If This Isn't Bizarre...

...then I don't know what is.

http://www.hookchasup.com/

I really hope we have some brave reader who will give this a go & then report back... Anyone? Anyone? Susie? Catharine?

- G.G.

Dancing With Shoulders

 

I dreamt last night about my soul mate for the first time. Well, okay. I know we all “dream” about our futures and the men in them, but this time it was more specific. It was only about him. He didn’t have a name or a face. But I dreamt of his shoulders, he was wearing a suit and we were standing very close facing each other. He was looking down at me, but I wasn’t looking up, I was looking at his shoulders, which were big and strong and attached to the arms he had wrapped very tightly around me.
 
Anyone who has ever had a dream knows that they are typically relevant to whatever is going on in your life. Recently I’ve noticed that the more I’m on Facebook, the more often very random people I haven’t spoken to in years pop in and out of my dreams – I attribute this to the fact that my subconscious mind sees their names on a Mini Feed or a friend request and, since I don’t have time during the busy day to stop and wonder what they are up to, they swirl around in my head, waiting to enter my thoughts until I fall asleep. This dream was not totally unprompted however.

This dream was from something I remember very consciously. My father remarried almost exactly one year ago and my then-boyfriend came with me to his wedding. Following a messy divorce, a screenplay’s worth of family drama, and a hasty engagement, my dad moving on so fast was less than perfect. I needed ThenBoyfriend there to support me, to hold my hand, and to basically take my mind of the reality going on around me.

ThenBoyfriend was especially sweet to me all night, even during a brief low point with a few tears, and as the party was winding down we realized that we hadn’t been on the dance floor once. ThenBoyfriend dragged me, or more likely, I pushed him, out the back door. We both needed fresh air anyways.

The band was playing a slow song, and because the reception was at my dad’s house, the dance floor was in our back yard. It was early May and the weather in the tent felt like air conditioning.

So we danced.

We were the only people outside. It was the happiest part of my entire night. My heels had come off and I felt short {which I loved because at 5’ 9” I never feel short}, compared to ThenBoyfriend’s 6’ 2.”

There is a scene in Father of the Bride that I compared this moment to in my mind. At the very end of the film, George and Nina are surveying the damage at their post-wedding reception house, and he takes her hand and they dance as the credits roll. {I don’t like that comparison so much anymore, because that is my favorite movie of all time, and the person I shared that moment with is, well, not quite my favorite person of all time.}

But the memory stays on my heart. In the months after my dad’s wedding, before we broke up, I would play that memory back in my head as I fell asleep. I probably looked like an idiot, wearing a polka-dot eye mask and a huge smile on my face as I drifted off. But it soothed me. Being in a relationship meant someone to dance with, someone to hold me up.

Last night my roommate slept over at her boyfriend’s apartment, something she does often, so I tend to find myself alone most nights. I enjoy my own company and I don’t mind being alone, or even single. It makes me feel independent.

But last night, I succumbed. Maybe it was because it was raining. The thing about being lonely is that it leaves room for you to think about an ex, or worse, kinda sorta miss him. I let my mind wander to that memory again. It was somewhere between conscious thought and that weird limbo state that happens as you are falling asleep that I must have begun to dream. Only this time my dancing partner was faceless. I used ThenBoyfriend more as a prototype, a template. Not to appear as if I have brushed ThenBoyfriend aside too easily, but we have both grieved our relationship and moved on, so I think it’s only fair that I dance with someone else.

That’s when I saw him, we will call him Shoulders. Shoulders really loved me. He was smiling with his eyes, even though he didn’t have eyes in my dream, but I knew he was smiling with them. He was older, maybe I was older too, but I couldn’t think about me, I was too in awe and overwhelmed by happiness. The room we were in was enormous and white, and Shoulder’s didn’t have a face. I don’t mean to say he was a headless horseman type, but his face was fuzzy, like there was a cloud in front of it. The things I knew about him I just knew without seeing, like the fact he was looking down at me. The strongest thing I remember was an understanding that Shoulders and I were close. Our friendship was more important than any romantic-y infatuation I’d felt about boys in real life. Shoulder’s was the best friend that I’d ever had.

But we didn’t dance for very long and I didn’t have any other dreams last night, just this one. This morning I was in a fabulous mood... although it took me an hour after I woke to remember why I was so happy.

I am writing this dream down now because one day, when I know my husband, I want to show it to him. Because I’ll want him to know that he is not my Shoulders.

My Shoulders last night was Christ. It took me that long… it’s 3 pm now… to figure it all out. He loved me unconditionally, He brought me incredible happiness, He comforted me with His warmth and strength. I think that is why this dream was so short, even my unconscious brain couldn’t handle all of His glory.

So why did I need to suffer last night in loneliness? It’s simple really, because Jesus needed to lead my mind to Him, and since He couldn’t reach me subliminally by being tagged in a Facebook album and popping up on my home page, He lead me through this route instead. Loneliness led me to longing, which led me to sleep. And there in my dreams, He reminded me that my loneliness wasn’t necessary at all. I have Shoulders to dance with, and He’s all I need.

So, future husband, now you know. I hope you too dream of Christ and long for Him. I hope through each other we live in His image and come to know His love.

And at the very least, I hope you take some dancing lessons from Him.

- Dream Weaver

I'm Freakin' Exhausted

 

I am addicted to a new workout class. It's the perfect combination of bar and core training (love reliving my ballerina days) and pilates. 

 

During my Saturday class, the woman, on the reforner next to me, was struggling. The instructor came up to her and said, "I know you're tired." With a huge sigh of frustration, she said, "I'm freaking exhausted." I couldn't help but start laughing. I hope she didn't hear me. I wasn't laughing at her. Trust me, my abs were killing me and my legs were about to start uncontrollably shaking. I wasn't laughing at her frustration. I was laughing because, in my quiet time that morning, I had just used those very words with the Lord.

 

Now before you accuse me of blasphemy, please know that I approach the throne humbly and reverently, but I also approach it boldly. I always begin by praising God and reminding myself of who He is, but am always honest about my emotions. What good is it to keep them locked inside or to dress them up to appear prettier or softer? Let us not forget that He already knows what we're thinking and feeling - we might as well put it all out there.

 

So back to my prayer... as I was praying, I heard the Lord whisper - "I know you're tired."  I wrote down, "I'm not tired - I'm freakin' exhausted."  And I am.

 

I have been in such a long season of wandering in the wilderness. Such a very long season. 

 

I was having a sad day, a few days ago, when one of my girlfriends, who had the best of intentions, {seriously, if you are reading this, it was SUCH a kind gesture} sent me two songs to cling to on that day. The songs were Mercy Me, Jesus Bring the Rain, and Phil Wickham, Safe. 

 

I love those songs, but I have loved and clung to those songs for four years now. I can not tell you how many runs I have cried out "If that's what it takes to praise you, then, Jesus, bring the rain..." and I have meant those words with all of my heart. But, here's the thing, He has brought the rain. He has brought a LOT of rain. And I have learned to dance in it. I have learned to trust, against obstacles that speak to the contrary. I have learned to hope, when there was nothing but Him to hope in.  And I have learned to endure, as the rain and sadness and temptation and defeat pour down.  

 

I know He is terrifyingly sovereign. I have learned to praise Him in and through the rain... so can I learn to praise Him in the sun too?

 

I am ready - I am ready for this season to change.

 

Joshua 3:4 states, "and then you will know the way to go. You have never been this way before."

 

The difference between the generation of Israelites who died in the wilderness and those who entered the promise land, was not their belief in God, but their belief that He could actually do what He said He could do through them. Those that wandered in the wilderness for forty years had seen God perform miracles time and time again. They had seen Him be faithful, but they didn't believe that that faithfulness and power would be enough for them to overcome the giants that stood between them and the promise land. 

 

I say what I'm about to say, first saying that I might get a "no" - that I will probably get a "wait" - but I might, I just might get a "yes."

 

I am ready to leave the wilderness. I don't care how scary the next place the Lord calls me seems, I am ready. I know that He is fully capable of carrying me through anything. I know that He is fully capable of doing anything. I know that, if I make it out of this season, it is because He and He alone delivered me. 

 

I'm freakin tired of dancing in the rain... I have seen His goodenss, I am ready for Him to show me His glory. 

 

So come on, God - do your thing... I'm waiting, in anxious anticipation.

 

- Biblically Blonde

What It Means To Be A Texan...

{I couldn't resist... Happy 175th Texas Independence Day}
 

Dear Friends,

Last year, I wrote a small piece about what it means to me to be a Texan. My friends know it means about damned near everything. Anyway, this fella asked me to reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't have it. So I set out to think about rewriting something. I considered writing about all the great things I love about Texas. There are way too many things to list. I can't even begin to do it justice.

Lemme let you in on my short list.

It starts with The Window at Big Bend, which in and of itself is proof of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my Grandad taught me more about life than fishin, and enough about fishin to last a lifetime. I can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and Cisco, and Abilene and Poteet and every place in between.

Every little part of Texas feels special. Every person who ever flew the Lone Star thinks of Bandera or Victoria or Manor or wherever they call "home" as the best little part of the best state.

So I got to thinkin about it, and here's what I really want to say.

Last year, I talked about all the great places and great heroes who make Texas what it is. I talked about Willie and Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey and my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I talked about everybody that came to mind. It took me sitting here tonight reading this stack of emails and thinkin about where I've been and what I've done since the last time I wrote on this occasion to remind me what it is about Texas that is really great.

You see, this last month or so I finally went to Europe for the first time. I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want to. But you know all my damned friends are always talking about "the time they went to Europe." So, I finally went. It was a hell of a trip to be sure. All they did when they saw me was say the same thing, before they'd ever met me. "Hey cowboy, we love Texas." I guess the hat tipped em off.

But let me tell you what, they all came up with a smile on their faces.

You know why? They knew for damned sure that I was gonna be nice to em.

They knew it cause they knew I was from Texas. They knew something that hadn't even hit me. They knew Texans, even though they'd never met one.

That's when it occurred to me. Do you know what is great about Texas? Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were trekking across country to see 15 baseball games we got sick and had to come home after 8? Do you know whyevery time I cross the border I say, "Lord, please don't let me die in_____"? Do you know why children in Japan can look at a picture of the great State and know exactly what it is about the same time they can tell a rhombus from a trapezoid?

I can tell you that right quick. You.

The same spirit that made 186 men cross that line in the sand in San Antonio damned near 165 years ago is still in you today. Why else would my friend send me William Barrett Travis' plea for help in an email just a week ago, or why would Charles Stanfield ask me to reprint a Texas Independence column from a year ago? What would make my friend Elizabeth say, "I don't know if I can marry a man who doesn't love Texas like I do?" Why in the hell are 1,000 people coming to my house this weekend to celebrate a holiday for what used to be a nation that is now a state?

Because the spirit that made that nation is the spirit that burned in every person who founded this great place we call Texas, and they passed it on through blood or sweat to everyone of us.

You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is is alive in all of us, even if we can't stand next to a cannon to prove it, and it's our responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a "Native Texan" or an "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could" sticker on his car understands.

Anyone who ever hung a map of Texas on their wall or flew a Lone Star flag on their porch knows what I mean. My Dad's buddy Bill has an old saying. He says that some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well, that's what it is to be Texan. To be forged of a hotter fire. To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part of New Mexico was Texas. That part of Oklahoma was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part of what you got was what we gave you. To look at a picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say, "what the Hell is that?" when you know that anyone in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas knows damned good and well what it is. It isn't the shape, it isn't the state, it's the state of mind.

You're what makes Texas. The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your day to read this, because that's what Texas means to you, that's what makes Texas what it is. The fact that when you see the guy in front of you litter you honk and think, "Sonofabitch. Littering on MY highway."

When was the last time you went to a person's house in New York and you saw a big map of New York on their wall? That was never. When did you ever drive through Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four businesses in a row? Can you even tell me what the flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned sure can't. But I bet my ass you can't drive 20 minutes from your house and not see a business that has a big Texas flag as part of its logo. If you haven't done business with someone called AllTex something or Lone Star somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you hadn't lived here for too long.

When you ask a man from New York what he is, he'll say a stockbroker, or an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a woman from California what she is, she'll tell you her last name or her major. Hell either of em might say "I'm a republican," or they might be a democrat. When you ask a Texan what they are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or "I'm a lawyer," or "I'm a Smith," they tell you they're a Texan.

I got nothin against all those other places, and Lord knows they've probably got some fine folks, but in your gut you know it just like I do, Texas is just a little different.

So tomorrow when you drive down the road and you see a person broken down on the side of the road, stop and help. When you are in a bar in California, buy a Californian a drink and tell him it's for Texas Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube next to you that he wouldn't be here enjoying this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if he or she doesn't know the story, tell them.

When William Barrettt Travis wrote in 1836 that he would never surrender and he would have Victory or Death, what he was really saying was that he and his men were forged of a hotter fire. They weren't your average everyday men. Well, that is what it means to be a Texan. It meant it then, and that's why it means it today. It means just what all those people North of the Red River accuse us of thinking it means. It means there's no mountain that we can't climb. It means that we can swim the Gulf in the winter. It means that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston is bigger and Dallas is richer and Alpine is hotter and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in Texas. It means that come Hell or high water, when the chips are down and the Good Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and just like in 1836, that counts for something.

So for today at least, when your chance comes around, go out and prove it. It's true because we believe it's true. If you are sitting wondering what the Hell I'm talking about, this ain't for you. But if the first thing you are going to do when the Good Lord calls your number is find the men who sat in that tiny mission in San Antonio and shake their hands, then you're the reason I wrote this night, and this is for you.

So until next time you hear from me, God Bless and Happy Texas Independence Day.

- "What It Means To Be A Texan" by by Bum Phillips