Last night, church was sweet. Every 5th Wed., we cancel our classes and gather into the auditorium for singing and prayer with a few scriptures thrown in.

At the beginning of the service, Ray - our minister - explained that he hoped we would concentrate on more prayer during this particular evening; several things of importance are facing our congregation, and he felt we needed more focus. So, several men came down to the front to lead us between songs. One by one, I watched the men I love leading us in a song or two and then another step forward to pray. Nothing ceremonial; scripted; scheduled. Just men, using their talents and gifts to approach the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

Afterward, it was like no one was in a hurry to leave. As I walked among different clusters of people, there was conversation and playful joking and just being with each other. I felt so lucky to be there, and yet I've had hundreds of those same Wed. nights. I don't know if I was different, or what , but it lifted my spirit to such calmness and peace. Hope I hold on to it for a while - it was the best.

At school today, we discussed the upcoming 5th anniversary of the attack on 9/11. We are a campus of 3rd and 4th graders, and we speculated that more often than not, few of our kids even remember it happening. So, how to honor the innocent killed and their loved ones without upsetting little children unnecessarily? For us adults, the images are burned into our minds forever, but 9 year olds? Well, we will have a moment of silence and briefly recall in carefully chosen words what that day has become to our nation. May God keep those children from having more days like that to remember in their lives.

I've followed my daughter's example by opening up my comments to anyone and not just other bloggers, so please - be nice! This is a new venture for me, and while I enjoy it, it is scary to know anyone can respond.
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Today at school, I sat across from Austin and discussed his latest bout with his diabetes. He's 10. Has been diabetic since he was about 4, so he
really knows no other way to live. Yesterday, his leg kept hurting and he went to the nurse. He checks his own blood, and it was high, so they called mom. Every now and then, he expresses some resentment that he is the only one in his family with this disease, and how it affects his life.
Ten year old boys shouldn't have to deal with things so somber and life-altering. But he does, and in spite of it is a pretty happy, well-adjusted little kid. I don't think I"ll be forgetting him any time soon.

Please, Lord. Keep me from whining.

"Trust and Obey,
For there's no other way
To be happy in Jesus,
Than to trust and obey."


Growing up in the church of Christ in the 60s and 70s, my dad led this song regularly during worship. If I close my eyes and remember, I can hear his voice to this day. He had no training in leading people in song, nor was his voice all that melodious. He led each song as if we were on fast forward, but his pitch was pretty on most of the time.
But singing was a part of my dad as much as working on his beloved cars in the shade of a tree. He whistled when he wasn't singing, and I miss the sound of his voice every day. Be he really isn't the reason for this blog.

Trust and obey. How very simple in concept. Just do it. Don't analyze or rationalize or pontificate. Just trust Him. In everything everyday. His will, not yours; his time, not mine. Trust. We skeptical people think there's always a motive or an excuse not to trust because someone at sometime hurt us or let us down, and so we put up the wall between us and Him. He loves us anyway and just says "Trust me, Amy. I'm in control."

And then, there's obey. Ugh. I want to, just not now. Later, Lord. I will obey Your commands for my life. If it fits into what I want and how I want it, I'll obey you, but only then.

If I could only understand how much easier and better my life would be, if I could just trust and obey. Maybe we need to sing that oldie more often.

My dear friend Jackie always makes me think. She challenges me on an almost daily basis, and I like that a lot. It's way too easy to think what you always think and feel what you always feel. One thing we talk about is time travel. We speculate about where we'd go, and why. I think I'd like to visit the eastern states during the American Revolution to feel what the birth of a new nation would feel like; to believe in something so strongly you'd die for it.

On a more light-hearted note, if YOU could travel in time and go back to one sweet, perfect day - would you? I know exactly when I'd go back to, and I wonder if when I got there, would it feel as perfect as I remember it? Probably not; it didn't feel perfect then, when I was living it the first time, but in my memory, looking back... it was just the most wonderful time. I guess that's the good thing about memories; we get to focus on the blessing of the moment and the less wonderful aspects fade from our recall.

Tonight, Andrew brought home Chinese for dinner; I'd come home "puny" and it was either him cook or stop and get something. Well, my husband is wonderful with helping around the house, but he HATES to cook. We have an empty nest deal: I cook, he cleans. Most days it works to both our advantages unless it's a day like today. He had chicken fried rice and I had sesame chicken. It was nice and hot; flavorful and just the right amount. Couldn't have asked for more. And no dishes to do, either!!

Hope you've had a great day!

I'm so glad I listened to Pat Autry. She is a dear sister in Christ from a town outside Houston where we once lived. When my girls were little bitty, Pat told me one day that she'd begun praying for their future mates when they (her children) were born. Hmmm, I thought, cool idea. Now, I haven't done it everyday for 20 years, but on most occasions, especially in the middle of the night, and mainly when the girls became "dating age", I tried to remember those faceless, nameless young men who would one day want to betrothe himself to one of my girls. I took it very seriously, because I DO believe God answers prayers, and this is a biggie.

Fast-forward a few years. Erin has begun dating, and we almost always really liked the guys, and sometimes I would wonder, "Is it you? Are you the one I prayed for all these years?" Well, we met him in the Spring of Erin's Freshman year at A&M. Gregg. We met him in January, and when we saw them together in April, I told Andy coming home from a visit that he was "him." I could tell. God had set him right down before us, and I was blown away. He could not be more what Erin needs for a truly happy life than if God literally asked me what I thought. He is godly, humble, kind, fun, desires her desires and wants nothing more than to make her life a joy. He came from a loving, God-fearing family that trained him to be a most wonderful man. He is ours as much as he is Erin's, and we love him with all our hearts. He is that prayer answered in full.

One answered; one to go. Thanks, Father.

Andy and I have started watching golf. What a joke that is; neither of us are even golfers in our dreams, but a while ago, I started paying attention to Tiger. I don't watch a whole day's worth; just when Tiger is playing and so Andy comes in and the next thing I know, he's watching, too! We even make comments like we know what's going on; here is what I know- Par, greens, fairway, birdies, eagles and bogeys. Leader board and bunkers, caddies and drivers, putters and irons.

I've even come to recognize a few of the other players; Phil Mickelson who reminds me of David Elks, John Daly, David Duval and Vijay Sing. I know when to gasp and I have been know to shout, "Go to the hole!" after Tiger putts, but that really is about all I know. I told Andy this weekend that I'd like to see Tiger tee off with no clothes on, just so I could see how beautiful his body is - athletically, not sexually. You know, the Emperor's New Clothes kind of stuff. He is one glorious example of God's creative powers. I'm not so sure he bought it; but he didn't laugh.

Now, the season is over until the Spring. Bring on the SPURS!!!

Andy was born old and grumpy. He lost his mother at 4 and had several surgeries as a little boy.When I met him, he never took off his shoes or untucked his shirt. He always looked like he was going somewhere unless he was cleaning something. Which he did a lot - clean stuff. His home in Houston was very "formal" with meals and manners, and I grew up in the total opposite; we never even sat at the table together to eat and NEVER wore shoes, much less in the house. Most pictures of me as a child show me in my panties and nothing else. Nothing was air-conditioned, so the fewer clothes the better. Anyway, back to Andy.

Next month, he turns 52. As we have built our history together, I have watched him relax about things and find more humor and enjoyment in the everyday things of life. I'm sure having the girls paid a big part in it, but I really think what has brought him to this more "laid back" aspect of his life is survival. Yes, he's had to adapt to live with me. He is Mr. Schedule; I am Mrs. Procrastinator. He is form and function and everything in its place; I am "Now where did I put that?" He is black and white; I'm gray. So, it was either adapt to living with me or die of an early ulcer and stroke. I'm really glad he did; he's turning into quite a cute little boy, gray hair and all.

I love him more and more each day.

Tonight, after dinner, my dear husband offered to serve us some yummy German Chocolate cake for desert. It was left over from a luncheon I attended on Monday, but it had been covered and he had had some yesterday. "Sure" I said, so off he went. Then next thing I hear is an unhappy growl and a loud plop in the trashcan. ANTS!! All over the cake. It's been so dry here that they are coming in the house to survive, and they hit the mother-lode. Our cake. German Chocolate.

If they'd only been still for a minute, we'd have never known they were there and been none the wiser. GRRRR !

"Do you remember me?!?" "Miss, do you remember my name?!?" One of the most wonderful aspects of teaching school is the thought that, for one year, I had the chance to make a student want me to remember them. At Meet the Teacher the other night, I was near a co-worker when one of her former students - who now has a child on our campus- came up and asked "the question." It was all over her face; that desire to know that the teacher could recall her name from the hundreds of children she's taught for over 30 years. Some you do; you never forget them for good reasons or bad, yet some slip by in the crowd and just never jell into our consciences. I see them at the drive-through or the movie or in HEB; little ones all grown up now wanting to re-establish that bond that we shared for a while a long time ago. Monday night, one "bad boys" from a couple of years ago quietly walked over and hugged me before anyone saw him. It made my night - I hope it did his, too.

Tonight was "meet the teacher" at my school campus. For many days now, we've been in inservice and faculty meetings, doing all the small things that have to be ready to begin a new year. Today was the day when we were supposed to be left to work in our classrooms, to be ready for parents and kids to come in and in some way prepare the children for the big day tomorrow. As a special ed teacher, I won't get my kids until the second day, and so I have an "extra" day to prepare. The trouble with that idea is that everone else wants you to do stuff with them because they are so pressed for time and know I have more time. So. .. it wasn't that bad, but I'm surely not ready.
Back to "Meet the Teacher." Did you know that there are so many supplies required to do 4th grade that they fill a Large backpack and one or two Wal-Mart bags?! Dad usually has to carry them in, and he looks strained doing it. Ridiculous. The kids are happy to be back, and one or two from the previous years sneak in to visit a former teacher. The parents are all excited to see each other as well; it's fun to watch all the visiting. All in all, not a bad couple of hours to ease the anxiety of a new year, be it kid or mom. I kinda miss having little ones to get ready, but I know that in my future, I'll have grandkids to buy goodies for, and the fun will return.
Wish me luck; the real excitement comes early tomorrow!!

Andy's watching "Robots"; I'm blogging. Another peaceful, Saturday morning in our home. Hope it continues that way!

Our hope is that all is well with you today also.

Another terror plot foiled today and lives saved. That's good to know, but I kind of miss the old Cold War of my youth. Back then, we'd meet at the gym and discuss what to do when the siren wailed in our little town. I'd climb under my little wooden school desk and wait for the all clear, and then I'd go back to the playground and go on about my business of being a kid. Like that desk was going to protect me! We'd talk about what foods to store, and how much, and what to do when your neighbors survived the blast but didn't have any cans of chicken noodle soup. Why hadn't they listened to the warnings!! Gladly, back then, I was just a little girl following directions because I was told too. I had no true idea of what THE BOMB would do to me or my loved ones. Unfortunately, now I know exactly what those enemies of America would do to my beloved country and those I love. Oh, to be naive again.

Do you share your name with lots of people? I did not know any other Amys until I was 14. I'll never forget the day; I ws at church camp, and they were calling mail call. I was sitting with my cabin,chatting along and not really listening. Suddenly, I hear "Amy ____." I jump up, all excited to get my mail, and there's another girl taking it from the man who called my name!! She claimed her name was AMY - how dare she?!? Now, I grew up in a small, south Texas town with lots of Debbies and Marys and Johns, but I was the ONLY Amy. Hmph... how could this have happened!? My mom had told me the story of how my name was supposed to be Amy Amelia, but my dad insisted on naming me after my mom, so I became Margaret Amy. But sharing with someone else the name that was so carefully chosen just for me really stuck with me. Now, at my campus alone, there are 5 of us Amys. Almost enough for a club or something. I guess I"ll adjust.
Have a good evening.

Giving things over to God is impossible for me sometimes. When it effects me or people at work or strangers, I'm pretty cool with saying, "I'm giving it up to God to handle." Then, I accept what God decides to do or not do, and I move on. I don't live with "what ifs" or "Why mes" or any of those things I hear other people say. Decision is made, move on. Move on.

However, when circumstances and people effect my husband or my children, I am not so easy to turn that over. I know God is in control, and will do just fine without me or my opinions, but I feel like I have to jump in and help Him.

The last 6 weeks have been some of the most helpless I've felt, and I kept thinking I would be so very happy when things fell into place. Now that they appear to be, though, I find there are still things to deal with, and closure may not be as quick a I'd like. On top of that, my husband has made a decision that breaks my heart, yet I have to support him and continue to keep our life peaceful and restful for him. Inside, I want to hurt people and show them the depth of their actions.

This mom and wife thing is really a hard job sometimes. I need to move on. Pray for me.

There is a commercial on tv right now that shows a couple leaving their family home after selling it. They talk about the memories they have; the history of the home. Last night, Andy and I were going through the small town in which I grew up, and I looked down the street toward my childhood home. There is a "For Sale" sign in the yard - so I made Andy turn and take me by there. It IS for sale - and my mom and dad would roll over in their graves to see the condition of it!! I want to buy it right now and fix it up to the lovely little home that gave my mom and dad (and me) such pride. Never was a penny mortgaged to live there; each room was paid for as it was built. It never looked "added onto" - but it grew as our family did. My brother was born in what eventually was the living room, and the second bath was the last thing to be added; when there were only my parents and younger sister left there. The garage had a dirt floor, when we spent hours playing "doodle bug" in and looking for buried cash when my father died.
I hope whoever buys it will take it and make their own memories; it would really mean a lot to me.

When I was in Elementary School - the 60's in case you are wondering - little girls wore dresses to school every day. No jeans or shorts or long pants, no matter the weather - dresses. (Now days, you see a girl in a dress MAYBE on picture or party days !) Anyway, most of July and August, my mom and I spent time down at Franklin's store in my hometown. The owner knew what type of fabrics my mom liked, and would always have in the newest bolts for us to choose from. We would pull bolt after bolt from the shelves, and stretch them out and hold them up and match button and ric-rac and all those lovely things to just the right pattern. We'd get home with a big pile, and then, I'd pick out which one I wanted her to make first. It was wonderful to watch all those individual items come together to make "the first day of school dress." Usually, it was a plaid of some sort, with short sleeves and a full skirt, topped off by a lovely white collar. I felt like a new doll all crisp and pretty in my dress. Little white socks and new shoes finished me up. It is one of my favorite things about the beginning of school each year - a new dress. So, since I don't sew, I am heading to town, in search of the first day of school outfit. Wish me luck!!

My mother had a lot of really good qualities. She was friendly, artistic, funny, a good writer, and a yummy cook. Her whole life was focused on raising my brother, sister and me to be happy and loving people.
The one thing about her, though, that I fight most, is lashing out at people using mean words. She had a streak about her that came out mostly when people would say or do something to or about us or our dad. And it came out at us when we failed to act the way she thought we should. As far as I can remember, I have only lashed out at my beautiful daughters one time, and I was wrong and I have asked for their forgiveness; even though they do sometimes remind me of it in a teasing sort of way. I did not like who I was during that little episode, and never want to speak to either of them that way again.

However, right now in my life is someone who is ripe for the lashing. I want to unleash every kind thought, every bad word, every mean and hateful thing I can say to this person to "put them in their place." I want to hit and punch and yell, and yet I know I won't do it. I know after receiving those words all my life that they never go away. They play like a scratched cd, over and over in your mind, and no matter how you try to repair the relationship, it is there. So, I will think those thoughts, and maybe even write them down, but I'll hit the delete key rather than send them, because I am not my mother. I will not give in to that most cruel side of her that lives within me years after her death. No matter what this person has done to me, and how much they deserve my anger, I am better than that. I will not give in.