The phone rang loudly and shook the striped patio cushion abruptly. It was my mom. "Hi, Mom!" There was static. Or was it silence? 


"I need to tell you something and you have to be strong.. it's your brother. It's Josh, there was an accident. A terrible accident," she said mirroring the words I heard years ago about the death of my sister.

"He's gone. You have to be strong." But, I'm so weak. I envisioned my arms stretching through the phone to hug her. My pain was so big, I couldn't imagine hers... She wanted to console me. I wanted to console her. I wanted to disappear.


The sky opened up and the rain fell hard. The overhang of the balcony shielded me from the downpour. I wanted to kick the railing down to expose it's deceit. It couldn't protect me. Nothing could protect me from the storm wreaking havoc inside my soul. I winced as the heartache set in. I clutched my stomach. I felt sick. I walked into the open air to make sure it wasn't me who had died. I laid on the patio floor like a defeated child and welcomed the rain as it pelted me in the face.

"Talk to me! Talk to me!," I screamed. I heard nothing but the soul crushing sound of my heart breaking into a million pieces. Why him God? He was so good, so loving! 


My first instinct was to call him to tell him... about him. I don't feel safe. Are you safe? Where are you?  He was my go-to-guy, my absolute soul mate. He had all the makings of a perfect man... with a woman's heart. A bleeding heart.

A strange calm set over me, but only for a brief moment. I know he's with God. 
But, I want him in my house. What I knew was true and believed to be true collided with the unyielding torrent of pain inside my heart. Will I ever get up from this floor? 


Time stood still as days passed by. "One day at a time," people would say... One breath at a time, I mumbled back...

Although I'm heartbroken, I have peace. The only thing that brings me solace is that I know where he is. He is with God. He is safe. Echoing the words of my pastor, "He finished well." Yes, he did. He was happy. He was doing what he loved. He is home now and he is free.

Knowing this doesn't soften the fact that I miss him terribly.. I always will.

She waited patiently in a rental wheelchair with her head down... sullen. An emotionless attendant rolled her to the front of the gate. The woman in the wheelchair smiled meekly up at the attendant with equal parts of thankfulness and humility. The attendant nodded stoically and scurried to the ticket counter. I wanted to hug the woman in the wheelchair and smack the attendant in the starched blue suit. Where was she sitting? I strained my eyes to read her ticket- 25B. In the back and in the middle. I'd rather have a root canal then tell someone I have to go to the bathroom when I'm in the middle. She's got enough problems. I sauntered to the counter and forced my sweetest smile. "Excuse me, I see that the woman in the wheelchair is seated in the back of the plane. I would like to give her my seat," I said as I handed her my ticket. "Oh, first class," she said as she raised one poorly penciled eyebrow. "So, you want to give her your seat in first class and you'll sit in her seat?" This is not rocket science, lady. "Yes, can you make that happen?"How is it not abundantly clear that a handicapped person should not have to sit all the way in the back of the plane and be smushed into a middle seat? "I'll tell you what...  Keep your seat in first class and I'll move her to 5A. It's an aisle seat," she said as if she was throwing in a little something extra. We went back an forth a bit more but I wasn't getting anywhere. I thought God was calling me to give my seat to the woman in the wheelchair. The very same seat  I was looking forward to sitting in with great anticipation and sipping champagne in. And napping in. And pretending I was a movie star in. Gotta love those $50 first class upgrade deals. Maybe God just wanted to make sure that I would give up my seat with a willing heart? I'll never know. It felt like the right thing to do in the moment. I'm just glad the woman in the wheelchair got to sit in 5A instead of 25B.

What a great motto. Unfortunately, it usually shocks the hell out of most people when you respond accordingly. On a recent vacation, while heading to the pool, I noticed a hoard of people whispering and heard a few, "That's disgusting!" and "Have you ever?" comments. I made my way through the crowd and saw an elderly woman hunched over a garbage can nestled between bikini clad bathing beauties, umbrellas and lounge chairs. She was getting sick right there in front of everyone. How humiliating. How terribly sad. People were literally gawking at her like a bunch of mean teenagers in a high school hallway. One of the gawkers with a big hat and even bigger sunglasses lunged towards me. "Can you imagine? Why doesn't she do that in the bathroom. To think, we are sitting right there," she said full of disgust. I pulled my sunglasses to the bridge of my nose so she could look into my eyes. "You don't feel badly for this woman? Has no one offered to help her?" I asked, although I already knew the answer. The woman's scowl faded to shame. The sick woman's husband watched helplessly with one hand on the small of her back. I walked over to them and asked what I could do. Escort her to the restroom? Ice-water? A piggy back ride outta there? "You know, you are the only person that has offered to help or said anything nice," said the woman's husband. His voice cracked when he spoke. I could see his love and concern for his wife.  My heart sank to its familiar place when it hurts... the very pit of my stomach.

The words of D.L. Moody inspire me. "No matter how low down you are; no matter what your disposition has been; you may be low in your thoughts, words, and actions; you may be selfish; your heart may be overflowing with corruption and wickedness; yet Jesus will have compassion upon you. He will speak comforting words to you; not treat you coldly or spurn you, as perhaps those of earth would, but will speak tender words, and words of love and affection and kindness. Just come at once. He is a faithful friend- a friend that sticketh closer than a brother."

Jesus loves each and every one of us no matter what. How can we be of Him and not show compassion to others? I can't answer that one and won't dare try!

All my love and prayers, always!

My mood is somber. Sad. A bit dark even... The negative tape recorder in my head continues unabated, unleashing one cruel word after another without ceasing. Painful memories serve as visceral reminders of why I feel this way in the first place. I cover my ears. "I can't do this anymore," my heart screams. "Pull yourself together," another voice warns. Waves of sadness course through my veins surfacing a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. If only my wounds were external. A scar would serve as a permanent reminder that true healing took place. A surge of guilt stings me for wishing such a thing. Where is God in this dark place? 

I have two dogs. Italian greyhounds. They are the neediest dogs I have ever seen. Wherever I go, there they are. I can't escape them. Ever. My child is of a similar demeanor. The three of them trail behind me at an oppressively close distance. They follow me to the laundry room and even the bathroom. I've tried to keep the door closed for obvious reasons but to no avail. The sound of my child banging and/or yelling at me through the door coupled with dogs scratching and whining are reason enough for me to avoid the thunderous pandemonium and keep an open door policy.

My little entourage even weasels their way into my bed at night. Thankfully, my husband instituted a 'no late-night straddle bagger policy'. It works for awhile, unless he is out of town. So, no matter how many times I shoo the dogs off the bed or march Bella back to her room, they inevitably become my bedmates when he isn't.

Giorgio, Pia & Bella

Not only do I have to share my bed with them, I also have to make room for a heaping pile of stuff they carry with them. I sleep among squeaky half-eaten one-eyed dog toys, kid toys and small electronic devices. I can't move, and my bed is huge. The three of them scrunch me in or shove me to the edge. And when I'm not being kicked or pushed by Bella, I'm being poked and prodded by a ski- pole looking dog leg. I toss and turn all night and they sleep soundly. On my good pillows. Who could possibly sleep knowing they're sure to get ski- poled in the eye or stabbed by a foreign object at any given moment? It's exhausting.

The party in my bed situation needs to end. But the notion of an uninvited guest ought to remain. Who else is an invited guest in my life? Jesus? He continues to invite Himself back into the very same places I shoo Him away from. I allow Him into some areas of my life but sometimes keep certain parts off limits. I don't want Him to feel like an uninvited guest. I want to give Him full access to every part of me. I want to give Him the good pillows.

My prayer:
Jesus, at this moment, I invite you back into my life to take over ALL areas. Thank you for never leaving me alone. Thank you for never giving up on me....

Sometimes I think I should change my blog to: You can wear high heels and stop drinking wine because you love Jesus. I love my wine. Period. But, sometimes my reasons for indulging in my favorite past time are not good. I often force myself to take a little wine hiatus. I recently went so far as to give myself a little test to further gauge my drinking habit...

1. Do you look forward to drinking wine with great anticipation? Yes.
2. Have you recently found yourself in a panic when you realized you were out of wine on a Sunday, the same day it's illegal to buy alcohol? Yep. 
3. Please describe your recent reaction when you found a bottle of Kendall Jackson on a Sunday when you thought you had none. I thought I won the freaking lottery.
5. Can you go a few nights without drinking? Yes, but I miss it. Desperately...
6. Do you see yourself being like this woman when you get older? Yes. But, hopefully I'll be better looking.
6. Describe your nightly routine, and if wine is a part of it.
Each night after dinner, I bathe Bella. We say prayers and I tuck her in. She calls me back into her room 5 minutes later to bring her sippy cup with water. The pink one. Then she has to go potty.  I tuck her back in. Again. Approximately 8 minutes later, she yells through her door that she's hot. She needs different pajamas. The Rapunzel ones. Not the Dora ones. The dirty Rapunzel ones at the bottom of the hamper. I tuck her in. Again. This time, with a stiff warning. I usually don't hear anything for an estimated 8 minutes. Then, she calls me again. She's cold. I hastily remove the dirty Rapunzel pajamas and put back on the warmer pajamas I just took off. I raise my voice this time as I tuck her in. Her voice cracks as she softly asks me to please turn on her nightlight. I give her an extra hug. She whispers a last request and explains my final mission should I choose to accept. A tiny "person" has gone missing. Last seen amongst recent toy tornado wreckage in the playroom. Somewhere next to the Smurf coloring book and her pink shoe. I agree to my mission because she promises this time she'll go to bed. So, after I reunite her with the missing person, she sleeps... Or at least I think she does. I go outside, close the door, put my head-phones on and pour myself an enormous glass of wine.

7. Please give an accurate description of your last wine hiatus. How long it was and how it ended.
My most recent wine hiatus lasted a whopping 4 days. It ended around 8:30 on a Saturday night. I decided I was in the mood for a glass since it was the weekend and all.. I went to the gas station at at the end of my street. Red flag number one. The crazies seemed to be out that night, loitering near the front of the store. They stared at me as I rushed past them clinging my purse for dear life. I hurried to find a decent bottle then swiftly took my place in the long line of fellow alcohol purchasing customers. Of the 7 or so, all but one of them was holding wine and/or beer. One might think such an observation would make me feel more "normal" standing among fellow drinkers. It didn't. It made me cringe. Is this how my husband feels when he's standing in line holding tampons? It was finally my turn. "Hi,  just the bottle of wine please." The cashier didn't ask me for my I.D. I wasn't wearing my age defying concealer. He didn't make eye contact either. He robotically scanned the bottle, gave me change and proceeded to stuff my wine in a dreaded drunk man's brown paper bag. I nearly fell over. That's like the ultimate badge of shame! "Excuse me, do you possibly have a different bag? Like a plastic one or something?" I asked. "Nope, next customer please," he said as he shooed me out the door. Too bad brown is the only drunk man's paper bag option.  LV ones would be so much cuter for the ladies.


To make myself feel better, or worse, I decided to see what the Bible has to say about drinking. There are basically 2 theories, I prefer the first one.


The Bible doesn't always spell out what we can or cannot do. We have the freedom in Christ to make decisions. And if we allow the Holy Spirit to guide us as we make those decisions, He will lead us to the right answers. We have the choice to either listen or ignore the tug in our hearts when we know something is not right.



Although I don't like it, I know God wants me to bring my problems to Him instead of my wine. Personally, I don't feel like there is anything wrong with drinking. There is a problem with drinking too much. So, off I go on another hiatus. Anyone care to join me?

**Disclaimer: I do not intend to use Scripture as a way to justify habitual drinking or drinking in general. Moderation is key, should one choose to drink. The inclusion of Scripture further illustrates that the Bible makes two very opposing statements regarding drinking. Many Christians, (even entire denominations) drink excessively, and feel there is nothing wrong with doing so. (There is!) The point is, the Living God of whom dwells in our hearts will never point us in the wrong direction should we approach Him in areas we have discernment. If we feel convicted, it is for a reason. It means we must take action! It means there is something standing in the way of us feeling the way we are meant to feel.  I hope this post will help others look inside themselves and ask God if they too, ought to take a hiatus... And if so, I pray that He will give all of us the strength to obey and abide! And please NEVER DRINK AND DRIVE! xxooo

With all my love and prayers,