I'm a Prayer Wimp

^{Matthew 28:18} Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, ²⁰ and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

Between Church and doctor visits both of which are at least 30 minutes away,  I have found driving is a space of quiet time for me.  Well not exactly quiet.  For I love to slide a Lincoln Brewster, Newsboys, Casting Crowns or various other worship leaders into the CD.  I crank it up and sing my heart out in worship.  Sometimes as I sing along, I can barely choke out the words because I have been  moved so thoroughly.   

I also take that time to pray. Of course because I'm driving, I keep my eyes open.  It usually goes something like...Father God, I praise your for your goodness.  I thank you for your salvation and for the grace and mercy you gave to me.  I praise you for who you are, I thank you for loving me.  Give me the strength and power to do your will.  I want to be your hands and feet Lord, give me wisdom on what that looks like.  then something about my husband  blah blah, bless him Lord....something about the kids...blah blah..protect and keep them Lord.  Then something about women in my Bible study group...any special requests. and then a good ole quiet Amen.  And I feel good about myself, because I just spent time with the Lord in prayer.  

I have prayed like that pretty much all my life.  I had a list written down and everything.  I was satisfied that God was listening. Perhaps I just need to crank up the volume in my prayer life so He could hear me better.  


I grew up in a legalistic church that had rules on how you prayed.  You could pray silently.  You could pray out loud.  But it should always be with eyes scrunched tightly, no one looking around and on your knees.  If you weren't on your knees, God wasn't listening.  Now I know God doesn't have rules on how you approach him, it was just that my church did.

Over the last several years I have made a concerted effort to incorporate prayer into my life.  I had been proud of myself for making the effort.  I have been praying that God would help me grow in the department of prayer. 

Within church circles, we have people we refer to as "prayer warriors."  They are people whom we know that has ability to go to God and faithfully pray.  And they will PRAY sisters!  If you have attended churches for very long, there is undoubtedly some saint  that you know without a doubt is a prayer warrior.  These are not people who pray "God bless sister Mary.  She has a cold.  God bless Pastor, Lord.  And while you're at it, go ahead and bless his wife Lord, cuz you know married to him, she needs another dose of grace (Sorry Jason, just had to add it.) 

I have heard the prayers of a warrior before and I have been astounded.  When these warriors pray, their prayers do not rise up to heaven.  No my friends, Heaven comes down to the Warrior.  I have heard prayers that gave me goosebumps and you KNEW you were in the presence of something real, and something powerful.  You are probably picturing someone right now. You know they are a warrior, even if you personally have never heard them pray out loud.  

There is a couple in our church, that I know they are both prayer warriors.  They do not shout their prayers.  They do not seem to be extraordinary at all.  But when they pray....things happen.  Relationships get mended, situations change and the church body grows.   

I also recall a prayer warrior from my childhood,  Mrs. Houston.  I have no clue what her first name was...she was Mrs. or Sister Houston.  She as old as dirt and on the chunky side.  She wore a hat to church even when most women had stopped the practice.  She always had a hankie.  And when the pastor called on Mrs. Houston to pray, my sisters and I would roll our eyes.  We might as well get comfortable down here on our knees, as we are going to be down here for a while.  I did not appreciate Mrs. Houston as a child.  

Mrs. Houston prayed loud.  And when she got really cranked up, she would begin to "whoop!"  She got to the point she could no longer actually pray.  But she would wave that hankie in the air, shouting "Glory!  Thank You Lord for your Faithfulness.  WHOOO!  Glory!  Whoo!  Glory be to God."  she went through all the praises and exultations. 

Mrs. Houston is gone now, a good many years.  I know she is waving her hankie, still shouting "Glory!" and whoopin' it up in heaven.  I did not realize what an honor it was to be there when Mrs. Houston prayed.  Heaven came down when she prayed.

Mrs. Houston and the other couple I mentioned are as different as night and day.  Nothing similar in the style, the voice, the volume or even the content.   Yet, I know without a doubt that they are prayer WARRIORS.  So I have been twisting around this question in my mind.  How do I become a prayer warrior?  Well...you have to start praying and that's where I started.  And I thought I was off to a good start.

Then I heard this little guy.  

He showed up on my facebook wall a couple months ago.  And whether you approve or don't approve....This young man flipped my apple cart.  After hearing him BESEECHING Heaven, with Decrees and Declarations...my jaw hit the floor.  (OK I did kind of giggle when he reached the part about Multi Million dollar strategies.  But I was impressed all the same.)  In fact I was humbled, totally wiped out at the knees by this little fellow's prayer.

By the time this five year old finished his prayers and led them in a moment of praise.  I was ashamed.  

I am such a prayer wimp 

I have NEVER approached the Throne of Grace with the boldness that this child displayed.  I don't care to discuss if you approve of his prayer or not, he had the faith and boldness to raise up his voice to the Heavens and he EXPECTED to hear some answers back.  He was CERTAIN that God was listening.  I'm sure the fact that this happens to be TD Jakes church has something to do with the child's ability to pray.  For the handful of years he has been alive, I'm sure he has heard some warriors pray.  He's had these messages lived out in front of him.

It rocked me on my heels honestly.  I have spent some time chewing on the concept that I couldn't pray like this 5 year old child!  That is incredibly humbling to admit to anyone.   I do not know how to pray like a warrior.  This child did a better job than I do.  Sometimes I play the clip again just to remind myself of how I want to pray.

What I do believe is that I don't have to be in any particular place to pray like a warrior.  I don't believe that I have to be in any certain posture.  I don't even believe that you have a squeeze your eyes tightly shut.  I know that I can meet with God at any place, any time and anywhere.  But I just don't feel the power in my prayer that I heard in this little guy's prayer.  I'm not giving any answers here, I'm confessing a weakness. 

I suspect that this might have something to do with this old problem that I have with God.  He's working on it with me, and if you have read some past posts, you will recognize my problem.  I struggle with several things concerning prayer.

There is a liar who tells me that God is not interested in my prayer.

The same liar tells me that God does not hear my prayer.

That irritating liar tells me that my prayer accomplish nothing.

It's the same liar that tells me that I'm not worthy to speak to God, that God doesn't like me very much. So the final lie...

Who do I think I am to think I could EVER be a prayer warrior.  

There is a LIAR who tells me that God is not interested in my prayer.

Philippians 4:5-7 ⁵ Let your graciousness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. ⁶ Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which surpasses every thought, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.   (HCSB)

The same LIAR tells me that God does not hear my prayer.

Psalm 66:18-20  18 If I had been aware of malice in my heart,the Lord would not have listened.19 However, God has listened;He has paid attention to the sound of my prayer.20 May God be praised!He has not turned away my prayer nor turned His faithful love from me. (HCSB)

That irritating LIAR tells me that my prayer accomplish nothing.

^{James 5:13} Is anyone among you suffering? He should pray. Is anyone cheerful? He should sing praises. ¹⁴ Is anyone among you sick? He should call for the elders of the church, and they should pray over him after anointing him with olive oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵ The prayer of faith will save the sick person, and the Lord will restore him to health; if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven. ¹⁶ Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The urgent request of a righteous person is very powerful in its effect.  (HCSB)

It's the same LIAR that tells me that I'm not worthy to speak to God, that God doesn't like me very much. 

1 John 4:9-10 ⁹ God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent His One and Only Son into the world so that we might live through Him. ¹⁰ Love consists in this: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins.  (HCSB)

Who do I think I am to think I could EVER be a prayer warrior. 

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18  16 Rejoice always!  17 Pray constantly.  18 Give thanks in everything, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

Romans 8:26  ²⁶ In the same way the Spirit also joins to help in our weakness, because we do not know what to pray for as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with unspoken groanings.  (HCSB)

Who am I to think God cares or wants my prayers?

1 John 3:1-2  ¹ Look at how great a love the Father has given us that we should be called God’s children. And we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it didn't know Him. ² Dear friends, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet been revealed. We know that when He appears, we will be like Him because we will see Him as He is. (HCSB)

Who am I?

^{Romans 8:14} All those led by God’s Spirit are God’s sons.¹⁵ For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father!” ¹⁶ The Spirit Himself testifies together with our spirit that we are God’s children, ¹⁷ and if children, also heirs —heirs of God and coheirs with Christ—seeing that we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him.  (HCSB)

I am God's adopted kid!

Who is the LIAR?  

Ephesians 6:11-13  ¹¹ Put on the full armor of God so that you can stand against the tactics of the Devil. ¹² For our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the world powers of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavens. ¹³ This is why you must take up the full armor of God, so that you may be able to resist in the evil day, and having prepared everything, to take your stand.  (HCSB)

How do I combat the LIAR?

2 Timothy 3:15-17 15 and you know that from childhood you have known the sacred Scriptures, which are able to give you wisdom for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. 16 All Scripture is inspired by God and is profitable for teaching, for rebuking, for correcting, for training in righteousness, 17 so that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work. (HCSB)

Hit 'em with your best weapon!

^{Hebrews 4:14} Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. ¹⁵ For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. ¹⁶ Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

I have decided the first thing I have to do is pray more often.

I'm going through rehab right now for a big surgery I will have next fall.  Over and over, the PT tell me that in order for a weak muscle to become strong, it has to be exercised.  Regular exercise builds strength.  "The secret to a good reconstruction is good rehabilitation."  I need to rehabilitate my prayer life.

I have to pray with the confidence, I am God's child and He's anxious to hear what I have to say.   I can learn to access the authority given to me BY Christ that I can come with Confidence before Him in prayer.  Boldly without hesitation or shame, I have the same right to be there as Christ because He shared His inheritance with me  

In Him and through faith in Him we may approach God with freedom and confidence.

^{Eph 3:12} 

So I'm on a journey learning to be a prayer warrior instead of a prayer wimp. I do not know if I will ever "decree and declare".  But I want to pray prayers that changes lives and the world around me.  I want to pray Heaven down upon this wannabe warrior.  I trust He will grow me into the kind of warrior HE wants me to be.   

In the meantime I leave you with Michael Jr.  He has prayer issues as well.  I can relate.

The "Courtesy Flush"

Ok. Ladies today I broach a topic that is sensitive in nature. In fact if you are of a delicate constitution, it would be best if you just skip this and move on down and read another topic that has absolutely nothing offensive in it.

 Today while shopping in Columbia, I had a abso-freakin-lutely funny moment...in the ladies room (again) of all places.

I shall speak to you on the topic of "the courtesy flush". I had headed to the Ladies room at the Wal-Mart. Right in front of me was an elderly lady in just as big a hurry. She was dressed, I mean dressed!  She was wearing a skirt and blouse set, nylons and short heels. Makeup and hair was not out of place. She was a PROPER lady! This woman was tiny. 5 feet and maybe 100 lbs.

We made our way to our "stations" and I guess you could say I was in the process of "relieving" myself when from the stall next to me came this EXPLOSION of sound. It wouldn't have been so bad but those bathroom walls - sound just bounces around.  
I raised my eyebrows but who's kidding who...we all know what we use bathrooms for. But what got me giggling was this prim and proper elderly voice that said, "Oh gracious me....pardon me please." I'm trying not to laugh as I answered, "No problem."

Just seconds later, there was another explosion, this sounded a little more solid and she was beside herself. "Oh excuse me! I'm so sorry." I answered again, "it's ok, Ma'am. This is what bathrooms are for."

And you know there was yet another eruption of noise from the next stall and I think she was near tears when she told me, "I do so apologize. If I had known I would do this, I would have insisted that my husband take me home! I am so embarrassed. But you see I have been so…ummm bound up, that it never occurred to me that I would have a MOVEMENT."

I'm thinking yep, ma'am that sounded like you moved the whole stall over 10 inches. Since I'm having this very intimate conversation with this elderly lady between the stalls, I offered her this advice.

"Ma'am, excuse me if I am out of place for suggesting this. Are you familiar with the "courtesy flush?"

She said "No, I'm not." (Maybe you have to be prior military to know about it.) So I explained...well when you go into a public restroom and you are not alone, the idea is that you flush immediately so your neighbors aren't offended. When I know that I need to have a 'movement' as you said, (or should one sneak up on me like hers did), I start flushing immediately and keep flushing so I can make as much noise as I need to, in order to finish the job."

There was a moment of silence and then she cackled. "Child (she called me child lol) I have lived 88 years and no one on the face of the earth as ever explained such a thing to me." So she flushed...three times in a row.

My business was done so I went to the sink to wash my hands, when this little white haired lady came...slinking out. Her cheeks were bright red and she kind of sheepishly glanced at me. "Thank you for that tidbit of information Miss." she said after she cleared her throat a couple times. 

So, you HAVE to know that my Rosey wanted to drop down on the floor and roll, holding my gut laughing not only at the situation, but the conversation as well. I mean seriously, I could not get the image of the English Queen Mother out of my mind, and having THIS conversation!?! But it WAS a bathroom floor after all. 

So I smiled at her and told her, "Not a problem, I imagine you will be much more comfortable doing the rest of your shopping." 

She smiled at me and said "I should HOPE so." And we walked out, I climbed aboard my motor cart. She walked over to an elderly man sitting on the bench. He stood as she came and took the cart. I heard her asking him, "Arnie? Do you know what a courtesy flush is?"

Bwa ha ha ha ha.......

Yes, it is I, the Queen of the Feet

I confess to having a thing for feet.  I do although I am quick to admit that I find nothing erotic about feet. When people have their feet uncovered it's the first thing I note about someone.  If it's winter, it's their hands.  Some people notice the eyes or a smile.  I'm looking for well-manicured hands, and well cared for feet.

I am the self-appointed judge of the feet....both fair and foul.

Feet were all created perfectly.  I have proof.

Admit it.  You want to kiss these little toes.   No one is immune to the adorable nature of baby feet.  No one will hesitate to scoop up the little piggys to admire their cuteness, nor do we give second thought to bring those toes to our lips to kiss or to blow raspberries against the soles of giggly digits.

These 4 year old toes are adorable.

These little 5 year old toes are just too cute

Little girls after my own heart.  Loving the polish Miss Rachel and Miss Becca.

Some things about our feet are simply up to our DNA. I do not hold against you those things that you inherit.  Whether you have a super long big toe, or itsy bitsy toes, I chalk it up to your family genetics.  I do not care if you have a weird third toe, short toes or a wide foot.   I have a dear friend with the cutest stubby little toes.  But when her polish chips, Rosey no longer holds her friend's toes in high esteem.  People tell me all the time to not look at their feet, because they have ugly feet. If you have a weird long toe or one that is different, that's just genetics.  My beef is with the people who don't take CARE of their feet.  When I have friends and family who do not take care of their feet and I call them on it.  My closest friends and I laugh over my thing about feet.  And they don't think I notice when they promptly slide their feet under their chairs.  :)  Makes me wonder what's going on under those socks and shoes.

Not even cute bluebird tats can disguise the nasty toes here.
Fix the polish sweetie.  This is "white trash" polish.
You can do better than this.  I detest this on fingernails as well.
It's either polish or no polish.  Chipped, chewed or worn
off polish is NEVER the correct answer.

Seriously?  Trim those nails.

There's so much wrong with this photo, ewwww
those heels need to be scrubbed... for a year! and
I'm not talking about the shoes.

When the feet go for an undetermined time without proper care, you develop what I refer to as "Hobbit foot".  Rosey had a major and devastating fall back in 2002.  She herniated a disc in her back that grabbed and tore a nerve.  It paralyzed her foot so she was unable to move her toes or lift her foot.  In addition she tore the ACL and LCL ligaments in her knee.  The Physical therapist was impressed with how quickly Rosey rehabbed the knee so it would fully bend.  

The secret was "Hobbit Feet.  Yes...in those 3 months it took me to be able to reach the feet, I had built up so many layers of dead skin that I had Hobbit foot.  I could not rest in my efforts to bend my knee and bring the feet up so I could rid myself of the dreaded ugly hobbit feet.  Seriously did you not notice the feet on the hobbit people in the Lord of the Rings Triology?  Mine were not that hairy. But they were that crusty. ewwwww

I really don't have anything specific about these feet to share.  I was just dazzled by these shoes.  Wouldn't catch me wearing them, but I think they are stunning.

  I think feet are amazing.  And everyone knows when your feet hurt, you hurt all over.  Feet are important!  Take care of them.  These feet are of different sizes and shapes.  They are here as examples of perfectly fine and fair tootsies despite the shapes of the foot.

Toes do not have to be polished for feet to be judged "nice".
 They must have trimmed toenails and smooth heels,
and all around smooth skin.

Cute

Absolutely adorable and I would stop her to tell her so.

These toes are near and dear to me...I'm quite
attached to them you might say.  You will note that
there is plenty of sole left between the end of the toes.
  They were polished with a purple polish with
purple sparkles that as it turned out, required
 a chisel and a dremel tool to remove.

I have been known to stop complete strangers in the mall or in the checkout line to tell them they have beautiful feet, an amazing pedicure or the smoothest heels I have seen in such a long time.  Poor Mr. Rosey just about has a stroke when I do such a thing.  "What is wrong with you?  Why do you have to comment on a stranger's feet?"  He will hiss at me.  

I'm totally innocent here.  I comment because obviously someone took time to purposely make their feet look nice.  I would complement you on your earrings or your hair if those were the things that garnered my notice.  If you put your feet out there uncovered, Rosey will notice them.  And if you have done a good job, she needs to let you know your effort was noted thus your time was worth it.  Granted most of them laugh and look at me as if I've lost my mind, but I am confident that I have made society a better place for feet.

DNA has a lot to do with the appearance of our feet.  It determines the size, the shape, the length of our toes, even the shape of our toenails.  Unfortunately my DNA put hair on my toes and they are somewhat on the long side.  I started trimming toe hair about the same time I started shaving my legs.  I inherited my toes from my dad.  I can move my toes around, and pinch someone.  In our family we have call them "monkey toes".  My husband calls them weird and creepy.  He thinks that toes are not supposed to move like mine.  But having monkey toes is a useful trait.  

It was exceptional good fortune to have monkey toes when my son was in his "Lego" years.  I rescued many a cube from the vacuum with them.

I do restrain myself from approaching THOSE people, in public.  I have not walked up to a stranger *yet anyway* to announce...they have been awarded a spot on Rosey's Grody Foot Alert.  But I don't share that info with them.  No need to embarrass a stranger or put Mr. Rosey in a position of having to defend me should someone take SERIOUS offense to my award. I do not judge feet on their shape, or oddities.  But on the grooming and condition of the skin.

Heels so dry and cracked they are starting to fissure.

I have also not walked up to anyone asking them to take off their shoes so I might inspect their feet.  But if you put the feet out there...you are putting them out there for comment.  If I know you well, I may scold you for letting them fall into such a disreputable condition.  :)

 You may recall the Summer Grooming Pledge....

• I promise to always wear sandals that fit.
• My toes will not hang over and touch the ground, nor will my heels spill over the backs. And the sides and tops of my feet will not pudge out between the straps.
• I will go polish-free or vow to keep the polish fresh, intact and chip-free. I will not cheat and just touch up my big toe.
• I will sand down any mounds of skin before they turn hard and yellow.
• I will shave the hairs off my big toe.
• I won't wear pantyhose even if my misinformed girlfriend, coworker, mother, sister tells me the toe seam really will stay under my toes if I tuck it the real good. (NOTE: Sandalfoot pantyhose are acceptable :-))
• If a strap breaks, I won't duct-tape, pin, glue or tuck it back into place hoping it will stay put. I will get my shoe fixed or toss it.
• I will not live in corn denial, rather I will lean on my good friend Dr. Scholls if my feet need him.
• I will resist the urge to buy jelly shoes at Payless for the low, low price of $4.99 even if my feet are small enough to fit into the kids' sizes. This is out of concern for my safety, and the safety of others. No one can walk properly when standing in a pool of sweat and I would hate to take someone down with me as I fall and break my ankle.  
• Should I fail in the immediate preceding pledge and purchase jelly shoes, I resolve to ever remove my shoes with other's in the immediate area. When people comment about a smell of sweaty feet I resolve to throw my jellies away regardless of what cute color they may be.
• I will take my toe ring off toward the end of the day if my toes swell and begin to look like Vienna sausages.

So assemble your implements.  Remember to grab a couple hand size towels.  If you have polish on the toes remove it with cotton swaps and polish remover.  If you use a polish with glitter in them it's going to take a little while to remove all the old polish.  You might want to borrow someones sander.


I start out filling this huge white plastic bowl with warm/hot water.  It's probably 2 ft across.  I pop in couple of those pink fizzle tablets.  These came from Mary Kay and they make your skin soft.  But similar fizzles can be purchased at Sally's Beauty Supply.  Both feet go in and it's time to surf the web.  After 20 minutes or so, I lift out one foot, dry it and then trim down the toenails. *Diabetics can have their toenails cut by the doctor, otherwise use extreme caution clipping your own* Back into the bath and repeat with the other foot.

Add to the water to soften feet

Couldn't find my orange stick to photograph so I grabbed
the plastic one.  Same use, push back the cuticles and scrub any
grime out from around and under the nails.

The white paddle was purchased from Sally's and is a better "exfoliator" than Dr. Scholl's.  I use this to scrub dead skin off the heel, sides and bottom of the foot.  Flip it over to use the smoothing side on the stop of the foot.  Or briskly rub the top with a dry towel.  Often that is enough to remove the buildup of dead skin on the top of the foot.
Don't forget the toes...rub the towel briskly over and between them.  Don't gag when you look at the towel again.  Though it shouldn't have to be said, it does.  If your feet sting or hurt when you file at them, STOP filing.  You can file the skin raw if you don't pay attention.

The metal file is used only on the heel area when I need to file down stubborn callous' or if it's been awhile.  NEVER use the metal files on the top of the foot.  I pay WAY more attention to this step than any salon I've ever been in.  I use on average about 3 different foot files to keep my feet pampered...including the use of a ped egg and never use any form of razor on the feet.                                                            

I use that worn pink file to buff the tops of the nail.  I have weird bumps and ridges that this smooths away.  It gives a uniform surface for the polish.

Now to polish.  Some people will use a q-tip to put Vaseline on the skin around the toenail  It helps keep polish off the skin.  I use the base coat on the nail...this one is called "Nail Gripper"  I put 2 layers of color, and top with 2 layers of the pink sparkle.  
Finish with a topping of Oh So Wet.  It's a super shiny top coat.  Yes.  It IS 5 layers of polish.  My pedicures do not rub away.

This is a portion of my "tool kit".  Truth is I also have a whole other
bin of polishes and nail stuff. *embarrassed*

It's not a quick job.  If I need it done quickly I go to a salon.  I find a chick flick is a great time to work on my feet.  When the polishes are dry, remove the vaseline or rub it in.  Then smooth a good body cream into the foot and pull on thick socks.  If you REALLY want to give your feet the salon treatment...pull bread sacks over your feet and let them marinate in the cream for a while.  But it's nearly impossible to walk with the plastic on the feet.  If you are like me and very likely have been swigging sweet tea while doing all this, you need to be prepared to run to the bathroom....to lose the tea so to speak.  ;)

Finally to quote Jeff Foxworthy

If your toenails are 4 different colors and you NOT wearing polishes?  Just say NO to sandals!

A family Affair - Remember the chickens?

It was one of those wickedly hot days.  You know the kind that just makes ya feel a little bit crazy?  Four girls flopped in various positions around the homestead, their noses stuck in books.  At the moment they were blissfully unaware of the trauma that awaited them.

The parents of these four girls had left on an errand earlier in day without explanation.  With no adult there to assign new chores, the girls took pleasure in their leisure.  One in front of a fan, another under the tree, another one in the barn curled up with various kittens and another sprawled across her bed.  It was a peaceful moment.

Until the parents arrived home.  Suddenly the hum of serenity was destroyed by a cacophony of sound unfamiliar to these girls.  Each jumped up from their various positions and ran to the back door to be greeted with...chickens.  Loud, cackling, clucking chickens boxed up in various boxes, valiantly poking their heads up through the corners of the boxes.  Just a few minutes more and they might have a chance at escape.

The youngest girl about age 7, jumped and clapped her hands, "Oh goody," she exclaimed, "we're going to have chickens!"  The second sister was a little more suspicious and asked, "Where are we keeping the chickens?"  The first sister looked warily at the hens and answered "In the freezer, I suspect." 

Mom and dad walked into the kitchen and set their two largest pots, old sterilizing pots in fact atop the stove and turned the burners on high.  "Yell out to the barn when that water starts a rapid boil."  And with that he grabbed a few boxes of chickens and made haste to the barn.  The mother came inside, instructed the girls to put their hair up in ponytails, and put on their grubbiest work clothes.  "You are going to get messy," she added.

All four girls shuffled to their bedrooms, with their hearts in their throats.  Despite the fact that neither parent actually SAID what was going to happen to the chickens, they all knew.  This was a chore they had never had to do before.  It was not one they looked forward to.  

As they reentered the now steamy kitchen, they heard their mother call out to the barn, "The water's boiling now."  Mom had laid vinyl tablecloths on the floor as well as various plastic bags.  Looking to the youngest daughter, she pointed to the roll of trash bags "Your job will be to give your sisters an empty trash bag and take the full ones and put them in the fire barrel.  The youngest gulped and nervously asked, "What are they putting in the bags momma?"  

"Feathers," she answered, to which the four girls groaned and the youngest shuddered, "moooom, do we have to do that?  Can't we just keep the feathers on the chickens where they belong?"

Sister three couldn't stand it, and snapped at the youngest, "You dummy, the chickens are gonna be dead.  They won't need the feathers."  

"Dead?" and the youngest began to cry, running to her mother and throwing her arms around her waist, "Not dead, please not dead."  Her mother soothed her hand over the youngest hair and answered.  "I know this is not fun.  In fact it's nasty.  I know it's boiling hot in here and we are all going to be miserable and this might make feel us sick.  But this is the cheapest way to have chicken for meals...to buy them and slaughter them yourself.  Your father will come in soon, with dead chickens.   He's taken all their insides out, and bled them out as much as possible.  We will drop them into the pots for just a few seconds.  I will take the long tongs and pull each chicken out of the water and give one to each of you older three girls.  Start grabbing feathers by the handfuls and dump them in the plastic bags."

The four took their positions, and soon the father walked in with 4 headless chickens in his hands.  Those four girls looked on with horror and disgust as he dumped the first two in the pots and left the others in the sink and headed outside.  Mom stirred the pot and within seconds was plopping soppy wet chickens in front of each of the girls.  Chickens that only 10 minutes ago had been squawking, cackling and creating the ruckus in the back of the truck.

The girls did as they were told, and each reluctantly pulled feathers, dumping the feathers into the bags that the youngest would drag behind her as she grieved the deaths of the hens.  No one was very happy to be doing this.  It was the most wretched farm chore yet that they had been instructed to do.  And the hens kept coming.  They plucked and they picked and when mom declared the hen was plucked clean she took it and gave then a new soppy wet one.

The more they plucked the harder it became to ignore the fact these had been living creatures.  The three young pluckers did their job but with each pull of the feathers, more tears dripped off their faces.

About midway through this nasty process, the door burst open.  But it was not father, it was their favorite aunt.  "Hey, what's everyone doing?"  Sweeping her eyes around the room, seeing the boiling pots, the teary girls, the piles of chicken feathers and the pile of carcasses, she recognized the connections.  She told the girls, " Awww nuts, I always hated doing this job."  Not one to shy away, she wiggled a space between the girls and started sharing plucking stories with them, taking a hen to pluck while she talked.  

The girls perked up a bit but still could not get past the fact that these chickens were warm.  Not just from the pot, but because it had been alive just 10 minutes ago.  It was hard to ignore.  Soon, the girls were entertained by their aunt's stories and methodically pulling feathers.

Until the second sister turned her hen over and it groaned.  Within seconds of that groan, this sister picked the hen up screaming "It’s still alive!" and THREW it against the wall.  Their aunt fell over in a fit off giggles.  The wall was a nasty mess of blood and feather, running down the walls surface.  Between her gales of laughter she told them, "Well if it was alive, its surely dead now" as she pointed to the lifeless body broken on the floor at the bottom of the wall.  In its sudden impact with the solid wall, parts of the hen broke and were sticking out at odd angles.  Their aunt could barely speak through her giggles and soon the aunt, the girls and even the mother were holding their stomachs, laughing and gasping.  The aunt was claiming she was going to wet herself if they didn’t stop laughing.

Their father came in with the last batch of butchered hens but stopped abruptly in the doorway, perplexed by the laughter.  His last visit, he suffered through the sniffles, and teary glances.  He looked around, saw nothing to cause such hilarity, then shook his head and decided you just can’t define a female regardless of their age.  Mother finally caught her breath enough to say, "Girls, it can't be alive...it has no head!"  

"Or legs" added the first sister.  "Or wings" laughed the second sister.  Their mom explained the death moan...a dead creature can have air trapped in a cavity.  When the creature is moved and the air escapes it often sounds like a moan.  Then she told them to clean up the mess on the wall.  She guessed that chicken could be stewed for supper that night....to make chicken and dumplings.

They finished the plucking and once the butchering was over, dad came in to cut the chicken into pieces.  He sent the girls outside; and mother brewed up a pitcher of sweet tea and carried it out to them.  Sweet tea was a treat to these girls on the farm.  Milk and water was their staple, while tea was "for company".  Soda was just not an option.   Not because they had any objection to it.  The parents just felt funds should be spent on those items that nourish.  So the four girls eagerly clutched icy tall glasses of sweet tea and gulped them down as if it were an antidote for the experience they just had, hoping it would wash those images from their minds.  It didn't work.  Neither did the second or even the third glasses.

They would all remember plucking chickens the time one moaned and Becky threw it at the wall.  

And it was the last time the parents thought to butcher and pluck their own chickens.  They paid the farmer down the road for already butchered and plucked hens.  The girls would all agree, it was a bargain.

Hand over the Brownie *Warning: Estrogen Content*

*Estrogen content:  Those things pertaining only to women.  If you be male or someone who doesn't like discussing things purely female...like periods, breasts, nursing, childbirth...all estrogen topics.  You probably want to skip this one and wait for the next posting.  *waving bye bye*

On May 1^st, I returned to my plastic surgeon, who was impressed with the progress I had made over last 14 months concerning my skin, blood vessels and muscles.  Radiation burns and scars just flat out damage the GOOD stuff with the BAD.  It can continue to affect the tissue's ability to heal for up to a year after radiation is completed.  This is why he insists rad. patients wait a full year after the last day of radiation before beginning or completing reconstruction.  But as I said, he was so impressed with my skin; he promptly gave me a 60 cc expansion in the tissue expanders aka known as the "pucketts" after the plastic surgeon who placed them there.  I barely noted the expansion.  Might have been a little uncomfortable at times, but I completed my chores despite this expansion.

On the second expansion I was fine... right until I was not. I walked through the hospital and out to the parking lot, each step felt progressively painful. I was panting, not from exhaustion or heat but because each breath felt like my ribs were breaking.  I couldn't take a breath; I couldn't even stand totally upright because of the spasms in my rib cage.  Thankfully, we had made arrangements that day that "I" would drive my husband home from his work right across the street from said hospital.  I called him, still panting from PAIN, and with a short drive across the street, he immediately met me in the parking lot and took over the driving. He took me to dinner.  He took one look at me and knew he was either fixing dinner or buying it.  Sooo Cracker Barrel it was.  But oddly the next day I felt 80% better and mostly got my work done.  I even mowed a good portion of my lawn.

This week I had my THIRD 60 cc expansion.  Again initially the process was fine.  I could feel the saline going in and pushing against the walls.  But that part isn't really painful.  This time I had the forethought to arrange this visit to coincide with the time that my son gets off work.  He met me in the hospital and drove me home.  While he was here, he also mowed our back yard. (Thank you!)  

Until about bedtime, when the muscles across my chest, and under my arms started twitching, twanging, and twisting.  Even the non-radiated side got grouchy.   I suppose that’s a good thing, as it definitely meant parts of me were stretching.  But my ribs felt like they were being pulled from under my arm.  The muscles spasmed hysterically across my chest.  There was significant pain under the scar, and this is the first for scar pain.  Unfortunately it’s a good thing to have pain there, because my scar is adhered to the muscle under it.  The pain indicates it’s being pulled and stretched as well as the skin and muscle.  The obnoxious part is that the incision scar runs across the area where a nipple used to be.  So it feels like someone is PINCHING my nipple with a very large set of vice grips.  I want to yell at something or someone to let me loose but then remember, this is my reality.  

The image is all this

guy's fault!

That next morning, (Wed.)  lifting a cup to my lips, the lap top to my lap set off a symphony of pain that sounded forth from both sides of the foobs (false boobs - which I can't take credit for the word.  It's common in reconstruction circles.)  And mercy, don't sneeze in this condition!  I sneezed once and it felt like my rib cage split open and spewed alien babies all across the room. 

I'm relatively certain that I saw my stomach, lungs, spleen, heart, liver and pancreas fly across the room and like a rubber band - slap back into me.  I took every antihistamine in my medicine cabinet to prevent THAT from happening again.  So obviously I stayed pretty quiet through the day; reading was the only thing that didn't hurt.  I couldn't even walk without cradling the pucketts and praying that the sofa might magically appear in front of me.  I just felt yucky, achy and over tired, pain does that to you.

But yesterday was better than the day before, and today is better than yesterday.  Yesterday I could walk without pain.  I even made it to Wal-Mart last night.  (Yay, ME!) Today I can pick up the laptop without groaning.  I even managed to pick up clothes from the floor without wanting to scream OR curse.  The sensation of burning and stretching is still there but its better.  The ripping rib cage sensation is mostly gone. 

Before this week's visit with the plastic surgeon I learned from breastcancer.org that I had not been asking the right questions of my PS.  So Tuesday I went in with a list...what brand TE do I have?  Mentor.  What is their capacity?  560 cc's.  What am I currently filled to?  660!  ARE THEY GOING TO POP?  Horrors!  Pictures of bursting water balloons filled my mind. The resident chuckled and explained that there was no danger of rupture, they were made to overfill.  Then I asked what the largest implant I could have was.  She explained that in silicone, I could only go to an 800 cc. implant.  They don't make them larger.  But if I chose saline, I could go as high as I wanted.  (Again, with the bursting water balloon images!)  She spoke about the benefits of both and then the good doctor came in to do the fill.

Yesterday I hopped back on breastcancer.org because I wanted to know if other women who had radiation had successful implant surgeries.  The answer was yes.  I commented in one place how tight the skin on the radiated side was, much less the brick wall muscle behind it.  A fellow warrior popped up to tell me "Palmer's Cocoa Butter".  Liberally lubricate the skin (Boy, I have a thing for alliterations today.) several times a day.  Moisturized skin stretches better than dry skin and when I thought about it, that made sense.  So we went to the before mentioned Wal-Mart and I came home with my own pump bottle of Palmer's.  At bedtime, I pumped some into my hand and found it's more of a cream than a lotion.  It was thick, and smelled nice, rather chocolaty.

This morning, I awoke after a night of blessedly cool sleeping weather and smelled baking brownies.  I knew my husband left for work, but curiously I still smelled brownies.  In the empty kitchen, I still smelled brownies.  I was somewhat confused but decided I would dress for the day before continuing this brownie hunt like the brownie-hound within was insisting.  Brownies for breakfast sounded like a great idea!  (Psssstt - don't tell the Diabetic Educator!)  I pulled the nightgown off and was assaulted with that brownie smell again.  Grabbing the nightgown, I stuck my nose in it and sniffed.  Yep.  Brownies.  I looked at the bottle of Palmer's Cocoa butter and realized the brownie scent was obviously a result of the cocoa butter.  I should have realized COCOA butter.  I don't think I mind smelling like brownies, but my taste buds are sorely disappointed.  I don't have a mix in the house, but I could pull out the faithful Betty Crocker and make my own.

So if I run into you on the street, in church or in the infamous Wal-Mart, and you have a sudden urge for dark, rich, chocolaty brownies.  Don't look at me.  The mixes are in the baking aisle.