You've Got to Give It Away

"He took me to people with gifts that I needed, gifts of healing, acceptance, and joy. They gave me their gifts to take on my journey, our journey, God’s and mine.

And we were off again. He said, “Give the gifts away. They’re extra baggage, too much weight.” So I did, to the people we met, and I found that in giving I received, and still our burden was light." (From a poem by an unknown author in my first blog entry, "The Bike Ride" )

Six years ago I became a single parent...on paper that is.  Two years prior, I realized my marriage was failing. For a while, all I could do was sit on the couch in my pajamas and stare, trying to figure out if I knew how to clean the house.  Although I joke a lot when I write, I'm being serious when I say that I couldn't figure out how to do the smallest chore. 

Several people stand out in my mind as rocks who gave me something to hold onto so as to keep me from drowning in that horrible, downward spiral that seemed so dark.  My pastor's wife, Debi, recognized my hurt and sadness and shared so many words of wisdom with me that I call to mind today.  My neighbors, Scott and Kelly, were my coaches.  Both my pastor's wife and my neighbors never hesitated to offer me gifts of healing, acceptance and joy.  Sometimes, they were in the form of words, sometimes tears, many times a hug and even though it was hard to come by, there was laughter. While now my neighbors are someone else's neighbors, every time I see them, I am blessed by their generous offerings of the same gifts, only now, there's a whole lot more laughter.

Going to work full-time was a challenge, because I had been at home being mommy for several years.  I had to brush off the bubbles and baby powder and jump back in to e-mails and earning a paycheck.  I was hired full-time in November and Aurie came to work in January.  She quickly became like a sister to me.  She, herself, had plenty of wisdom to share with me...many times it began, and still begins, with "My mama always said..."  God knew exactly what He was doing.  She offered me gifts of healing, acceptance and joy.  She never hesitates to share those gifts with me today. 

I am often amazed at the way God presents me with someone who needs me to share those same gifts with them.  I've been at gymnastics, at the community pool, at church, at work, at school, at the grocery store, and many, many other places, along with phone calls, when many times someone who barely knows me will share their story with me.  While often times I can't imagine why they would be coming to me, when it's all said and done, I realize it's that I've been given special gifts... of healing, acceptance and joy...and it's simply my turn and how could I hesitate to give them away...they are "extra baggage, too much weight.  I find in giving, I receive, and still, our burden is light." 

"And when I'm sure I can't do it any more, He just smiles and says, 'Pedal.'"

Snakes and Elves and Santa Claus' Tale...

In the past few years I have made it a habit to decorate for Christmas the weekend after Thanksgiving. This year, my intentions were the same, however, it just didn't happen. So, the girls were gone to their dad's last weekend and on Friday night, I decided to get everything out and begin. I would put up the tree and the girls would decorate when they got home on Sunday night. Of course, there were more things to do than just the tree, like decorating the mailbox, putting the lights on the shrubbery and putting other decorations in their place. All of my plans came to an abrupt halt, because evidently, I have had a very special (yes, I'm being sarcastic), unwelcome Christmas guest in the garage storage closet...a snake. I'm going to spare you the details of how I discovered this varmint. I will tell you, however, that I pulled the Christmas tree box out into the garage, left the light on (as if the critter needed it)and ran inside for my life. I was the lunatic in the 'ville the next morning pushing the box over and chasing the sections of the tree down my hilly driveway giving the snake one last chance to escape...THANK GOODNESS the snake wasn't in the box, in the tree or still around...COILED around anything

My girls, 10 and 8, had not been introduced to the "Christmas Elf" tradition until last year...which, at the same time, I lost what little sanity I had remaining. Our elves, Buddy and Rosie, will now arrive around December 1 every year and go home with Santa on his sleigh on Christmas Eve. In the meantime, they wreak havoc in our home...as if we didn't already have that. Those elves are the most mischievous little creatures I've ever met! Some of their shenanigans take me a while to clean up...like rolling the living room, making "snow angels" in the sugar, and drinking syrup and eating marshmallows leaving a trail all over the kitchen! I've been threatening to send them back early (because their helper is getting tired - wink, wink). Although, when I say I'm sending them back early, I see my youngest tear up because she LOVES this daily mystery of waking up to see what they've done. So, I suck it up and begin planning the next adventure.

Santa Claus. Yes, I have a 5th grader and a 3rd grader. They've heard at school that "Santa Claus isn't real." However, there's something about the sparkle I see in their eyes when they ask me if that's the truth and I ask,"What do you think?" I'm not sure if the sparkle is because it gives them something to add to their imagination, if they think I'm lying or if they think maybe I still believe and they don't want to ruin it for me.

At any rate, the conversation ends, both girls giggle and they play along with me. Last Sunday the girls were part of their children's choir Christmas presentations. They stood so boldly and sang their hearts out about peace, love, joy and adoration...of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Last week, I attended a Christmas Chapel service that stirred my heart and reminded me that in ALL circumstances - pain, hurt, loss, joy, love, and the list goes on - He is Emmanuel - God with us. Last night I got to sing with the church choir and orchestra in our Christmas presentation. Different choir members sang unforgettable lyrics that will ring in my ears for a very long time..."it's still a mystery to me, that the hands of God could be so small, how tiny fingers reaching in the night were the very hands that measured the sky." "Oh, I believe and I will always sing, this little child, is THE KING!" Finally, "Baby Jesus, do you know you'll die for all our sins...don't be afraid 'cause in three days...YOU WILL RISE AGAIN! Oh, HALLELUJAH! The KING is here!"

My girls love the decorations (a snake not so much), laugh about the elves, question the reality of Santa Claus, and all of those things put that innocent sparkle in their eyes. For those trivial happenings of Christmas, I have no good, solid answer. However, when we talk about Jesus, all of our eyes light up with hope, we KNOW He lives in our hearts and we all know that Christmas is about God sending His only Son to be the Savior of the world.

Snakes and Elves and Santa Claus' Tale...that's NOT what Christmas is made of! :)

Half 'n Half

How do you look at life? Is the glass half full or half empty? I am definitely a half-full kind of girl. Well, on most days. I’ve been a single mom for about 6 years now, and I try really hard NOT to be the stereotypical, “poor girl who has no help.” I don’t want to be lumped into the category with helpless people, but I do want to take a moment to vent on living what I am from now on going to fondly (tongue in cheek) call the “half ‘n half” life.

About 4 months ago I was carrying on with my busy schedule of working 8 hours a day, teaching piano in the evenings, driving the girls around to every gymnastics and dance class they could take, coaching cheerleading until time to coach basketball season, sleeping occasionally and folding clothes rarely. All the while, I was trying to continue to see the glass “half-full.” Then, one night as the girls were eating dinner at our kitchen table, the darkness set in. No, there is no dark cloud that hangs over our house and the piano didn’t mysteriously begin playing by itself…but the light bulb over the kitchen table blew. So, I did what most people would do when a light bulb blows – I changed it! Two weeks later, we found ourselves in the same situation in the kitchen eating dinner and the light bulb blew again. So, what did I do? Well, I changed the light bulb again, of course! I just thought I must have used a faulty light bulb. Two weeks later it happened again. Instead of coming to the conclusion that I shouldn’t prepare dinner anymore, I decided to go on a light bulb changing strike. Lori is such a great friend…she offered to send her fearless light bulb-changing hubby over to replace my light bulbs, and I thanked her and said, “Nah, it’s okay! I’ve decided to teach the girls about different cultures...Mennonites have no electricity in their homes!” To date, there are 5 light bulbs in our house that aren’t working. Three out of the 4 in the bonus room ceiling fan are gone, so that room will soon be dark. Our house is well on its way to being half lit!

Several months ago the girls and I were at home on one of those rare occasions when we had time to watch television. It was a Saturday evening and we thought we would watch a movie on Disney, you know, probably one of the High School Musicals. Much to our surprise our cable seemed to be out…or at least the screen said we had no signal. We worked and worked on the television, all the remotes and the dvd player, but still could only get the television, half of what we needed, to work. I went over and over in my mind knowing that I had certainly paid the cable bill, so I just chalked it up to technical difficulties. It puzzled me for weeks that we weren’t getting a signal! So, I decided one Saturday, probably 3 weeks later, that I should probably call Comcast. The technician did a “reset” while we were on the phone, but there was still no signal. Yes, I’m electronically challenged and that became evident to the Comcast tech on the phone. “Ms. Williams, have you checked to see if your television is on channel 3?” Why, OF COURSE it’s on channel 3…nobody changes that in this house. “Well, Ms. Williams, if you would please do check it. We have done everything we can to do a remote reset and it should be working.” Okay, so YES, for 3 weeks, I was thinking there was something wrong with the cable…hmmm, operator error. Light bulbs and cable…and don’t even get me started on weed eaters.

The girls and I were looking for a new church home. We had visited so many and one Sunday, in particular, we decided we would try a larger church less than 10 miles from home. We got ourselves ready in a hurry that morning. We would have to go into church a little late, but probably only during the first song of the service. The girls and I like to sit up front in church when we can, so it seemed only appropriate that we find seats at this church close to the front. I just knew that during the welcome time, we would shake hands with a ton of new people and it would be a great day of worship. However, I was disappointed. No one was overly friendly and I had trouble even getting a smile out of some of the other women who appeared to be my age. I just couldn’t figure it out…well, until I got home. The girls and I went home to change and go visit friends. When I walked in front of my mirror on the way to my closet, it dawned on me why we didn’t receive a warm welcome. I had gotten ready in the normal rushed, half-baked kind of way. I remember not being able to reach the back of my dress, and I remembered thinking I needed to ask the girls to help me. Hmmm, a half-zipped dress IS NOT a way to win friends or influence people.

Half ‘n half…how do you see your glass? Mine is not so much a half-full or half-empty attitude anymore. I’m just doing my best to keep all of the plates spinning and not appear to others as if I’m the helpless single mom who lives down the street. So, I’m thinking my half ‘n half life is more like an Arnold Palmer…half sweet tea, half lemonade…some days the lemonade is so sour makes me pucker and some days the tea gives me just the right amount of zip…yes, zipped all the way to the top!

"I see," said the blind woman!

To me, writing is therapy. If my blog were to get hacked, there would be a ton of entries that could be read that have never made it to the "published" stage...sometimes, because I can't finish it, other times because I might get sued if I publicly share my thoughts.


My grandmother, "Hi", as we called her (umm, that was my brother's fault), seemingly chose to do much of the same. While my writing is random, short stories of stupid stuff that happens to me, hers was of life, and many times death, through the eyes of a woman who couldn't see. Although, when my brother or I would explain something to her, she would sometimes say, "'I see,' said the blind woman."


As a child, Hi suffered from an illness that damaged her optical nerves and caused temporary blindness for about 6 weeks. She was home schooled during that time, but was able to return to the classroom once she regained her vision.

Hi went to Austin Peay and became a school teacher until she came to Nolensville one day, spotted my grandfather and decided he was going to be her husband. Yup, that's right, she saw him pumping gas at the Gulf station, looked at her cousin and said, "There's my husband." They married 10 weeks later.


My grandfather was a farmer (see my earlier post, entitled Overalls), so once my mom was born, Hi stayed home and took care of her new baby and the housework. Once my uncle was born 7 years later, dynamics at the Scales household changed. My grandmother, 32 years old, woke up in the recovery room completely blind...her sight never to return. A mother who suddenly couldn't see with a newborn would take time for adjustment. My mother was 7 and became my grandmother's eyes.


Hi was one of the smartest women I have ever known. When I had a geometry problem that I couldn't work, which was about every geometry problem, my grandmother could walk me through the answer. She kept up with politics, loved Vanderbilt basketball and loved to talk on the phone. She wrote poem after poem, some about her grandchildren that she loved dearly, some about life in general, but many about death. She remembered most EVERY poem that she had ever written and would recite them from time to time. When I was old enough to realize what she was saying, I couldn't understand why she would write about sadness. Now, I understand it...Hi used writing as therapy, too!

Still, until just a few months ago, it didn't really click with me why death seemed to be a common theme in much of her writing. I realize now that she could SEE so much more than I could ever imagine. She wasn't just writing about death...she was writing about HEAVEN! I remember waking my girls early in the morning on August 3, 2007 to tell them that Hi had gone to live with Jesus. My youngest, who was only 4 at the time, looked me in the eyes with a glimmer in her own and said, "Mommy, Hi can see!" Both of my girls were so sensitive to Hi's needs and obviously learned early on that Heaven is a place without sorrow or sickness.

I read Hi's poems with a different perspective these days. I read them with a longing for an eternal home where I will no longer have to deal with the trials of this world. Here's one of the poems I heard her recite most frequently:

What Lies Beyond

What lies beyond the sunrise
At the break of each new day?
Maybe another heartache
As I have to go my way.

What lies beyond noon's high sun
As it travels its blue path?
It might just cast a shadow
To dull the edge of God's wrath.

What lies beyond the sunset
As night come crawling in?
It hides many sorrows a
And covers many sins.

What lies beyond death's black veil
That saddens many souls?
There, many get just reward
And others attain their goals.

-Kathleen C. Scales 1923-2007

Hi was a smart, brave woman. She could see what lies beyond this world so much more clearly than most people I know. I think I, personally, can now use her phrase, '"I see,' said the blind woman."

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21:4

Change

“Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.” Author unknown

Change to me is variety…you know, the spice of life. Growth and improvement are usually products of change. However, I’m finding it difficult to surrender to an upcoming change.

Long before I was even a twinkle in my momma’s eye, my grandfather began farming land in Nolensville on Clovercroft Road. When I was a little girl, my parents built a home on an acre lot just beside the farm. I spent many days walking back and forth between my house and my grandparents’ house through the pasture between our houses. My grandfather would take me out on the tractor and we would drive back on the farm and tend to cows, look at hay and talk about everything under the sun. We would drive to the top of the highest hill on the farm, park the truck and get out and walk. I don’t even know that we were looking for anything in particular, but being up there seemed like I was on top of the world.

Several winters there was enough snow for bunches of us to pile in a car and take our sleds to the top of the hill. There were no fences to stop us at the bottom of that big hill (go to “Fences” to appreciate this comment). We would sled until our legs were too tired to carry us back up to the top of the hill.

My grandparents’ home was part of the farm at the time. As a child, if I were outside, I could always hear a tractor, my uncle’s loud truck or his motorcycle echoing through the hills. There was a bull housed in the lot next to the home where an electric fence marked his boundaries. There were calves in the barn, and cows would line up twice a day for milking. In the summer, the hay was baled and there were barns stacked full of square bales at the bottom of the hill.

In 1988, when my uncle was killed in a car accident, things changed around the farm drastically. Within 3 years, my grandfather was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor and the farm was where he wanted to go each day. There wasn’t a lot of farming going on anymore. In 1992, he died and shortly after that, the cows and all of the farm equipment were sold in his estate auction. The farm had changed from a constant operation to nothing. Eventually, it was rented out, which is the state of operation today.

The farm has changed multiple times since I was a little girl, but now I see a change coming that is next to impossible for me to swallow. The farm is going up for sale.

I find it no coincidence that my quiet time just yesterday was written referencing Psalm 24:1, “The earth and everything in it belong to the Lord." My grandfather was faithful to work the land to provide for his family. We are merely managers of land that belongs to God. "Be willing to surrender what you are to what you could become." As much as it pains me to think of letting it go, I realize that God must have another plan.

Knock It to the Weeds

I love Spring, minus the tornado season, of course. When the lights are on at the ballfield after dark and when I’m standing outside and can hear the “ping” of a ball on a bat, so many memories come to mind.

MUCH of my childhood was spent at a baseball park while my dad coached and my brother played. I generally spent my time digging in the dirt, eating nachos (some things never change) and occasionally, cheering for my brother’s team. When they played in Franklin at Jim Warren Park, I didn’t get to do much other than climb on the bleachers and sit with my mom, because the playground was too far away for my mom to be able to watch me.

My brother ALWAYS made the all-star team, which meant not only a regular season full of games, but several extra tournament games. Many of those I remember being played at Jim Warren Park. My brother mainly played shortstop and was a power hitter. After Pete Rose made the head-first slide so popular, my brother was the first kid I knew who added the same slide to his bag of tricks. So, I have to admit that it was always exciting to watch him if I absolutely had no other choice. My brother could hit the ball so hard and he hit several homeruns every year in the tournament games alone.

One year, in particular, there was a gentleman who became an avid fan of my brother’s team, and always cheered louder and more uniquely than most any other fan. I mainly remember the way he would cheer when my power-hitting brother would step up to the plate. His words were always, “KNOCK IT TO THE WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDS!!!” Since that time, and I was probably 6 years old then, every time I went to a baseball game and my brother would step up to the plate, I would hear in my mind that same man telling my brother in his own fashion, to hit the ball out of the park.

Since my dad coached, my mom kept score and my brother played baseball, it seemed only fitting that I would play softball as soon as I was old enough. I played for a while, but as many know, basketball was my sport of choice. However, my dad taught me how to field, catch, and hit the ball. I played for a few years in the Rec League and our small church in Nolensville even had a team in a coed league for a few years.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me if I wanted to sign up to play coed softball. I quickly agreed and signed my name! I haven’t played in 10+ years, so it sounded fun! I brushed off my glove on Monday and showed up for a practice. I met our coaches and they asked another gal to throw and warm up with me. Then, we took batting practice, ladies first. Since I was the last girl there and had missed practice on Saturday, I batted last.

When it was my turn, I made my way toward the collection of bats leaning against the backstop. The head coach talked me through all the bats giving me a few pointers on how to choose the right bat. After looking for a few minutes, I told the coach, “I like blue, so I think I will go with this one.” So, I took my blue bat and headed to the plate. The coach really didn’t know anything about any experience I might have. With the exception of a few people who know that I am a very loud basketball coach, most others know me as the girls’ mom, a piano teacher and a cute dress and heels kind of girl. Since I verbally chose my bat based on color (I did mindfully take note of the bat weight and swing it a time or two) that my round of batting practice would be interesting to say the least.

The coach had been instructing the other girls on which pitches were good, and those that were not so good. He began to follow suit with me and I did listen intently. I choked up on my bat and stood up to my lefty side of the plate. The pitcher delivered the first pitch and it was almost as if there were a familiar fan cheering in my mind…I sent the ball deep into centerfield over the outfielder’s head…yes, I “KNOCKED IT TO THE WEEDS!” When my round of batting practice was finished, the assistant coach looked at me and said, “You’ve played before, huh?” I humbly replied, “A little.”

I do love to hear the "ping" of the ball off the bat...maybe I'll buy my own bat...I think I will choose pink. Imagine how close the outfielders on other teams will scoot in when they see me walking up to the plate with my girly bat. Oh, and by the way, I'm not afraid to slide head-first, either. :)

Yes

A year ago on a Sunday morning, I was challenged by a story I heard about a little girl, named Elizabeth. She told her daddy after a Sunday morning service that she had written her name on a card and the word "yes" indicating to God that she would do whatever He wanted her to do, whenever the time was right and had left it on the altar. She didn't know when or where God was going to use her, but when He found it to be the right time, she wanted Him to send her. The gentleman that shared the story in his sermon yesterday, challenged church members to do the same.

It's no surprise to me that God put that message in that gentleman's heart or inclined him to tell that story. I'm sure there were many purposes God had for that message, but I know what the purpose was for me. I almost missed it. For the last couple of months I have been praying that God would reveal to me His plan for my life. While I have a daily walk with the Lord, I have realized that I have lost sight of what it is He has in mind for me.

I began serving the Lord at an early age as an assistant accompanist for the small church I attended in my hometown. My love for music and children naturally made me a candidate to serve as a children's choir director, which I did for several years. I served in leadership roles from Sunday School to Vacation Bible School, youth leader and anything else God put before me. To serve Him seemed so easy and His will seemed so evident to me.

As I grew older, I became a wife and a mother, and continued to serve the Lord in similar capacities as before. However, once my marriage fell apart, so did I...and my 20/20 vision of God's plan for my life worsened.

I have never had any doubt about God's love for me. He has seen me through all of my trials. He has continued to pick me up and brush me off, telling me in so many different ways, "This too shall pass."

Now, years later, I have found that I have experienced the darkest times in my life, and my eyes have yet to adjust to the light He provides. While I know He holds me in His hands, I am seeking what it is I am supposed to do, what it is that He wants me to do.

A few months ago at church, my pastor made a statement I will not forget. He said that the people who know the will for their lives and are walking in it are being blessed and are so fortunate. He said that there are also those who don't know God's will for their lives and may never know. I don't want to be the person who never knows. So, I began praying then for definition. The pastor also said that we ask God to bless us, and then, out of fear, we shy away from the blessing. I don't want to be that person, either.

I do have a daily walk with the Lord. I, like many, let my own plans get in the way of His. I don't know what it is that God has in store for me. I know it is MUCH bigger than any plans I could have crafted in my mind. Maybe He wants me to go to a different country to serve. Maybe He wants me to move to a different state to serve. Maybe He wants me to serve in a church a mile away. I don't know what it is that He wants. I almost missed an opportunity to tell Him, "Yes," that Sunday morning. I was comfortable sitting in my seat while others were walking to the front to make a commitment to listen for God and be willing to go wherever He leads. Sure, I could have done that from my seat. However, I grabbed a pen, wrote my name on my card and wrote the word "yes." Now, I will wait for Him to call me to serve and I will be willing to go.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

Good, or Maybe Not So Good Samaritan

I was minding my own business today when I was approached and asked what I was doing for the next hour. Because this guy is somewhat pushy and tends to pass the "grunt" work off on others, I hesitated and tried to come up with a good answer. Instead, I said, "I'll be here working." Anyway, he then asked me if I would like to do a "good samaritan" deed. He told me there was a homeless lady in the next room and asked if I would take the next hour to drive her to a church she had requested. Why he picked me, I'm not sure. I was immediately taken back to a day in college when I was given an opportunity to do something nice to help someone.

It was the last week of school prior to graduation and I had been enrolled in a class, called "Social Problems." We had spent the last few months talking about psychotic people, sociopaths, rapists and everything under the sun that could possibly give me the creeps any time I stepped foot outside the classroom. We spent a couple of weeks talking about rapists alone and our professor gave us signs we should look for when encountering someone who had plans to hurt us.

I took my final exam and was walking to my car in what seemed to be an empty parking lot. Once I got closer to my car, I noticed a strange looking character several cars away from my car with the hood up and battery cables attached. The car was facing out of the parking space. We were the only two in the parking lot. I had never seen this character before and the school wasn't large. I immediatley began to think about what the professor had said about someone waiting to attack. It seemed pretty fishy to me that he had parked with his car facing out of the space and conveniently, his battery had "died" and he needed a young, female student, a.k.a. his next victim to help him. My thoughts grew more scary when I saw him quickly approaching me. I picked up the speed of my fast walk to a moderate jog and raced for my car. Once I got in, I locked the doors and it still didn't stop him from coming after me. He tapped on my window and I rolled it down about an inch. He asked me if I would be willing to drive my car over and let him boost his battery with the cables.

About a thousand more thoughts of him killing me and never seeing my family again ran through my mind. By then, I had decided that he was probably facing his car out of the spot so he could throw me in the trunk and drive me to my grave. Besides, I had never seen him since I started school there and he just looked creepy.

Finally, I told him that I would drive right up there and help him. He thanked me and walked back toward his car. I backed out of my parking space, drove toward his car, and made the FASTEST getaway I could from the parking lot. I drove as quickly as I could home, thinking he was probably going to follow me in his falsely battery-dead car. I left him in my dust and he never caught me.

The next morning I went back to school for graduation rehearsal. I was walking with several of my friends down the hall when to my surprise I saw that same creepy face from the parking lot the day before. He was there for graduation rehearsal, too. I was so embarrassed. I guess he wasn't a rapist after all (or at least he hadn't been caught). I felt so badly that I had not helped the guy and even thought about apologizing. Instead, I walked away quickly.

He didn't have any intentions on hurting me, I guess...well, until I told him, "Sure, I'll help," and then drove out of the parking lot like a bat out of h-e-double hockey sticks. I bet some really mean thoughts went through his mind then!

So, today I felt as if I were given an opportunity to make up a "good samaritan" deed which I had shunned so many years ago. However, I will have to admit there was a flash of that Social Problems class that popped into my head and made me wonder if this homeless lady was going to pull out a knife and as Bon Qui Qui says, "CUUUUT" me. So as not to be completely frightened, I asked another person to ride along with us. Instead of something horrible I had envisioined, I found this woman to be afraid, lost and so sad. My co-pilot began telling her that no matter what, she could find hope if she put her trust in God. I realized I had been given an opportunity to give someone a "cool glass of water" rather than giving them a an easy target for something bad to happen. I felt guilty for the thoughts of fear that had crossed my mind. I made conversation with the traveller and even shared my faith.

Once we were able to drive this woman where she wanted to go, I spent the drive back thinking how grateful I am for a Savior. How thankful I am that I have a safe, warm place to go home to at night and two, beautiful, little girls that I can hug.

Would I be less afraid if someone asked me to do the same thing today? Probably not. However, maybe I would be a little more sensitive to the subject.

Please Don't "Hit Me with Your Best Shot"

I promise everything I share really does happen to me. Once again, I have replaced names - this time in order to protect not the innocent, but crazy.

One, sunny afternoon almost 6 years ago, Mom called me to say that Harlan James had dropped off a gift for me at her house.

He said, “Mrs. Williams, I had heard that Leigh was going through a divorce, and I wanted to bring her something that I thought might cheer her up.” Mom said she didn’t know what to say or do, so she just thanked him and he left. She laughingly told me to hurry over, because she couldn’t wait to see what it could be.

The mysterious gift was packaged simple, little gift bag and a Hallmark card. When I opened the gift bag, there they were - three, little, stuffed, pink poodles…What was that supposed to mean? The Hallmark card explained their purpose, along with a dissertation on Harlan’s attraction to redheads. Here’s an absurd tidbit from the card:

“Some friends caught me turning down a Pam Anderson look alike back in college for a plain looking red head. The next day they had me admitted to the Murfreesboro Psychiatric Ward. After 6 months of intense experimental treatment, I was released. I still have to see a shrink once a week and take antidepressants 3 times a day, but I’m getting better. The doctors call it Obsessive Compulsive Red Head Attraction Disorder (OCRHAD)."

One Sunday, my mom looked over to the piano at me from the choir and mouthed, “Oh, no!” I didn’t know what she meant until the welcome time and I followed her eyes to yes, you guessed it, Harrlan James. Oh, why had he come here? Harlan followed me to the car…I thanked him for the gift and gently told him that my divorce wasn’t yet final. He just kept talking. I finally said, “Harlan, I’m just not interested.”

For several months I have been working on a video project. The videographer is some kind of creepy guy, but he was hired to do the work and I was forced to work with him. Because my girls were interviewed for the project, he met them. He asked me to bring them over to play with his children the next time I had to go to his studio for editing. Because I thought he was creepy, I made up excuses for their absences. After the last editing meeting in November, he began telling me that he had something he wanted to give my youngest…a stuffed animal that he thought she would like. After a month of doing my best to avoid picking up CDs and other video-related materials from his home, he sent me an e-mail asking if I was going to come by and get the stuff or not. So, I told him I would run by in a hurry on my way home from work.

The closer I got to his driveway the more disturbed I became. It was dark and rainy. His studio was around the back of the house in a converted garage. There were really tall bushes EVERYWHERE. I left the car running, put my phone in my coat pocket and held my finger on the “9” just in case he tried to kill me and bury me in the back yard. He handed me the CDs and other items and then held up the stuffed animal he thought my youngest would like. It was a big, lavender horse. When he held it up, he said, “It just has a few holes and stains, but other than that, it is like new.” For one of the few times in my life, I was speechless. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I mustered out a “thank you,” jumped in my car and drove home. The horse found its stall somewhere close to the poodles’ doghouse in the landfill. You would think that I had been drinking, but of course that would be elephants I would be seeing, not horses or poodles.

I don’t know what it is with me that would make anyone want to give me weird, pastel, stuffed animals. My friend commented, “Hey, at least the guys weren’t afraid to take a shot at you.” After thinking about this I’m pretty sure that the kind of “shot” these crazies would take wouldn’t be anything like the “old college try.” However, I’m pretty sure theirs would be with something that resembled an AR-15, and I doubt it would be pastel or merely a stuffed toy.