Breaking the Ice

As helpful as icebreaker games can be when it comes to meeting new people, they always seem somewhat difficult to me.  "Tell us your life story, but in one sentence ONLY!" "What's the weirdest thing you've ever done?" "What's the one word you would use to describe yourself?"

How much does a polar bear weigh?
Enough to break the ice!

Baffled.

Why? Because that all seems fairly impossible to answer in the 3-5 seconds you have before the rest of the group starts to wonder if you're deaf or "not all there."  How in the WORLD am I supposed to rack my brain that quickly to come up with a simple answer where a detailed one is better suited?! Are these people nuts?

I know that it's important to be able to sum up yourself, your personality, etc in 15-30 seconds (affectionately known as the "elevator speech") so that you can present yourself in an interview or similar situation clearly and concisely.  However, as a lover of words, I find that task fairly challenging.

In advertising, having one word, normally an adjective, to describe your brand is highly valuable.  Again, getting that one golden word often comes from a sentence of words that is slowly whittled down to a single gem.  So what's the one word you would use to describe you?

After contemplating, one word seemed to continue to come to my mind.  It's a word that will always be true, whether or not I feel that way every moment of every day or not.  It's a word that is based on more than my grade point average, the job that I hold, the amount of money in the bank or the number of friends I have in my contact list; it's based on something that's value is incorruptible. My one golden word?

Blessed.

God has so richly blessed me--not only with His grace, mercy and incessant love, but also with a fantastic family, group of friends and supporters.  He has guided me through my journey here at State; I'm so blessed to have professors that are going on overseas missions for the sake of the gospel.  Friendships have been restored, hope has been birthed and love has appeared as if out of thin air.  My Father continues to show me more of his character everyday and because of that I will forever be blessed.

Dad, thank you so much for your hand in my life.  Thank you for not leaving me at the wayside when things seem to fall apart.  Thank you for restoring me, gluing the pieces back together and nursing me to a full recovery.  Let me never forget how you have moved in my life and the lives of those around me.  Thank you for teaching me to be patient and for bringing me such a treasure.  Remind me that you are not bound by time and I should be like you in that way.  Please continue to guide me in all I say, think and do.  Thank you for calling me your princess, your beloved, your daughter.  How I love you.

Sleepless in Starkville: Love at the Movies

Maybe it's the fact that I've had three cups of coffee.  Maybe my body has just gotten used to staying up after midnight.  Or maybe it's the recent memories rolling around in my head as a smile grows across my face.  Regardless, I can't sleep.  I'm sleepless in Starkville.

"Hey, you want to bump into me on, say,
 Saturday around lunchtime? Over there?"

I've come to find that many of my favorite chick flicks, romantic comedies, or whatever you'd like to call them were written by Norah Ephron.  Maybe you'll recognize some titles: Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail, When Harry Met Sally, Julie & Julia and several others.

I can watch her movies over and over again; in fact, I have.  Not only is the story line fantastic, but after watching the movies again and again I pick up on the details of the movie and can't help but sigh as I say to myself, "Brilliant! Just brilliant!"

Last night, watching You've Got Mail for the at least the millionth time, I found myself wishing Norah Ephron wrote my love story.  The Empire State building on Valentine's Day, the curve in the pathway in Riverside Park, New Year's Eve party...  It all works out so perfectly.

But almost as quickly as the thought crossed my mind, a quiet whisper from inside me said, "Someone much better has written your love story.  The details are so much more than brilliant and even though there may be struggles along the way the ending will put Norah's to shame."

He's not in the screenwriting business for the money.  He doesn't direct because He's competing for an award.  He's not a producer because He has nothing better to do with His time.

My Father does it all because He cares about me, because He loves me, because He wants what's best for me and because it's a way He draws me closer to Him.

One of my favorite lines from Sleepless in Seattle is when Becky says to Annie, "You don't want to be in love, you want to be in love in a movie." Truth is, as much as I love these love stories, I want one of my own.  He's written it for me, it's finished and I'm onscreen now waiting for the next scene to unfold.

Father, thank you for writing a story just for me.  Thank you for working out all the details, no matter how small.  Help me to trust you with each scene, the cuts that are made and when it looks like I won't make it to the top of the Empire State building.  Help me to enjoy the ride, the moments of waiting and the sweet memories made along the way.  Thank you for holding me in your hand and for calling me your daughter.  How I love you.

Man's Best Friend: Scratchin' at the Door

This is Honour, my Labradoodle

I used to beg Mom and Dad for a dog.  Now, I'm no longer the one doing the begging.

This guy is.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love him.  He's fluffy, his greetings for when I finally make it to sweet home Alabama are the best, he loves to play hide and go seek and he always wants to be with "his people," as Mom would say.

But when he hogs the bed and then proceeds to wake me up at 5:30 a.m. for breakfast, I may not be his number one fan.  He sure does know how to be persistent though.  Rolling over and facing the other side doesn't fool him.

I suppose that's a quality to be loved and hated.  Honestly, I'd want him to be persistent to the point of annoyance with me if the house were on fire or something else went terribly wrong.  I'd rather him be a bugger about the fact that he needs to go out to go "potty" rather than have to clean up the carpet.  But when he stands and scratches at my bedroom door for me to get up, out of a warm bed, mind you, to let him in so he can hog my bed, yeah, thanks, but no thanks.

Seems he's not the only one scratching at my door.

"Look! I stand at the door and knock.  If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in and we will share a meal together as friends." Revelation 3:20

He's not being nice and knocking at the door before he proceeds to blow the whole house down like some kind of big, bad wolf; He knocks because He knows that I have to be the one to let Him in.  It's a decision I have to make, it can't be made for me.

Much like opening the door for my sweet puppy, He promises to come in and treat me like a friend.  He promises to greet me with, "Hey, sweetheart!" instead of, "Who are you?!"

Why wait? It's time to get out of bed, cross the room and open the door to a friend.  Man's true best friend.