I Am NOT Just a Number

Many things become important when the notice is given that you are dying. Fashion, the latest trends, and gadgets are not important. The job is not even that important. What becomes important is circling yourself around friends and family for the last goodbyes and the precious time you are given. If you think about it, when a family member is told that grandpa is dying, the price of a plane ticket and the "inconvenience" seems irrelevant. Yet, rarely do we make a surprise visit to those we love very much to just sit with them while they are here. Goodbyes are very important to us. Many times because we don't want to live with the regret of never saying those precious words. On Death: In the book, "Tuesdays With Morrie", an old professor is dying and he teaches a former student what becomes important in death. Morrie encouraged "becoming friends" with people instantaneously. We are scared to talk to someone sitting on the same bench. Yet, Morrie wo...

On 10/24/12, I decided to pay $34.00 for a train ride from the Winter Haven Florida Amtrak Station to Fort Lauderdale, Fl. The train was to depart at 1:43pm. I was to bring my printed ticket and one form of identification. A neighbor dropped me off at the Winter Haven train station and I was 20 minutes early. When I presented my ticket, my neighbor asked the Amtrak official if the train was on time. The Amtrak official matter-of-factly advised that the train was running 30 minutes late. I had signed up to receive email/text alerts if there were any delays, but did not receive any notice. My neighbor was worried about leaving me at the train station for that long which in and of itself is a problem. I am almost 37 years old and have taught self-defense for many years. So what about this area would cause her concern? Well the station area appears disorderly and unkempt. A steady path of people on bikes riding to and from the station into a local wooded area was also a concern. The a...

In a restauraunt in South Florida, I let my tongue slip. That is my version, "slip". This is an easier way to label it than "I stood up in the restaurant, grabbed a Samarai sword, and plunged it into the heart of the person I was speaking to". The Bible gives us warnings of the danger of our tongue to include this version of a "verbal slip". There is one who speaks rashly like the thrusts of a sword, But the tongue of the wise brings healing. Proverbs 12:18 I did not have this "tongue of the wise" and I never have. Instead, if I were theoretically selling my tongue, on Craigslist, the ad would read "If you need someone to cut another's throat in front of an audience, hire me". This sounds as if I were offering up "assassin services" and is not the spirit inside of me that I want to reflect. I have always been a person who ignored danger signs or warnings. However, since I have a great love for the Lord, I can no longe...

During this past year, I decided to tackle all the golf courses in the county I live in. Two weeks ago, I saw so much improvement in my game. My grip was solid, my stroke was flawless, and my short game was by the book. So last weekend, when I walked up to Hole 1, I brought a confidence unlike I had seen. Swing... Hit.. and with my first swing.. by first appearances.. I had failed the game. 12 hits later on a par 5, my confidence had shattered. This was a mirror image of my entire last week. Rewind to Monday of last week.. I walked into work with great courage and confidence, but by that afternoon.. the world as I knew it had changed quite dramatically. The entire rest of the week was a "catchup" to a normalcy I so desperately tried to achieve, but never quite did. Change, regulation, restriction, and doubt flooded me like a lost ball in the water. I have been reading the bestselling book "Unglued" by Lysa Terkeurst about "imperfect progress". It is a book...

This morning I woke up and took out the trash. While walking back to my garage, my legs were covered in fleas. Ugh. The next door neighbor has cats who are constantly in my front yard. The "unglued" part of me wants to march next door and tell her how unthoughtful she is to everyone around her for letting her cats roam around in others yards. Yet, I do not choose this option. Instead, I walk into my house and stuff the bitterness into my heart. I open my Bible and read about forgiveness. Yet as angry as I am about the unfairness of others, I cant shake the label I have given myself. I walk into my house and the dishes pile around me, socks lay on the couch, my bed is unmade, I trip on shoes in the middle of the floor. My name is Heather and "I am a mess". This is my prison. The label of being a mess is my cell. Though I work so hard at forgiving others, I have to admit I have never really forgiven myself. Being a mess has always been my description. Ive never be...