Undoubtedly Debra

Growing up I was surrounded by beautiful, kind loving women that most often stayed home with their kids, baked cookies and dressed for church on Sundays. I was the one that read fashion magazines, dreamed of traveling the world and knew that God didn't care if I wore dresses to church, he knew my heart. A small town girl that dreamed of the city. A girl that couldn't wait to escape and see the world. The girl that felt at times like an imposter in someone else's life. I craved to meet people that were different then me, visit places I'd never been and do things I'd never done..In many ways, I dreamed of being exactly where I am now. Blessed to have a strong, powerful group of women to raise me, they lifted me up when I cried, made me strive to accomplish goals and taught me how to love others and spread God's word through actions. Looking back, I remember the first time I knew my mom was a powerful woman. She was going to school full time, working a full tim

Nightly I pray before I go to bed, sometimes I pray my childhood prayer, others I pray for a list of those that need prayer more than I do, often I pray for peace. I pray for his will and I too have prayed for you. My prayers are for that someone who I can pray with, pray before bed, pray before food, he who holds my hand in church and prays with me. One who loves my loud, silly hymn singing and doesn't care who hears me raise my voice to the heavens. One who loves the tears I shed as I listen to the sermon because I literally feel like the guiltiest person ever, always needing to be better. One who understands my innate need to help others, go feed the homeless, travel to countries to visit with orphans and hold them in my arms and hug those dying of aids. My heart yearns to give others hope, teach them God's love and let them know that I am the image of his love in how I love them. I pray for he who will understand this side of me and share in my love for others. One who

This... day. Forever carved and etched in my pysche as a remembrance of things lost. My grandma. The smell of lily of the valley wafts through the air like the butterfly floating on its endless breath of air towards the flowers. Endless, beautiful rows of roses, red, pink, orange, yellow... rows and rows of glorious beauties. Beautiful to look at but harsh if you touch them in the wrong way. Perhaps that's like me. Blonde hair, blue eyes but saucy and fierce if you hurt me. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens... the melody lingers in my mind.. if pianos keys touched my her beautiful hands, groomed perfectly with that little white pencil under each tip nightly. A lady must look like a lady you know.. I hear her voice in my mind when I look in the mirror, I see her in my mind. The perfect perfection of a classically beautiful lady.. who endured.. Endured endless years of health issues, pain, frustration. I remember mom telling me once that when getting dialysis( the old way)

This week has been filled with endless episodes of Netflix and reading, followed by napping and pain, after having outpatient surgery. Luckily, I'm surrounded by talented individuals who love reading as much as I do and are always willing to share their latest read. One of these shared with me the book entitled "The Principle of the Path" by Andy Stanley. There are books that are good for mindless entertainment and then there are books that remind you of who you are and where you belong in life. This book is one of the latter. In Andy Stanley's book on page 169 he describes The Jerusalem Moment. It's explained as being a moment that forces us to turn our backs on something we hoped for, prayed for, dreamed about and planned for. It's the day we are forced to realize it's not going to happen for us. That dream isn't coming true. For those that know me, mine was getting divorced. As most do, I wanted that marriage of 50 years, where we prayed together,