, out loud...LAUGH. Right there, in the office of this...some kind of important, old people place person's office. "Your Neighborhood?" This place was going to be my dad's "Neighborhood?" Oh dear. They totally didn't know why I was laughing. And now really...did I? It's just that it was kind of one of those "What's it all about Alfie?" kind of moments when you wonder: "Does life do a complete turnaround, from pre-schooler to the elderly? Are we all going to living in a "Sesame Street" neighborhood in our 80's? Are we doomed to drink out of doll sized plastic glasses?" All I know is I think the important lady behind the desk found an extra room for me at this place...with padded walls. But that's okay...as long as I get my own patio, unlimited coffee...and "Oscar The Grouch" brings chocolate!

We've Been Talking To Your Neighbors......

I can't believe it just happened again. There's a loud knock at the front door, and I race upstairs like I always do, assuming it's someone I know, or actually want to talk to. Or maybe the muscle bound electric company workers wanting me to move my car again. But, no. It's two overly cheerful guys with clipboards and the same ole familiar phrase. "We have some appointments with your neighbors this week and we're..."
"Stop!!" I interrupted. "Let me guess.Windows?"

They actually looked surprised. How did I know? Well, maybe because it's like ...the FIFTH time this month I've had the same visitors. Well, not actually the same exact visitors, but guys with clipboards, wanting to give me quotes on new windows, and who ALL reported having appointments with my neighbors. What I don't get is WHY they aren't over at these neighbors if they have so many appointments with them? Is our street on some kind of crazy internet list out there, advertising homes with the shabbiest looking windows? Is there some kind of statistic that says the tenth time you knock and talk the owner will finally cave and sign up for $20,000 in tempered glass and frames? I don't get it. Why do these guys think "We've been talking to your neighbors" is a persuasive sales technique? Maybe I should have asked them to point out "which neighbors?" Was it the one who had the political sign out for the guy I thought was sleaze-ball nut case? Or maybe the one who starts his diesel truck every Saturday morning at 5am? Yeah. I shoulda asked. Hmm, maybe I should actually consider this a little more. Who knows....with better windows, I could see even more of what's going on out there in the neighborhood, or at least spot the next two guys peddling something with clipboards...in time to hide.

Passing The Test

Today is the day the people with the rubber hoses rule my life. My 1996 Oldsmobile (our newest car) flunked the DEQ (department of air quality) test set up by our friendly government. After several new parts on visa and wads of cash paid out to our mechanic, it still...didn't pass. Today is it. The last day we can legally drive the thing. Maddening part is..it drives FINE. Always starts. Sure the driver's side window no longer goes up or down, and the dash board rattles when you drive over 40, but who's picky? Owen our trusty mechanic and loyal friend replaced one more worn out hose and did everything his hand held computer told him was wrong with the silly thing. Now we just have to try again and pray. My question is, what do people do in this situation that have only one car? What if that car is the only one they have to get to work, and it runs fine but will not pass? They have two choices. Lose their jobs, or drive illegally. What kind of a choice is that? I'll admit it makes me want to go right out and buy a new car. Well, at least one that has less than 100,000 miles on it. That's really new to us. Trouble is the ads for those kinds of cars are worrying me. Here's a sample from the list I found yesterday:

Only needs one head gasket
A little hard to steer when turning left...
Smokes sometimes when you take off from sitting at an idel for a bit.
Car has a "rod knock" but the rest of the car is in real good shape.


Guess I'd better make sure the Oldsmobile passes. I'm driving right over there this morning. Don't worry I won't resort to trying to bribe a government official or anything. Although, there is a Krispy Kreme donut shop nearby....

That's My Story, and I'm Stickin To It!

Today is one of those days I'm not sure how to define. Happy? Sad? Or just wondering how it all works. I've had such an incredible high. Trouble is...I'm not sure what's next. I am so incredibly grateful for the blessing. I won the Erma Bombeck Humorwriter's Award. Me. It was just a year ago I sat in that big ballroom at the writer's conference in Dayton, Ohio honoring Erma. I looked around at all of those people who had been "published" and wondered if I would ever get there. Wondered how disiplined they were, how many degrees they had, what they ate for breakfast. Stuff like that. I still can't believe it. And the best part is, I won with a story about my mom. That's so cool. It feels like, even in death, she's helping me. She's still connecting. I knew she'd find a way. She was that kind of mom. But what now? What is God telling me to do next? I tried working on some stories today, but I found out something. Writing is hard, brain splitting work. I treasure the days the words just come pouring out of my head, like when the kids flood a bowl of lettuce with ranch salad dressing that overflows and seeps between the crack in the table and drips down to the floor. That kind. It's hard to sit at the keyboard and not think about our blue oldsmobile that won't start because maybe it needs a new alternator, but the mechanic isn't sure, which is after we already put $300 into it, and it still wouldn't pass DEQ and what are we gonna do because we only have till the end of the month before the plates expire, and then the good car the Mazda...the 17 year old van, was boiling over last Saturday when I returned home from a two hour drive on the freeway. Well anyway...it's hard to concentrate sometimes. But I will. Honest. Because I heard it said that we should be grateful for what we have. And what I have is the greatest award I could ever dream of. I owe for that. I will keep on plugging away. That is, as soon as I go upstairs and eat something. In the meantime...here's my story! http://www.wclibrary.info/erma/2007globalhumor.asp

Go Melinda Doolittle!

I just can't believe it. I know, I know this has no doubt been already blogged to death, but really. How could they dump Melinda Doolittle on American Idol? I rarely tuned in...really! But, the few times I caught her tunes, I actually agreed with Simon...she has it. So why did twenty million people decide to vote her off? Can we really believe the network? Hmmm. I guess what really worries me is the thought that these same people may be voting for our next president. Let's just hope without sequins and a back up band...they just won't bother. In the meantime... you go Melinda....you're gonna be a star!

Do You Speak Triangle?

How many little old ladies do I have to squash before I "get it?" Last week, we were visiting my step-mother who lives on the second floor in one of those assisted living places. She has a walker, and we were all piling into the elevator to take her out to lunch when it happened again. I couldn't figure out what button to push! I scooted inside first and frantically searched the panel with all the buttons for the word "open" to hold the doors. Guess what? The word has virtually disappeared from all electronic devices. In it's place are triangles. Sometimes there are two trianges going left and two going right. Sometimes they're going upside down. Sometimes they're hitchhiking. I don't understand triangles. I don't speak their language. I definately don't know which ones to pick. All I want to do is keep two doors from amputating a loved one's arm. Yelling "Help! help! what triangle do I pick?!" doesn't work either. I tried it.

I thought I was over the stress of the dillemma when I decieded to remove a DVD from the player last night. The remote wasn't in its usual spot (under the couch cushions) so I got up and stared at the buttons. More triangles. It's still sitting in the player. I think I'll just go "open" a book while I still know how.

That Will Be One Dollar Please....

My eleven year old daughter Melinda got off the bus, and I couldn’t believe what she had in her hands. Fistfulls of dollar bills. Tons of them. Turns out her hall mates were paying her to organize their lockers. And that was what she had left over after she admitted blowing most of her windfall on Tic Tacs. My daughter! Do I need a DNA test here? This is from the mother who only knows where things are by remembering the last place she stepped on them. It really must be true--some people are just born organized. Of my six kids I have about half claiming that impressive trait. Really, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Why can’t I be more like that? I too yearn for an escape from CHAOS, (can’t have anyone over syndrome) but I keep failing to make the grade. If I made the grade, I sure wouldn’t know where I put it. Each New Year I promise this will be the year I really change. I stand in the living room (next to the wadded up socks) and proclaim as the ball drops, that this year my family will have clean clothes, delicious dinners and couches free of newspapers, hairbrushes, and buried remote controls. Why can’t I achieve such a simple thing? I knew I needed help, so I called in some experts. I’ve started checking in with flylady.net and taking baby steps to my clutter addiction. One of fly lady’s goals I really liked was just to do one load of laundry a day. One load to sanity. Who knew? I love that tip! I now can see my laundry room floor , after..well…after a really long time. I also enrolled my youngest daughter with the house fairy at housefairy.org. The house fairy makes visits like the tooth fairy and boy does my eight year old buy it. She now has a magazine cover room, but mine still looks like Goodwill exploded. If you are a recovering, or not yet recovering slob, maybe these sites can help you. As for me, I think I need to have a chat with my inner brat. I met her at bratfactor.com. and boy is she stubborn. All she wants to do is play!

Of course, if none of these ideas work for you, feel free to send in your dollar. Melinda is getting low on Tic-Tacs and you will have the cleanest locker in town.

Breakin Up Is Hard To Do....

It’s time I made a final decision. I know what you’re thinking…twenty years is a long time to be together and I should really be sure I want to leave. I tried separation, and you know what? It felt great. Yes…the time has come to leave my warehouse membership for good. It all came to a head last night when those dreaded words were spoken at the checkstand. “You’re due to renew.” Gasp! Could it be true? Already? I had to face reality. Was I really getting my needs met, my freezer stocked, and fifty dollars worth of chicken on toothpicks? No. The time had come for us to part. I walked out of those guarded doors with no receipt and never looked back. Should I re-consider? Try counseling? Only time will tell. Oh there were good times to be sure. The jumbo hotdogs, the 5000 calorie muffins, the beep beep beep of a moving pallet of dog food. But, let’s face it, I did have a growing list of complaints… like why can’t we use our Visa? Why can’t we limp out behind a few muscle bound carry-out guys, and how can a place that’s big enough to park a jet plane not have dressing rooms? These were the questions that kept me up at night…made me really look inside myself…am I really having my needs met in this relationship? I can no longer deny the truth. I’ve been fantasizing about spending time with other discount stores. I’ve been sneaking out to Grocery Outlet and flirting with the Safeway meat counter markdowns. I’m afraid, eventually, the whole town will know. Yes, it’s time to leave the black conveyor belt of barn size bargains for good. I will forever cherish the years spent with the hairnet ladies… hovering over their toaster ovens and paper cups of nuts. But, I must move on to a life of bags and smaller parking lots.


Destiny and the day old bread cart is calling my name.

Whatsoever You Do...

I knew I was staring, but I just couldn’t stop.

The second grade classes were lined up in the hall soon to walk on stage for the annual music program. From my hard metal chair in the darkened gym I squinted to see if my seven year old daughter was among them yet. It was 1pm and I reluctantly shed my sweats and tennis shoes, climbed into something a little more decent and headed to the school even though, as usual, I had a million other things to do. After all, she was the narrator, a very important job I’m told. I did guiltily wonder if this was a waste of time as they’d be repeating the hour long show again that evening and really how many pictures can one mother take? But I came just the same. Searching the lined up kids for my offspring, I spotted what had to be a much older child in the line. That couldn’t possibly be a second grader! She stood almost 5 feet tall and looked…how else can I say it? Pregnant. Of course that wasn’t the case, but I couldn’t stop myself from openly gaping. This poor child. She was everything you wouldn’t want in an eight year old girl. Overweight and clumsy, stringy hair pulled carelessly back in a low ponytail, a raggy print dress that fell to her knees, and ugly black shoes. It was apparent she walked on the outsides of her shoes…at least the one that faced me. Her eyes were tiny non-descript slits. I couldn’t even tell what color. But that stomach. I couldn’t stop staring at that stomach. What went wrong? Could she have such a protruding stomach just from being overweight? Did she have some other kind of medical condition? What? Sitting in the darkened, cavernous gym the bright lights of the hallway surrounded her being. The line stayed put and she stubbornly stayed directly in my sight for a good fifteen minutes. There was no doubt what to do. I began praying for all Gods angels to surround this precious one and change her life. As long as that child was in my view I was going to pray for her. Once in place on the stage she stood and sang obediently with the others. So out of place. Again I prayed. “Lord please pour your blessings on this child, and any others on that stage that need my prayers.”

'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:40.

I hope she felt my motherly hug across the gym.
It was the least I could do.