Female in Motion

The Hubster celebrated his birthday on Saturday with a small party at home. It was a casual affair with just a handful of family in attendance. We ordered some food and a cake, so I didn't spend the day working in the kitchen. Instead, I spent the day obsessing over cleaning the house. Ugh! I'm a Christ-Follower, but I'm far from perfect. That means that I have succeeded in some personal struggles and miserably failed in others. I care a lot about how others perceive me and my home, which is a reflection of me. Will it look nice, will they have a good time...am I good enough? Ouch, that's the sore spot. It shouldn't matter to me whether others care or not. I don't have to be the best. Besides, family has to love you, regardless of how stinky your house is! Where does this Martha Mentality come from? Luke 10:38-42 (KJV) 38 Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house. 39 A...

Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attack on America. The Hubster and I were in Dallas, visiting our kids. In some ways, it seems like 9/11 was a long time ago, and in other ways, the pain feels fresh. Ten years ago, it was an ordinary day. I had just returned from a workout at Curves and showered. My daughters were at school. The Hubster was at work. I turned on the TV to catch the news while I brushed my teeth...and the world stopped. I was surprised to hear President Obama quote Psalm 46 in his speech at Ground Zero yesterday. It has always been one of my favorite scriptures and I turn to it often for comfort. Psalm 46:1-3 (KJV) 1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 2 Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; 3 Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. The United States has ch...

My brother and I spent most summer afternoons at the Derby swimming pool when I was a kid. After I turned 9, Mom let us ride our bikes the six blocks. From June to September, we got dark as fudge brownies with chlorine-bleached hair. It was a common look among our Derby contemporaries. Summer seemed to stretch out in front of us, an endless ribbon of fun and freedom. Mornings were spent in household chores and helping with freezing and canning produce, then we got our summer pool passes, changed into well-worn swimsuits, hopped on our Schwinns and headed out to the local pool. Our friends would meet us there to play Marco Polo, Motorboat and avoid the big boys that constantly tried to dunk us. After returning home one afternoon, exhausted and water-wrinkled, Mom told us to hurry and get cleaned up. She had a surprise! My grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins were coming over for dinner. I quickly showered and jumped into shorts and a t-shirt. Walking down the hall from my bedroom, I co...