Join the Campaign

I was sitting in my car the other day in the drive-thru for Chick-fil-A. A part from their delicious chicken, they're about the only place in the restaurant biz that makes a melon-free fruitcup. More reasons to love the place. Lubbock has one free-standing Chick-fil-A in the whole city. That's right, ONE. What that means for the on-the-go lovers of its tasty cuisine is that you probably shouldn't take the drive-thru option if you're really hungry. There is always a line of cars around Chick-fil-A, a long line. From the time you spot it and decide to pull in to the time you actually get your food as much as 20 minutes can elapse. This is fine if you have a good book to occupy you, or knitting or something. However, in a city that is rumored to have the most restaurants per capita in the nation (a fact I've only been able to confirm through local sources), I find this unacceptable. With this much traffic and business assailing one tiny location, why on earth wouldn't they build another one? Or two for that matter! I'm hungry NOW!!! And to quote my dear friend, "All I want is Chick-fil-A!"

So, I'm starting a campaign. The Hungry NOW Campaign. Do not be confused. This is not a movement motivated by charitable endeavors. The sole purpose of this campaign is to help the harrassed, time-pressured, Type-A personality people who don't have twenty minutes to spend waiting for those "two crucial pickles". Join me in responding to the "Eat More Chikin'" campaign with a campaign that declares "Build More Chick-fil-A's So I Can!" Join the campaign for people in their cars who are Hungry NOW!

More information at www.hungrynow.com--tshirts, banners, bumperstickers, mugs, canvass tote-bags, onesies and trashy underwear.

Campain Slogans on all items:
hungryNOW! (front)
All I Want is Chick-fil-A! (back)

If you can't decide what you want . . . (front)
. . . drive away!
Demand more Chick-fil-A! (back)

Warning for those with food allergies: (front)
I'm soaked in peanut oil (back)

The Hub City-More Conservatives Per Capita (front)
One more restaurant closed on Sundays
Chick-fil-A
The Hungry NOW Campaign (back)

A Chapter Ends

I've been working in childcare off and on (mostly on) for over 10 years, close to 20 if you count camp counseling and babysitting as a teen. I was looking for a ministry when I got back from the mission field and a children's home seemed the natural choice. My first application to the Children's Home was not successful, so I found work elsewhere. A few years later, as my college days were coming to a close, I needed a place where I could work on weekends and have time during the week for school and homework. I applied once more at the Children's Home and so began a career and ministry to children. I got off to a rocky start and had much to learn, but eventually I became quite adept at dealing with challenging children. I held various positions at the Children's Home, but always managed to work with the kids. I started working at the Boys Ranch, as well. If you read my posts "Call Me Crazy" and "Out of the Mouth of Babes", you see that it was something I still did. I left the Children's Home nearly 4 years ago to teach Special Ed. My experience at the Home and the Ranch came in handy and contributed to some significant and succesful work with my students. I took a year off from the Boys Ranch as I continued to teach. Two highly emotionally disturbed children every single day plus certification classes were challenging enough. John, however, pleaded with me to come back a year and a half ago. OK, he didn't plead. I said yes without a second thought before the complete request had left his mouth. If you have had the privilege of working for/with John, then you know how easy it is to say yes to any request of his. (But I'd like to think that he would have pleaded had I shown a moment's hesitation--there's nothing like the feeling of knowing that John needs you.)

I returned and worked many weekends initially. When I look back now, I really don't know how I did it. I had taken a new teaching position at school, I had friends in turmoil, and my uncle passed away among other things. I still want to lean towards insanity, but I know in truth it was God's unending faithfulness. I hope as they mature, those boys develop a sound understanding of it because I know of a few who, if not for divine intervention, would be smited by my hand. Yet, I love them so. They make me crazy and sometimes in the early phases of working with them I find that I really do not like them. Somehow, though, be it through the miracle of time or God's gentle prompting of my heart to be more compassionate, I grow to truly care for them.

There is something about children that I’m continually drawn to. I don’t know if it is their energy, their sometimes piercing honesty, or their unconditional acceptance of me. I just know that I feel the most at ease, most confident, and most content in the presence of children. These broken ones, in particular. I find that I identify with them even though I’ve not suffered the things they’ve suffered. I have felt lost in my own life, out of control, and kicking and screaming over things that I can’t change. But they find some way to thrive in spite of everything. They continue to love and risk and laugh and . . . live.

I have realized, or perhaps admitted is more accurate, that I don’t live. Not really. I lost my bearings somewhere along the way and have been hiding wherever I can. I got so good at being inconspicuous at college that I forget that people can actually see me. I find my identity outside of myself . . . in my house, my work, my friends. And I use these things as excuses not to live, not to know what I really want, not to make the most of this gift that God has given me of being alive. It has been wrenching for me to acknowledge these things. It’s the side of “epiphany” that makes me loathe the word. Kind of like life, though, you can’t really appreciate the scale of “epiphany” unless you acknowledge all aspects of it. It makes the pleasant ones more wondrous. And in a grander context, such as Romans 8:28 “All things work for good . . . “, even the loathsome ones become wondrous because you know that somewhere down the road something good can develop from having painful epiphanies.

I want to live. I want to be better, do better. I want to take care of myself so I can better serve those around me. I want to train my dog. I want to be fearless, or if not so, at least not afraid to get up and try again when Satan broadsides me. I want to be like the children I work with, who don’t let their mistakes, flaws, or frustrations hold them back. I want to live and love like I belong to Him.

I drove to my last shift with mixed emotions. I knew I was doing the right thing, but sometimes you feel a twinge of sadness when you know a part of your life is coming to a close. It wasn’t anything special or different from any other shift, as it turned out. I was so tired when I left that Saturday night that I didn’t have the energy for emotions. I was just ready to be in bed. This chapter in my life has closed and another has begun. As I look around the house that I’ve not had the time or energy to clean in the past several weeks, I breathe a quick prayer for the strength and courage to live my life and be a good steward with what I’ve been blessed. Then I roll up my sleeves and begin.

Musings on a Saturday

Wow. I didn't mean to go so long between posts. Clearly, you rabid readers are furious with the the lack of activity in the world inside my head, but it's not because I've been too busy or too tired. There really is nothing going on up there, if there was it would be posted here.

So it's Saturday and it's April, which means two things: Sarah has returned and I no longer work at TBR. I will save my thoughts on TBR for another post. What is there to say about Sarah's return, early return at that, but YEE-DOODY-HAW!!!? She surprised me speechless. It was odd her being gone and then ~shazam!~ there she is. Yes, I just said "shazam". I'm having to adjust my routine because it had been get up, feed dogs, check computer/Skype, get dressed, work, come home, check computer/Skype (I was also checking frequently at school), run errands, eat, come home, check computer/Skype, love on dogs, go to bed, repeat. I went to my computer on Tuesday morning out of habit before I remembered she was back. Let me just say once more: It's GOOD to have you home, girl!!!

I woke up to a blanket of snow this morning. I can't say that I'm all that thrilled about it. It's APRIL for petesake! This is more shocking than the waking up to snow May 9, 1995 when I went to renew my visa at the airport in Glasgow. I thought about posting a picture of it, but decided not to. If you want to see what snow in Lubbock looks like in April, see "The Dog Days of Winter" post. It's exactly the same. My Mom and Dad are in town. Always nice when they visit. I get doted on and who doesn't love that? They usually refurbish my toilet paper supply. And this time I got a drill! I have my own drill now. So all you local pals, if you need some drilling done call me!

We went to the grocery store where I saw a Grapple. A Grapple is an apple that tastes like a grape. It has convinced me that the horticulturists responsible for our fresh produce supply have entirely too much time on their hands. Whose genius idea was that anyway? Somebody actually sat down and thought, "What if an apple tasted exactly like a grape?" Not only did they sit down and think about it, they made it happen. Let me just say that if I want something that tastes like a grape, I'm going to buy grapes. That would cause serious texture flavor confusion for me otherwise and my brain is confused enough without biting into an Grapple. Not only that, I take serious issue with the name "Grapple". I know what they are aiming for, but it strikes too similar a resemblance to the word "grope" in my mind. I won't tell where that leads my mind next, but I think you get the picture and experiencing fruit should have its limits. That stated, if you like living on the edge when it comes to your fruit, may I suggest a Grapple? I have no desire to try it, but it might actually take your world by storm.

At Home in the Desert

I went home this past week--home being Carlsbad. It was Spring Break here, so I took advantage of the opportunity to get the heck out of Dodge! If you’ve never been to Carlsbad, it’s a smaller town in the desert in southern New Mexico along the Pecos River. When I got back from the mission field, my experiences with reverse-cultureshock and re-entry caused me a significant amount of frustration with the place where I grew up. I haven’t gone home much over the years as a result. Time is a great mellowing agent and my attitude is changing. I’m finding Carlsbad more intriguing these days, as well as a place to appreciate.


I took my dogs with me, an interesting adventure in and of itself. Picture if you will two dogs, one a Golden Retriever and the other making up for what she lacks in size with a frightening energy (I like to think it’s a zeal for the Lord), and a little white, 2-door Honda Civic. They behaved very well, though, and I think they even had fun.


My parents, as most of you know, are the sweetest people in the world. I spent the time there between going out with my dad to his house projects and helping my mom use her computer. When I went last year, they didn’t have their VCR hooked up and it still wasn’t this year. I helped with that also and was somewhat amused by the fact that there was a time when they knew how to hook everything up and I didn’t. What was even more amusing was Dad and I successfully hooked up the VCR using instructions for a completely different machine. One of the really high points of my visit was having dinner with Dad at Pizza Inn. I love Pizza Inn. They make fantastic dessert pizzas that can’t be found anywhere else.


I took Sophie for a walk every morning that we were there. The neighborhood has changed significantly since my family moved there 25 years ago. The large “vacant lot” near our house is completely developed with houses. The kids of the neighborhood used to ride our bikes there. The trees are bigger and the street seems narrower than they did to my 6 year-old eyes. I’m glad the area is developing. I wouldn’t want my parents living in a rundown neighborhood. And not everything has changed. Even though the orignial Walmart is now a Sutherlands and the new one is a Super Walmart practically in the next lot, it’s still the place to run into everyone. In a single visit, I saw about 5 people I went to high school with and as many older folk I remember. I still remember when they put the basketball court in over at the park 2 blocks over from my house. It was there I carved my eternal love for Dave Oakley in stone . . . literally. In my defense, I was 11 or 12. My eternal love for him gave way to eternal love for many other boys in the years to come. While nothing lasts forever, unfortunately I think my declaration is going to be where it is for a very long time.


Carlsbad is a really beautiful town. I do love the desert where I spent my childhood and I will leave you with more pictures from the trip.

Me and mom after her Red Hat Society Dinner.


My sweet Daddy.


He insisted on buying me this-it's ACTUALLY called a "Pecan PICKER UP-ER"!


Me and Sophie

Dad, plum tuckered out.

Desert sunset.

The Thing About Weddings

I grew up loving weddings. They were so fun! Pretty dresses like in a fairytale, pledges and tokens of eternal love, those cream cheese mints, and CAKE!!!! What's not to love about weddings? As the years have gone by all that stuff has only gotten better. Unfortunately, my childhood fervor for weddings has waned in the past decade or so. They tend to have the same effect on me as birthdays--I'm not getting any younger . . . Am I making the right choices with my life? . . . Will I always be a wedding guest and never a bride? . . . This cake is so good!. . . Am I destined to be alone? I also get very frustrated at weddings because when I fantasize about my own, certain songs come to mind that I'd like to have. Yet sure as the sun rises in the east, the next wedding I attend has stolen my songs. Yes, stolen them. I can't help it if I want to be a little different from everyone else. I acknowledge that it's virtually impossible for me to have a song in my wedding that no one has used before me, but you can't blame a girl for dreaming. (Don't worry, Flee, I've stopped dreaming about using music from "The Lion King", apparently no one wants to steal that one!)

My worst wedding experience was the wedding of a dear friend. It was in the my home congregation back in NM many years ago. The whole course of the wedding and preparations, everybody who'd ever known me kept smiling and raising their eyebrows at me saying things like "You're next!" "You're day is coming!" "You're going to find someone soon!" . . . Images of knocking each of them upside the head with songbooks kept flashing through my mind as I smiled and politely endured these comments, even the sweet old ladies. Having been recently thwarted in love, mercy was a virtue that was difficult for me to come by. I don't think these well-meaning, good-hearted folks realize how irritating it is for a single girl to hear those things. (I know not all single gals feel that way, but I know a few who do.) Speaking as one that does, I already feel "love-impaired", defective, & beyond hope. I don't need to be reminded of it by all the people who watched me grow up. I haven't even gotten to the worse part of this experience, which was the tossing of the bouquet. Yes, that time-honored tradition that I started dreading in my late teens. It wasn't a game anymore. It had become the single girl's only hope for a future at the altar. My stomach churns just thinking about the possibility of having to participate in one. At this wedding, though, I had no choice and nowhere to hide. As I stood there, surrounded by a few strangers and a bunch of young girls whom I had counseled at church camp, time suddenly stood still. The moment had arrived and all I wanted to do was get it over with, get home, and into a comfortable pair of shoes. It was in that moment that all those young girls turned their eyes on me, then to one another and almost in unison began to shout, "Let Lisa catch it!! Let Lisa catch it!!!" The large group of them parted like the Red Sea and left me standing there in the middle of the room in utter mortification. Oh for the earth to open and swallow me up! And I still didn't catch the thing. I know in my heart that catching the bouquet signifies nothing, except the much underestimated female capacity for violence. But I can't help but think, "God, please, throw me a bone!"

These days being single isn't the horror I always thought it to be. I'm not saying it's easy or that I don't still long for a mate. However, I've been single pretty much my whole life and spent most of my 20's thinking I'd shrivel up an die if I didn't marry by the time I was 30. I'm neither dead, nor shriveled and no worse for the wear, so what was all the fuss about? I just don't know. I must say, though, that God has worked on me to bring me to this place. He put wonderful people in my life, like Sarah, who showed me that being single was something embrace and celebrate. Even more recently He has sparked a renewal within me. I'm pursuing my relationship with Him more than I have in a long time & I'm really thankful for that. Why did I ever let it stagnate? I know that He's never left me and I have never stopped praying, but I have really missed God! Know what I mean?

I went to another wedding of another dear friend this past weekend. I re-connected with old friends who've long left Lubbock. It was WONDERFUL! I still had some pangs from the usual nagging questions, but I had more fun than I've had in a long time at a wedding. My compliments to the bride, who chose not subject her single friends to the anxiety-producing tradition of the bouquet toss. Clearly she understands the woes of that love-lorn crowd, whether we have chosen our states or not. Besides, not having to worry about that dreaded moment in the celebration made it much easier to enjoy the cake. And it was GOOD!!!

The Dog Days of Winter: The Tempestuous Travails of the Mad Cow, the REAL Mad Cow

On a blustery, dusty day, the Mad Cow seeks shelter in the house of a local neighborhood.

Not a happy camper!

Thinking she is safe and way too concerned about the weather, she finds herself in the clutches of the Golden Bone Grinder! AIEEEEE!!!!


As if that's not bad enough, the Black Jaws of Death arrive to stake her claim on the Mad Cow.

A great battle ensues for domination . . .

Whisked to the lair of the Black Jaws of Death, the Mad Cow finds her cries for help muffled by a great muddy paw.

A horn is lost in the struggle

Then another! Then an ear!

Trapped, the Mad Cow feels her life-force being sucked out by the Black Jaws of Death!

The Golden Bone Grinder back for more Mad Cow!

The Mad Cow is fighting furiously for what's left of her life in the cruel, unrelenting possession of the Golden Bone Grinder, when the Disemboweled Croc approaches to finish her off. She places a desperate hoof on the Croc's snout, pinning his jaws shut!

Alas, her efforts are futile . . .

All that remains of the Real Mad Cow . . .

R.I.P.

The Dog Days of Winter: Death of a Catburglar

It was just another job for the Catburglar--break in, strip the place clean, get out . . .


. . . he had prepared for the possibilty of guard dogs, but not the Black Jaws of Death!

She was brutal and ruthless!


Just when he thought all hope was lost . . .

. . . he realized there was more to lose.


Suddenly flippin' burgers doesn't seem like such a poor career choice . . .


The Catburglar discovers and takes comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only fool to enter this house.


However, it's hard to find true solace in the company of a crocodile, especially when it's trying to eat you as a last meal.


Of course, since the croc was disembowelled, the Catburglar passed right through unscathed . . . well, all things considered, anyway. Deflated and all but dismembered, the Catburglar breathes his last.