Why a blog from me, someone who has never been a writer, someone who has never been articulate or had a solid grasp of the grammar world. Because God told me to write. Several years ago a life storm invaded my family. God kept telling me to write it all down. I argued, but He would not let up. This went on every day for a couple of weeks until one day out of frustration, (I'd like to say it was out of obedience), I picked up a pen and paper and wrote for 7 hours straight! Do you think maybe I needed therapy and God knew it?

I've been writing ever since and have learned to love it! I started out sharing my stories with friends and family. I've now been published in a Nashville church paper, Our Daily Journey (a devotional site of RBC Ministries), PCCWeb Daily Devotional, Ruby for Women Ezine Magazine, and I am a contributor in the book Alabaster Jars, Life in Abundance Collection 2.

Why Ponderings? During this life storm, God led me to a pond in the woods behind my home. There He met me each time, teaching new lessons, reminding me of old ones, showing His presence and allowing me to feel His love through the surroundings of that pond. I found myself returning over and over to ponder, pray and praise. A healing of my heart took place and out of the experience came my first book, Ponderings From the Pond, then a second book, Ponderings From My Porch, and now a third book is in the works along with a memoir about my storm.

Why am I making myself so vulnerable? Because God has done so much that I cannot keep quiet. I have to share. Jesus's last words to his desciples were, "Go,tell." We are his disciples too and this is just one of my ways of telling.

I'm no scholar but I have heard God's voice in my spirit, experience His love daily, and have a desire for others to experience this also. I would love to share with all who visit and I would love to hear from you. If my sharing gets just one to ponder, to be quiet with the Father, to see and hear from Him or to be reminded of something from Him, then this is worth my vulnerability.

As you visit me, sometimes we will be at the pond, sometimes we will move to the front porch, and sometimes we will just be here, there, and yonder. Thank you for coming and please feel free to come back anytime, you are always welcome here.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.

Psalm 19:14


My first book, Ya Know What I'm Say'n, has been released.



Thursday, March 27, 2014

I Don't Think They Warsh in Spain

Mom, it's wash, not warsh. . .

Mom, it's hamburger, not hambooger. . .

My 21 year old son stands in the kitchen laughing as I try to say hamburger and wash the correct way.  What he doesn't get is I am a born and bred Oklahoman.  In Oklahoma my way is the right way. But we now live in Kentucky where he has spent more of his life.

We giggle as he keeps trying to teach me to say waaash. . .nor warrrsh. Hambuuuurrrger. . .not hambooooger.

"Mom, quit pursing your lips, open your mouth more. . .waaash. 


"Ok  Mom, let's try hambuuurger."


I try it over and over and over in between the giggling. He's cracking up.

The scene enters my mind from the musical My Fair Lady where Henry Higgins tries to teach Eliza Doolittle to speak like a proper English lady, thereby making her presentable to high society.

She had to keep repeating over and over and over the phrase. . ."The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain", until she got it right.

I can say that!

My son does not care about high society, he just thinks his mom should be able to say those two little words properly. What he doesn't get is that in Oklahoma, that is proper. But I'm not there anymore, so should I try harder?

I think about the people born and raised in the South with their Hey Darlin's?  Don't they know there is a "ing" on the end of that word.  Personally, I think it's charming. And after being in Kentucky for ten years, I'm becoming more charmin' myself.

The the more I think about it, I think it could be charming that I say what I say the way I say it. It's really hard to purse the lips with words you're not used to pursing for and to open the mouth wider for words you don't normally open the mouth wide for.  It's SO much work. I can lose the "ing" but I just cannot seem to lose the R in warsh and I'm sorry, but hambooger is just so much easier for me to say.

I love you son but I just don't think I can think so hard every time I say those words.

I don't think he really cares. It gives him something to laugh at and I am AOK with that.

I've wasted enough time here. I need to go tell my son to bring the warsh to the laundry room and then we need to go get some hamboogers.  I'm hungry! And a sweet tea on the side.

Wouldn't that be loverly?!

Monday, March 24, 2014

Spitting In The Milk Carton

When I was a very little girl, there was an older couple who lived right behind us. Their names were Dovie and Sterling. He fascinated me. I’m not sure why other than the fact that I remember him in his rocking chair on the front porch saying he didn’t believe in God. Even as a little five year old girl, I thought that was odd. I thought at the time, everyone believed. He also always had a swollen cheek. I didn't understand why until I got older.

 Another thing that fascinated me and I guess I thought it was odd was the screened in porch on the back of their house. When I would go visit,  I would enter through this screened in porch and walk into their kitchen. Lined up all along the walls of this porch were empty, quart sized, cardboard milk cartons. I found out in my young years as well as my sister what chewing tobacco was.
I just remember watching Sterling as he would stick a wad of Bazooka Bubble gum in his mouth and chew until it softened up. Then he would take it out and wrap it around a piece of tobacco and start chewing again. . .and spitting that nasty looking juice into the milk cartons. My sister tells the story of when she was little and visiting them too, wanting to have some of Sterling's tobacco, so he gave it to her. But instead of spitting, she swallowed hers. Can you guess what happened? She got sick.
As I pondered this story, it made me think of sin. When we allow sin into our lives, it eventually will make us sick. And just like my sister, we need to remove the sickness. We can't throw up the sin, but we can throw it off.

Ephesians 4:22-24

22 to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, 23 and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, 24 and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.

. . .and we could also spit. . .
right on the ol' devil's head!

Years later, I can't look at a piece of bubble gum without thinking of Sterling, my spitting neighbor and wondering if he put off his old self and put on the new in time.
I sure hope he did!

linking with




Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Loving the Neighbors

My 82 year old mother is a dear and that is not just from me. Everyone who meets my mother falls in love with her no matter what their age.  She has two families on either side of her. The parents do not speak English. My mother had 1 year of Spanish in high school. Remember she is 82. High school was a looong time ago for her. But on her computer she types out English and Spanish words. She has been working with one of the mothers for a long time. The mother is getting better with her English.

All the kids from both sides come over to just visit with my mother. She brings out the crayons, markers, paper and stapler. After some time, they have become so comfortable in her home they just help themselves to the craft room. They love to draw and make things for her.  She has baked a birthday cake for each child on their special day. She has made cookies for them. And in turn, the mothers make a special trip over with a helping of their dinner for her.  Sometimes she could eat it and sometimes they made it so spicy she could not. They have learned over the years to tame down the spices for her.

My mother dotes on the children, she helps them with their homework. She helps them with English, they help her with Spanish. She plays games with them. She is a grandmother to them. And she is modeling the love of Christ.

The neighbors are so good to her too. One of the mother's crocheted my mother cute slippers for her feet, both have brought her flowers and gifts on her birthday year after year and they shower her with love. The little boys are so polite and if out at the same time with my mom, they will open the doors for her.

I was home last November, and I witnessed the love, the give and take, the sharing, the giggles and the hugs. I was a little envious that I couldn't be there with my mom every day like they were. But I realized what a gift for me to know that my mom who lives 750 miles away, is watched over and cared for and loved by her neighbors. They are a blessing to her as she is such a blessing to them.

The neighbors and my mother could have ignored each other when they were new to one other. They could have let the language barrier keep them apart. They both could have let prejudices get in the way. But my mother reached out and the neighbors reached back. They are like a family now. The children's grandmother lives in Mexico and cannot come over very often. But they have one next door. My mother has grown grandchildren who live away. But she has some next door each day.

Many could learn a valuable lesson in these times today by watching my mother and her neighbors.

This is some of the handmade love from the little boys for my mom. . .


This is in honor of my mother and her two neighbors for modeling such a beautiful picture of the commandment, "Love your neighbor as yourself." And don't you know how honored God must feel to see his children loving one another, even with the language barriers. With real love, there really are no barriers.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Oh Happy Days Are Here Again!

I issue an apology right here, right now to anyone who thought I was whining on facebook and my last post titled The Flu Rap. I could claim I was delirious. I was trying to keep a sense of humor during the flu. (for the record, no one complained. Actually, so many were so sweet to me, thank you!)

I was in bed for five days sick but I had my blessing journal at my side. Even in the flu, there were blessings to count like. . .

a never ending supply of tissues
good tasting cough drops
a son and husband cheerfully getting things for me
son went out and bought my favorite vitamin water without it being on the list
hubby brought me a tub of chocolate covered peanuts without me asking
and SO much more I could go on and on. . .
As I layed in bed, I kept thinking about my friends who are battling cancer and other long term illnesses and how wonderful they are handling it. Yes, they cry and they get real with people, but I have seen such strength and perseverance from them that it encourages me. In five days, even though I'm not 100%, I will be soon. They have not felt 100% in the last several years and they keep right on smiling. I want to be like them. That's why I was trying to keep the humor going.
Today, I got up and showered. A hot shower...there is another blessing! My body does not ache like it did, I have done two loads of laundry and have cooked chicken and all before 10:00 am! Yes, my household chores are a blessing and that will go into my journal.
I'm not chillin' and sweatin' anymore!
I'm breathing so much better!
The throat is so much better!
I took a shower!
I have clean sheets on the bed!
And it happened three days before my first book signing!
OH, Happy Days Are Here Again!
How do you handle sickness? Do you count your blessings? Pray? Do you look for humor? Do you whine?
(I personally think a little whining is ok, just not too much ;)
And keep that blessing journal near by. . .it helps SO much! 


Saturday, March 15, 2014

The Flu Rap

When your sick as a dog and stuck in bed and hurt so bad you can't read, what do you do?

You do the flu rap. (Get a beat going in your head. . .)

I'm sneezin' and coughin' and cryin'n in my hot drink
My head's so stopped up I can hardly begin to think

I let the steam from the hot drink go up my cold nose
I'm holdin' the hundredth tissue ready for some mo blows

I'm chillin', I'm sweatin, my body is all confused
My forehead is hot, my feet are cold, I am not amused

I pour down the meds and I pray a lot
I'm tryin' to keep the humor, but the hubby will tell ya, it's just about shot

I'm doin' the flu rap
ba da da ba da da

I'm doin' the flu rap, why?
Because I can't do anything else at the moment except cry

I'm doin' the flu rap, why?
So I'll laugh instead of cry, that's why!
You say I'm crazy, lazy, just a whiney baby,
And I might say maybe, maybe

You may think I'm ready for the looney bin and that's ok
Just don't forget me and remember to pray

I'm doin the flu rap, yeah,
I'm doin' the flu rap yeahhhh.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

To the Parents Behind Me in Church

Dear Mom and Dad who sat behind my husband and me in church this morning,

We heard your loud child. We ALL heard your child, who got louder and louder and I could feel the tension between the pews. And I wanted to turn around and tell you two that it will all be ok. But I didn't. I'm sorry!

I remember what it is like to have young children in church who get tired of being still and quiet and sometimes just doesn't understand why their demands are not getting met at that moment. I remember my husband carrying out a child of our own, a child loud and not understanding. I remember the stares. And I felt the tension between the pews and no one saying to me it would be ok.

I wanted so bad to turn around and reach out and say it's all going to be ok. Dad, I could feel your tension. I felt the anger and frustration as you grabbed your child and eventually went out the back door. Momma, I heard you sniffling and your other young child who sat in your lap saying, "It's going to be ok mommy, I'm sorry." I wanted so bad to turn around and say those words myself, but I didn't. I was a complete stranger to you. What if you thought I was crazy. What if you told me to mind my own business. I played the "what if's" game with myself instead of reaching out. I'm sorry!

Today was just an incident. It can be a teachable moment if you and dad can see it that way. God gives us all so many teachable moments and I pray your daughter lovingly was taught and learned from today.  I hope you all learned as all of us parents learned.

I want you to know that she will grow and become a young lady one day who moves on in her life. One day you and dad will find yourselves sitting in church as a middle aged couple, sitting by yourselves, listening to a loud child behind you and I hope you two will smile. I hope you two will remember. I hope you have the courage to turn around and reach out and say, "It's going to be ok."

From one who sits alone with her husband in the pews and remembers,

It's going to be ok.

God bless you and your family~

Dear Jesus,
Next time I feel the "urge" to do something, to say something to a stranger, please give me the push to go, to turn around, to speak, to reach out and touch, to say, "It's going to be ok." We all need that. You've helped me to do that with dear ones at a bridge. But with the cleaned up ones with the suit and pretty scarf around the neck, I chickened out. I don't want to be a chicken. When the spirit moves, move me out, move me up, move me backwards, move me wherever you want me to go. Lord, I want to go. And Lord, this dear family behind me, may they laugh one day as they look back at the awkward, embarrassing moment they experienced in church today. May it just be a moment years from now they can look back smiling, maybe laughing, and saying, "remember when?" Maybe it will be that day their grandchild is in church, being loud. Thank you Lord for children, they truly are a blessing, loud or not. God bless all the parents!

In Jesus Name,

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

. . .especially through the eye of a photographer.  My husband and I can be driving down the road and I’ll see nothing but a plain field out the window, but he will spot the light hitting a weed just so and want to stop and take a picture of it.  He zooms in on the detail and voila. . . suddenly the weed becomes beauty appearing to my oblivious eyes. 

My husband has had a project over the last several years of photographing The Tall Grass Prairie in Oklahoma.  Most people, when they learn of this, say, “What is there to take pictures of, it’s just a huge, flat piece of land with nothing but grass?”  Ahh, I say, look through Keith’s lens. . .

When I started the Blanket Ministry for the homeless five winters ago, people have asked, “Why do you do this, they are there by their own choices, they will just take advantage of you.”  Ahh, I would say, look at them through the lens of Jesus’ eyes. . .

Psalm 139:14 says that we are His masterpiece and He wants us to know that full well.  Some people don’t know this yet, and if they can come to understand that they are loved and feel that love when a blanket is handed off to them, well. . .is that not worth it?  For them to feel the beauty of Christ’s love, to see them smile through their wrinkled faces and tired eyes. . .that is beauty I see through the lens of my eyes.

Through a horrendous act on a hill long, long ago, those who believe see the beauty of that day.  Through the Savior’s broken body, blood, pain, sweat and tears, was astounding love that still brings tears to my eyes when I close them and think about it.  Not sad tears but tears brought on by the overwhelming love He had for me, so undeserving was I, and he has this for all these people on the streets as well, some who say are undeserving.  We are ALL undeserving but we are all given a chance.  Some of us came to know of this love through a church home, loving parents who shared and taught, a friend who experienced this love and then shared with another.  Some may be on the street, waiting for that certain word, a touch, a hug, a blanket handed to them touched by the prayer and love of others.

How is beauty defined?  I don’t believe there is a canned answer.  We all have to open not only our eyes but our spirits and look beyond the windows, beyond the wrinkles, beyond the filth and odor, and see what Jesus sees…a masterpiece in the making.  May we let His love wash all over us so we can bathe others in it.

“And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us”

Psalm 90:17

God's masterpiece. . .a redeemed soul. . .true beauty!
(do you see his tears...those are grateful tears for what God did for him)

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Wild Thing

My mane has been a wild thing.  When I was young, it was big, it was unruly, it was wild, it was scary, it was a beast.
 I had long hair when I was little.  I also used to love to chew gum at this time.  I would have gum in my mouth so much that sometimes I would forget to spit it out at night before going to bed. Bad thing!  The next morning somehow that piece of wet, gooey gum went from my mouth right into my hair-ugh!  We would try freezing the gum with an ice cube and then try to peel it off.  This would work some, but we would always have to cut a little out.  My long hair used to get so tangled that when I was in one of my younger grades, my mom sat me on a little red stool in the kitchen saying I needed a trim.  I got suspicious when I felt the cold scissors on the back of my neck.  You know the famous line…”oh what a tangled web we weave?”  My mother probably could have been heard saying this about my hair.  “Oh what a tangled mess I weave, braid, pick and brush.”  That is probably why when I looked in the mirror after my “trim”, I saw that I had gone from waist length hair to a pixie.  I was a tad bit sad, but I was a little girl, so I got over it pretty quickly. 
I grew and so did my hair.  As a teen-ager, I had a love-hate relationship with this thick, frizzy mane of mine.  I could fix it beautifully but one step out in the Oklahoma wind and it was all gone.  I quickly learned the Oklahoma hair doo that was so popular, buns and braids.  But my hair was so heavy this would give me a headache. 
I longed to have straight, shiny, sleek, smooth hair that when wind blown, afterwards would lie back down in place.  All my friends had this perfect hair.  I used to plead with the Lord, “Why can’t I have that kind of hair?”
 Hairdressers used to tell me all the time that lots of women paid big money to get the body and curls I naturally had.  These women would tease their hair and I had to tame mine down.  I would have given money to have their problem.
Then came high school in the late 70’s-1980.  I bet you can guess, yep, I had the Farrah Fawcett doo.  I loved this hair style but all those feathers were hard to keep up with.  The right side would flip up, the left side curl down.  I had a tower of feathers on top of my head.  To keep all those feathers in place, I used LOTS of hairspray.  No man could have run his fingers through my hair at the time, and yet, I still got me a man!
Swimming in the summer?  You gotta be kidding, with my hair?  I would work so hard to make it look perfect.  If I got it wet, it curled and kinked, and bangs would shrink five inches. I learned to swim without getting my hair wet.  I know, it was pitiful.
 As a mature adult now, I’ve learned having certain hair products, weapons and a great hairdresser who just happens to have curly hair herself, is the key.  Shampoo +Conditioner, Infusium 23, blow dryer, hot rollers, hot iron, several kinds of brushes, comb, and a pick, and I’m ready to go.  It’s not as bad as it sounds.  I can have it done in 20 minutes, which is not bad for a 15 hour day.
Remember Paul’s thorn in his side?  Mine was on top of my head.  Paul’s was chronic and debilitating.  Mine, if it was debilitating, was only because of my own insecurities. That was the root of my problem.  It was not so much about my hair but about my own insecurities and maybe just a touch of. . .ok, ok, a lot of vanity issues.  As I grew older and learned to lean on Jesus more and more, my insecurities started to diminish.  When I became stronger in the Lord, more focused on Him instead of myself, the beast on my head started to tame down. 
Yes, I have the right tools to use on my hair now.  But more importantly I have the tools God has given me in His Word to be more at peace, at ease, and comfortable in my own skin, and hair.
One of God’s tools is scripture.  They tell me He is in control, so I don’t need to worry and fret.  He is always with me, I am never alone.  He will qualify me for whatever He calls me to do.  He forgives so I never have to brood over past sins.  He gives me the power to forgive when I need to.  He gives me boldness when I need it.  He always loves me, I never have to feel unloved.  He empowers me, gives me peace beyond understanding and love I can hardly fathom. He gave me this crown of tresses and I have learned to be grateful and thankful for it. I'm even told when these tresses turn gray, it will be a crown of glory!            
If my hair became an uncontrollable wild thing again, it would be ok. There are always hats.  What’s in my heart is much more important than what is on top of my head.  I want to be a wild thing for Jesus.  I want to be wildly loving for Jesus.  I want to be wildly serving for Him.  I want to be on fire for Him. I may not look wild on the outside but inside is a different story.  That kind of wild thing does not need to be tamed.