Pick a Cover

UPDATE: So, after looking at my blog on my phone, I realized that you can't access the actual survey from the mobile version. So, put your pick in the comments and thanks again for your help.

For those of you who didn't know, I designed the current iteration of my cover of my book. As much pride as I take in my work, graphic design isn't really my area of expertise. I had a few covers made up by this awesome designer (Angie Zambrano). They're kinda awesome. So, here's the deal. I honestly don't know what cover to go with. I was hoping you could help me.

Here are the two new cover possibilities:

Over on sidebar vote for a new cover for my book. You'd be doing me a big favor.

Atheists To the Rescue

Whilst the author and I go our separate ways on the fundamental point (God vs. No God), I'm encouraged by what I dialogue like this could do for the entire range of belief systems. And how about this for a thought, the redemption part of the "creation narrative" applies to the whole of creation, and not just the church. How much more powerful would we be if we stop antagonistically pitting ourselves against the secular world, and redeemed some stuff...ya know... like Jesus did.

In the Pursuit of Love

So, the single romantic twenty-somethings have one question swimming around their heads. "Will I know the one?" It’s a constant refrain.  There are people who pray for their future partners. Others who are on the lookout for their soul mates. A guy I know professes that marriage is a business arrangement yet every time he meets a girl, he’s sure that she’s the next Mrs. G.

I wish this post was on how to know “the one.” That would be a handy piece of advice to offer. But even more than great advice, I love a good story. So when I heard the story of love across state lines, I figured it’d be a nice one to share. Happy Anniversary Mel.

My husband and I were high school sweethearts. And during that time my mom was battling stage four cancer. And so we ended up being split apart before we could even break up with each other. And we moved away, my family and I. And my mom ended up passing away, when I was sixteen (from cancer). And I, kinda just went on a drifting adventure of life. And in the meantime, during that adventure, my husband now, was looking everywhere for me. He had flown to different colleges that I was going to. And he just kept barely missing me. And so, it had been about ten years since we had last seen one another and he found me on myspace. And after that, it only took two weeks and I knew it was the right thing and we were married and we’ll be married four years on December 16^th.  Here in a couple weeks.  And we have two beautiful little boys, who are two and one. We’re really happy.  We’re not the most romantic couple…we like fishing, and camping. And that’s our great love story.

Santa Responds: or What Has 38 Legs, and Flies?

MoTheThird vs. Christmas (Round Two)

Santa, the Ageless Spirit

            Christmas is a favorite time for many. Strangers helping strangers, wish one another, “season’s greetings,” and generosity prompts people to give, expecting nothing tangible in return. Many flock to the overlooked and down trodden during this season of love and giving. This season, however, would not be the same if it were not for our favorite friend in red…

You want me to  what?...You must be kidding!...How do you expect me to do that?...Am I on Candid Camera?...Good. If you show me THEN maybe I’ll believe you.

Convincing Santa of his duties would be a little hard. But Santa has grown into something more than little children waiting for an elfin bearer of gifts. He has become the embodiment of selfless giving and purity of heart. Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Clause. He is seen wherever love and generosity prompt action. And shown where selflessness and purity rise to giving. He thrives in the innocence of people making snow angels, and pressing against frosted windows to see the impression of their faces.

We come to this most wonderful time year, and see Santa’s spirit as many take time out of their chaotic holiday schedules to volunteer at shelters and kitchens. Of course, as we’re dashing through the snow, we can’t all stop what we’re doing and work at a shelter.

“Are you nuts? How am I supposed to read this twice? I have a life you know. What do you mean, ‘not really?’ Whatever! So, you’re just saying that I am going to know… Even if I’ve never seen the kid before?... Fine!”

However, many more of us choose to give of our finances, depositing money into the red canisters of bell-ringers trying to bring cheer to a less fortunate group.

As over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go, we think of love shared among family and friends. The selfless giving spirit of dear old Kris Kringle is evident in the heartfelt exchanging of gifts. As moms and dads, siblings and cousins, all join the merry songs of the seasons.

You know, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph…Yeah, I did. But I didn’t think that you meant here… They are big and dirty, and if they don’t stop grazing soon, I won’t have a lawn by tomorrow.”

As we’re walking through winter wonderlands, or gliding along with the song of wint’ry fairylands, we can’t help but notice the glowing faces of the youth all around. As they stand, their eyes cast heavenward hoping for a glimpse of reindeer, running a pre-Christmas flight, working all the kinks out, preparing for the big day. Every day to Christmas Eve you can see the tiny children slipping timidly into the lap of the famed man and whispering cautiously into his ear those things she would like to see sticking out from beneath the bottom bough of the Christmas tree.

Okay, I’m here. Now what? Did I do what? No. No. NO! I am drawing the line, right there. Why don’t I just go through the door? Yes, “security system” means something to me, but, not as much as “filthy chimney and flaming hot fireplace.” And what about dogs? And Guns? I know that I would…whoa! What do you mean, ‘good luck?’ This isn’t funny…Hello?! Hello?!

The innocent belief in Santa is perfectly shown in the 1994 box office hit, The Santa Clause, “Seeing is believing. Believing is seeing. Kids don’t have to see this place to know that it’s here. They just know.” The spirit of Santa lies in the heart of the child who leaves the plate of cookies and glass of milk for the busiest man of the night.

But, it came upon a midnight clear. The gift giver and the gift are the most wonderful part of the story of Christmas. As the very name Christmas suggests the gift of Christ. From the best giver, the ultimate gift, to the most needy receiver. The innocent Christ having sacrificed deity, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head. The giving and sacrificial spirit of Santa is seen away in a manger.

Okay, you were right. I enjoyed the ride and the thoughts of the children’s faces when they open up the gifts. But right now, I am just looking forward to a long winter’s nap… What do you mean, “inventory?”

The Scrooges, the Grinches, and the general grumpy pants people, say it’s a seasonal marketing ploy. But, as long as there are those giving sacrificially, lovingly unconditionally, and believing innocently in something they can never see, then Santa will live in Christmas. For some, he’s just a mythical figure whose exploits are misplaced in civilized society. For others, he is the usurper of Christmas’s focus from Christ. For some, he is a jolly old man in a store window. But Christmas without Santa is like a song without harmony… It just lacks a little something.

Because he’s giving, loving and innocence, and those are pretty key to Christmas. 

Photo: WhisperingSoul

 

Better Boyfriend 101 (Cont'd)

The MoTheThird School of Love is back in session. 

It's our privilege, class, to have a guest lecture and case study of sorts. Today we’ll feature the story of a young man who pays attention like very few men I’ve ever known. In this one story, he successfully incorporated elements I, II, III, and X, from our first class, which was a basic primer for Boyfriends who wish to take a step toward exceptional. And I’m sure that if I had included an VIII on my original list, he would have done that one too.

My dear friend Tess, an art teacher with whom I went to school, has been seeing Brandon, a nice enough young man (even though they’re never really good enough for your “dear friends”), for something like three years. Living in the hills of central Pennsylvania (a redundancy I know), they were prone to picturesque walks. On one such walk, along a trail, Tess sees another classmate of ours Greg, a fellow artist, “What a crazy coincidence,” she asserts.
“Not at all,” Brandon replied. “I asked Greg here, to paint a portrait of us in the park.”

So, they set up in a cute little hand holding pose, and Greg gets to work sketch, sketch, sketch, paint, paint, paint. Bam! Done. He turns the painting around for the subjects to admire.
“Wow, this is incredible. Brandon, this was so thoughtful. Wait…I don’t have a ring?” Greg takes the painting. And Brandon takes a knee, and asks Tess to be his… forever.

O.K. Just maybe, he’s good enough for my dear friend.
I’d say that he understands that God is in the details.
Do you?

Homework? Tell me your story.
Class Dismissed!

 Photo by: Ashley-Danielle

Better Boyfriend 101

10 Tips For Boyfriends Who Want To Be Above Average

With a few notable exceptions, my closest friends are women. I get along with them better. The complexity. The self-reflection. The fashion senses. There’s just more room in the ranks of women for all of my idiosyncrasies. So, ever since forever I’ve been one of the girls. As a direct result, despite the immense complexities among individual women, I’ve had the chance to observe a lot of overlap.  The overlap provides me with information. And my friends provide me with a cabinet of wisdom so great that any president with equivalent depth would add world peace, and the cure for cancer to his or her resume.

So, between this life experience, and the ocean of insightful pages I’ve read? I don’t suck. That’s all we can hope for, I think. I make a good friend, and, I believe, an okay boyfriend. The women in my life have, joked, asked, and at times flatly insisted that I teach a class on women in which I help guys of all ages to make themselves the men that women want to date… or at least, not to suck.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I love women. I respect women. And think to myself, perpetuation of the species or no, I don’t know how women put up with most of the garbage pulled by boys masquerading as men…or something. Most guys joke that women should come with an instruction manual. The problem with a manual on women is that most guys, who should read it? Won’t.

So here’s a little something that even the laziest boyfriend or suitor can muddle through if he has an actual eye to being a better man.  Most of it, you’ve seen, read, or heard before, but I promise, it bears repeating. Others are personal tips and bits of experience I’ve garnered through life experience. So, here are your ten tips. Do not take them lightly. They are intended to be used by men, or the masculine partner, with a woman or the feminine partner, who are seriously intending to improve a long term relationship. If you use these tips for any other ploy, trick, scam, or whatever, the Universe will come in and drop a monstrous…batch of karma on you.

I. There are three photos you should have. (1) Get a print of you and her. Put it in a frame. Make it prominent. It should be visible within five steps of the entrance to your space, house, apartment, or room (if you have roommates without much useful shared space). It should be a brightly lit shot, not more than half a body, ideally a head shot ending around the shoulders. (2) Grab a nice shot of her alone. Ask her to provide you with the picture so that a) she knows it exists and b) it's a picture that SHE is confident about. Full body, if you can swing it. It should also be printed. This one goes in your room, also in a frame. Keep it visible, but it doesn’t have to be as much so. (3) The third shot I recommend is THE action shot. This one comes with you wherever you go. It could be printed or on your phone. It could be her, or both of you, but no one else. It’s only important that you have an excuse to show it often, preferably a story that’s not too mind numbing. Make it happen.

II. Do something ordinary. Awesomely. A personal favorite of mine was having a picnic with my girlfriend in my living room. A cheese tray, a basket of fruit, and a bunch of flowers went a long way. Another few options: You love sports. She loves kids. Take her to a little league game. And if you can swing it, go to a game from her hometown or school. Bring coloring pages to the restaurant with you and have a coloring contest. Let the server judge it and figure out a prize of some sort.

III. Create something about her or for her. A poem, a story, a painting, a drawing, a song would be a nice gesture. You want it to exist permanently, and be referred to for reasons greater than practicality or function.

IV. Heads up! Your girlfriend has a thing she hates. It’s totally irrational. And guess what? You don’t even know what it is. One of my best friends, and closest advisors, positively hates the smell of…candle smoke. You know how, when you blow out a candle, a wisp of dense smoke slowly creeps up; it bothers her to no end. Do you want to be her knight in shining armor? Lick your two fingers and stop the smoke.

V. Stick out your arm and open her door. When you’re walking with your partner, stick your arm out in a way that recalls European High society. Amazingly, it is less inconvenient than holding hands (by keeping them from getting cold). It looks cool. And your girlfriend’s friends will think it’s nice. By the same vein, open the door for her. Don’t “happen to be walking in front of her and grab the door.” You have to, “do the awkward double time step to beat her to the door and hold it open while she walks in, before you.” And though my sources tell me that getting out of the car is less important, when you’re getting IN to the car, make sure you open her door. You've been warned.

VI & VII. Listen & Respond

These could have been numbers One through Ten. I’ll drop them in as two very centrally located numbers, with a slight twist. Listen to her. One hour per week. Not four 15-min sessions. Not two 30-min sessions. Not even a 55 and a 5. Sixty uninterrupted minutes, you can find it in your schedule; it’s the length of a TV Drama. Get two chairs, point them at each other, and listen to her talk about her day, her dreams, the neighbors, it doesn’t matter at all; just do it. Just as important, you have to talk back. Hitch was right. Sorry guys, there’s no good way around it. Your partner wants to hear your voice. Even if you have to write your talking points on your hand. That I, “communicate, clearly and effectively,” is one of my best qualities, according to my dear friend. Turn off your phone, and Duty will still be Calling when your hour is up. There is a massive amount of value hidden in conversation. Dig.

IX. Take a cue from Barney Stinson. “Suit up!” Well, you don’t have to suit up entirely, but once a month, you have to take it up a notch. A button-down shirt with full length sleeves, and a pair of dress trousers, and an honest to goodness tie are your uniform for the night. If you look special, she feels special. She can take you out with pride, instead of buyer’s remorse. So button your shirt, all the way to the top (no faking). Dust off/Salvo/borrow a tie. Sorry, no polos or jeans allowed. Shy away from khakis, even.

For a value bump: Get a haircut. Let your significant other or someone better than you with clothes to create your ensemble.

X. God is in the details.

The same way that protecting her from the little things she hates, is important, it’s a million tiny things that make you the boyfriend that she talks about with her friends. Brush her hair away when it falls into her eyes. Carry an umbrella that you hold over her when it rains. Slip a hair tie in your briefcase, sometimes she’ll need it. Write “thinking of you” on a post-it and stick it in her glove box, or the bottom of her laptop, or inside her jacket pocket. You’ve heard that it’s the little things…I’m telling you, it’s true.

 photo: Who Is Prince Charming?

If You Don't flirt Back, It's Sexual Harassment

Weeks ago, I started writing this post. Working and re-working the text, the concepts, the content. Finally, I realized it was definitely all of the above. The old version of this post pitted trim, thin, and skinny women against their curvy, filled out fleshy counterparts. And I didn't want to add to the body hype. And since my message has implication across the spectrum of bodies, it made sense to put everyone on the same time against anger, loneliness and other such ethereal concepts. So here's my deal...or the deal...or one of a host of deals out there to be addresed as they relate to the getting together of guys and girls.


I'm in a Facebook community called, "if guys like 'curvy' girls then why do all the skinny ones have boyfriends?" Now, being a self proclaimed lover of curvy women and knowing that I'm by no means, the only one of my kind, this group is an affront to my sensibilities. Not that it exists...but that it needs to. I spoke a bit with the groups creator who expressed personal and observed frustration at a common singleness among the soft, sloping ranks of the curvy.


   There's a great scene in the film, Spanglish, in which the narrator ruminates on the nature of body image:

     American women, I believe actually feel the same as Hispanic 

     women about weight. A desire for the comfort of fullness. 

     And when that desire is suppressed for style, and deprivation 

     allowed to rule, dieting, exercising American women become 

     afraid of everything associated with being curvaceous, such 

     as wantonness, lustfulness, sex, food, motherhood, 

     all that is best in life.

  
I think she makes some interesting points. And I think that she's mostly right. There is a degree of internal comfort in the natural contours of one's body. Internal confidence engenders a high degree of self awareness and introspection. People with high self awareness and introspective natures make excellent partners. Healthy concerns, expressive emotionally, but not co-dependent. So, to all the self-sustained women living in the comfort of fullness; I want to date you.

   Here's the rub.
   In some way shape or form, before "happy couple", comes "flirting strangers." There seem to be a phenomenon wherein lots of people don't like to flirt. But, like that group is based on individual experiences, so is this post. But hopefully, this is more of a call to action, than pure lament. I am an insatiable flirt. Sometimes I even flirt when I don't want to. I do it for fun. I do it for profit. I do it to get places. I do it to kill time. It's a little like shopping.


But, it's more like a dance. It's give and take. It's compromise. And, as much as it pains me to say, in my experience, some girls do the dance like Blackpool Champions. While a lot of others act like they don't even like to dance, much less be in a dance club. 


   There's much fun to be had in flirting. I don't know why everyone doesn't do it all the time. Work. School. The mall. For a challenge flirt at the DMV. But even if my flirt radar is always up, it takes two to tango. Rapport building? Chatting up? Flirting? All of this has to start somewhere. A stranger says "Hi" on the street. A guy who uses the machine near you in the gym nods to you. The smiling cart pusher in the produce asile. No matter what something becomes, it usually starts as something else. Most experts identify flirting as a means or an end. If I sound a little obsessed, I don't always flirt...Sometimes I sleep. 


  A few women, in my experience, are on board with the anytime flirt mentality. At the gym, she's the girl who nods back, and may even remove an earbud for a chat. When you ask to sit next to her at Starbucks, she'll eye you up and may or may not offer you the seat. But, you got the once over. And that's all I wanted, a shot. 


   Before you decide that ALL guys are horrible, that they only date skinny girls, that they only date ______, make sure you are a little more comfortable with you, and that your flirt radar is pinging.


Flirting Sunset by ~krisagon on deviantART

My name is...

  I have a confession. Actually it's not a confession. Just an observation about life as I experience it. I'm addicted to my phone. Not, I call people all the time. Not even, I always take every call. Actually, I take less than half of the phone calls which come my way (Sorry to anyone who gets my voicemail). It's really just the obsessive need to have access. There's an old military expression, "Hurry up and wait." And I think that's what I experience. I spend a lot of time being careful not to miss an urgent call that I'm not expecting. I get an almost debilitating anxiety when I'm not in physical contact with my phone. I may not be leaning on my urinal like "Mr. Totally Connected," but, and I am ashamed to admit this,  I've checked my phone in church, and (gulp) on dates ("He who is without sin..."). It's strange. When I think logically about the worst thing that could happen if I didn't have my phone, the worst thing I could think of would be an easy fix, and not likely to happen. But somehow, nothing consoles me.



  Earlier this summer, however, my phone vanished from. I went through the stages of grief, right out of the Psych 101 textbook.  Not my finest moment.
 Denial- "I must have left it at the church...OK...Maybe it's still in the car...well...Maybe the other car...possibly...My room?...



 Anger- "I can't believe I...How could I be so stupid...Why did it have to rain TODAY!!!...Somebody probably ran it over in the parking lot...



Bargining- Hoping that my cousin had taken it or knew who had I offered my cousin candy and money if she “found” my phone.

Depression- I, seriously, don't even want to talk about that part. Not my finest hour.

Acceptance- If it's lost, it's lost... I'll just buy a new one if that's what has to happen. A lot of people don't even have cell phones...worse things have happened to better people...

As I moved into acceptance. Wonder of wonders...

After making a trip to summer camp with the youth of our church, where it was dropped by whichever child took it. My beloved phone was found by a different member of our youth group who, "Thought it looked familiar," brought it home and showed it to his mom, who recognized the "My Sister" entry in Contacts. Deduced that she'd know whose it was. And it is now back in my grateful hands. My very, very grateful hands.

I should have a punchy takeaway from all this. And I think I kind of do. But, I'm going to let someone else deliver it:

What light ...

So, I don't  write a ton of poetry. A lot of times my deep love of music and about ten years worth of lessons creeps into my writing and what I end up with is a poem. They are fun...I think...And a neat way to play with one's own emotions. I'm a flirt. It's a part of me as much as anything else. This was just something I was thinking after a day of incessant flirting. Enjoy.

To Be Adored

I am bent to your will.

Do with me as you wish.

You are many,

Over me, yet, all you hold sway.

You are Tall. yet also are you short.

You are thin. Yet also are you sturdy with fullness.

You are the passionate fighter, and lover of peace.

You speak in shouts and whispers.

In all your forms, I love you.

  I am powerless against your approaches.

    I yield to you.

      You are Woman.

Let's go

In my younger years, through the teens, younger people didn't like me. At least, that was my impression when upon my picking them up, or even looking for too long caused an otherwise peaceful child to burst into hysterics. Fits of tears great enough to result in that pained shortness of breath.

Of late, however, this is not my lot. Thankfully, it has not been so for a few years now. I can (and do) hold children and play with them, as many adults have before me. And I've even been complimented on my "way with children." 

Recently, I've experienced another first...twice. I was visiting a friend and her family over the Easter weekend. A number of us, including my friend's young nieces and nephews, went on a hike to see a waterfall. After a short ride to the trail head, our party disembarked and started that sometimes awkward shuffle, in which a group arranges itself to hike the trail. As we're all deciding who will want to talk about our topics, or who will be diverted by the same sights, and what hiking partner will walk as fast or slow as I. As we processed all that info, the tiniest set of fingers slipped into my hand. The, just more than two year old, niece of my friend decided that she wanted to walk with me. 


At that moment, it felt like my heart expanded to fill my entire chest. Even now, when I think about it, I just want to hug her again. It didn't matter how fast or slow she wanted to walk. She could stop and look at anything she wanted, or nothing at all. We could have walked in total silence, or she could never have stopped talking. In that moment, she held me in the palm of her hand. I felt a little like an escort protecting a work of art. Only this beautiful little girl chose me. Not for any reasons I understand. But I also didn't ask. Sometimes the part you can't explain is the part that makes it beautiful. 


Not long after, my own family was visiting from out of state. We were gathered at my parents' house. My aunt and her family were coming off of a nine hour trip and were a bit frayed. We were helping them get things out of their van, trekking back and forth across the street. My youngest cousin, also just over the two year mark, and I trudged sleepily up to the curb at the same time, and, without a word slipped her oh-so-small hand into my own. 


I tried to keep it together. I didn't want to make  a big deal out of it, we'd only met that morning. But somehow, it's like nothing else matters. It reminds me of a soap bubble, so beautiful, so fragile. Let's go.