Nothing To Prove

Scriptures state it. Motivational speakers repeat it. Devotionals reinforce it. I believe it. Then I forget. I let the concerns, worries, and tribulations of the world rob me of this truth. I have nothing to prove.


God knows my heart. He knows my errors in judgement and my bouts of selfishness. He also knows my good deeds, my unselfish moments, and the times I truly acted with altruistic motives - even if no one else notices. He loves me. He  loves me when I am living my Christian faith and He loves me when I fail. So, what do I think I have to prove?

Like most everyone, I want people to like me. I want them to think good things of me. I want to be thought of as a good employee, a good friend, a good spouse, a good mother. Those wants encompass a lot of work and keep me in a constant state of worry, self criticism, and self promotion. And I don't need to do any of it.

What I keep forgetting is simple.

I Wish I Had the Video

It was one of those moments when you really regret that you don't own a video recorder.

New snow fell during the night, coating everything in that beautiful blanket of white. It wasn't really a  good consistency for cross country skiing, but my late husband, Shannon, and I were too eager to try out my new skis to wait for better conditions. We loaded up the gear and the dogs, Iger and Freida, and headed out to the mountains.

Love Not Sleep

I have not posted in awhile. I've been sloughing off on a vow, playing Jonah, and this week, God put me in the belly of the whale. I have a project He wants me to complete, one I have fought with Him over for years.

In the Why I Write Tab, I describe some of God's motivational techniques to keep me on track, among which have been lions, odd coincidences, and weird phone calls.

There's No Crying in Baseball

This past week was filled with the usual challenges, perceived injustices, and concerns. I responded in my usual manner - the movie scenarios. I mentally created a script, scene by scene, where I was either exonerated or the offender saw the light, corrected their misbehavior and apologized. Childish, yes. 

I have grown up some. I never seek revenge in my little scripts. I don't wish the perpetrators ill. No, just a scene wherein we mend the rift -  see how good I am trying to be? (I know, I still have a lot of growing to do and trust me, I am working on it.)

Does It Really Matter?

Does it really matter? That question haunted me all afternoon, triggered by tests of patience, and insults to my ego. The cranky driver on my commute (I see a lot of them on the evening commute), the testy, rude co-worker. These are my Achilles heel. The incidents that worm their way into my emotions and ruin my inner peace.

An incident yesterday sparked another wave of What If fantasies. What if I did this? How would that make them feel? Or, what if I did this?