Thank you for joining me again. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written a Jezebel diaries entry. My world has most definitely been spinning, giving me plenty of content. Just knowing you’ve still been reading and following means the world to me. I thank you with all my heart.

She took a deep, centering breath and calmly said to herself .. “oh geez.. here we go again”.

At Bible study Sunday, one of my most favorite ladies in the world told me she could see growth in me, through my writing. I can’t even express how that touches me. Go God! As we all tackle life in this scary, all but Godless world we wake to each day, I hope to help someone else navigate problems with a little more sass, a lot less fear and the God who never, ever fails.

So here I am, sharing my current quandary with you. It’s a doozy, of course. Extra on every level. It’s been simmering on the back burner for a while now, waiting to be addressed. Like the rising and setting of the sun and the ever changing seasons, everything has to happen at its appointed time. And my time has finally come. Time to stop running. Time to face all manner of monsters and demons. This is my dark season. And it’s pitch black. It’s long. It’s hard. It’s cold. It’s lonely. It’s frightening. It’s ugly. It’s unfair. Pick your negative adjectives. Whatever I call it, it’s here in full force. But so am I.

There’s a common misconception that Christians are weak, that we’re timid. Maybe even cowards. Every Christian reading this just smirked or laughed. It’s a really BIG misconception. It takes more than a little bit of spunk to stand up for Jesus. It always has. We’re laughed at. Ugly memes are made about us. Social media depicts us as outdated, backwards and uninformed. Hollywood tries to portray Christianity as laughable, all the while normalizing pedophilia, atheism, socialism, child abuse of every kind and anything anti America.

But I digress. Sort of. So lately, my “current quandary” and my personal beliefs have been at odds. The make-me-sick-keep-grinding-my-teeth kind of odds. I could do the “beauty pageant wave”.. you know the one. That super polite, oh-so appropriate, wave-nod-smile that never quite reaches the eyes but it keeps the peace. The beauty pageant wave. We’ve all done it. And truthfully, I should probably do it now. But I can’t. There’s something inside of me that just won’t kneel to this. My curtsy is far too rusty. The only casualty in this war will be a lot of money, which means nothing to me. I’ve been without it for so long, this will be nothing new. Do you know what won’t be a casualty? Me. My self respect. I tried so hard to bow down and quietly swallow this. I did. I swear I did. I tried to say to myself “well, it is what it is” and “just let it go”. You’re noticing the past tense of try, aren’t you? Tried.. as in can’t do it.

I had to find peace with this, somehow, somewhere. This being the evil that’s taking mine and David’s home. That “this”. I’ve cried, raged & cussed (a lot).. I’ve thrown in, I’ve thrown out, I’ve thrown up.. I’ve searched, figured and calculated. And then, lastly, I finally prayed. I prayed with a woman’s heart that’s afraid and tired. So tired. I prayed with the pieces of a broken life, that I’ve been juggling alone, for a really long time. I prayed with the faith of the child I was, when I met Jesus so many years ago. And, I found my answers. I found myself. I found my peace.

As usual, when I’m looking for direction, I go to my Bible. It’s the perfect tool .. like having all the answers to the teacher’s hardest test. Nowadays, you can even search alphabetically for the problem and He’ll show you the answer. Every time. So away I went. And I found myself back in Judges.

When God called Deborah, He didn’t choose her because she was faint of heart or meek. It was her trust in God, her unquestioning obedience and her own personal relationship with Him, that made her God’s choice. God used Deborah, not only to lead Israel back to Him, but also to help them defeat the Canaanites. He made Deborah a military leader, a warrior, a prophetess and a judge. She was also a wife, a mother and a poet. That’s quite the diverse plethora of gifts. God doesn’t give that kind of responsibility to just anyone. He gives it to His children who walk in deep faith. He gives it to His children who walk in the dark, without knowing where they’re headed. He gives it to His believers who trust Him with their long, hard, cold, painful, pitch black season.

Moving forward isn’t about “moving”. It’s about “facing”. I couldn’t see that before now. I’m going into a battle that I’m not going to win. But that’s ok.. because I won the war. I tried to hide from it. I tried to not confront it. I tried to relax and be all zen. It wasn’t until I reread Judges that I realized, winning wasn’t ever about the money. It was about not running away, regardless of the size of the battle. It was about not bowing, not kneeling, not cowering and letting God finish it as He sees fit. It was always about knowing that, no matter what, His plans are perfect for my life.

I won the war when I stopped running from the battles.

Jezebel diaries * day 8 * cliff notes * tackling each day is way more fun with just a little sass * to everything there is a season and a purpose under heaven * the beauty pageant wave is for sissies ergo not for me * God gives us the heart of a warrior and also the pen of a poet * I won my war and you can too * the darker my pitch black .. the brighter my God shines

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🏡❣️home❣️home is on my mind🏡 ❣️

Millions of my most precious memories are of coming home. And I get it now. I understand. There was nothing, and I mean nothing, like walking in the front door and getting that first whiff of whatever momma had on the stove. Whether it was coming home from school or coming home for Thanksgiving, I always looked forward to opening that door and taking a big, deep breath. Home. Home isn’t just where the heart is… it’s where the beat of the heart is. Home isn’t just the place we live… it’s where the lifeblood of family flows. Home isn’t just a bed and a pillow… it’s quiet safety from a loud, angry world.

I’m so very grateful for the home my parents made. I’m more grateful for the values they instilled in me, as they made our home. God help some of the people I’ve dealt with in the last months, who were not blessed with those values. Or any values. The ones with expensive things but zero class. The ones who turn others away from the church and then pat themselves on the back. The ones who throw their parents away for the sake of convenience. The ones with Manolo’s & Jimmy Choo’s who never once tried to walk like Jesus. Maybe I’m hyper aware at the moment. Maybe I’m tired of everything being mean, ugly, dirty, broken and wrong. Maybe these last couple of years have altered my perspective. I feel like I’m shedding an old life and becoming more. More empathetic. More giving. More humble. More loving. More me. Or finally me. Or finally the me I always wanted to be and should have always been. The me who needs nobody’s approval. Ever. At all. For anything.

Before life’s hurricanes hit me personally, I never really gave too much thought to the process of what actually brings about change. But the truth is, more often than not, it’s loss that makes the way for something new. Sometimes it’s confusing and frustrating and unfair. Sometimes it’s gut wrenching. Sometimes you want the bad guy to lose in front of everybody and you want to wear your bright, blinking, “I finally won” t-shirt. It doesn’t work that way in today’s real life, does it?

In today’s real life, people lie, cheat & steal without a second thought. In today’s real life, God is a myth, heaven isn’t real and we won’t really see our loved ones again. In today’s real life, a promise means nothing and pride in one’s family name is a joke. In today’s real life, I rarely see the home and the values that my parents gave me.

In today’s real life, there isn’t a whole lot of real life.

For me, it always comes back to home. And at the end of the day, I want to be in the warmth of my home, in the palm of God’s hands. ❣️🏡❣️

A few years ago.. or possibly 45, when I was in high school, I entered a speech contest sponsored by The Optimist Club. I wasn’t very confident and I didn’t love the thought of an oratory competition, but my favorite teacher encouraged me. Students from neighboring schools, towns and parishes all competed. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. I was using my gift of gab and people were responding.

I won, on a local level, so I was asked to give my speech to different clubs and organizations in the area. With one wordy oration, I went from shy wallflower to the center of attention. My own tiny moment in the spotlight. The title was: In My Youth, I See… It was well thought out, well rehearsed, well memorized. Even now, I remember the first few words like it was yesterday. I can still hear my voice, so full of young, infectious optimism. The unstoppable energy that kids possess, adults remember and society tries to capture. “In my youth, I see a thousand different things.” I would take a deep, nervous breath and then the words would begin to flow. I would draw them in with my wisdom. There was no doubt in my mind the audience would see my vision by the time I was finished. It never occurred to me that they wouldn’t. I knew my words would change the world.

I ran across the photo above and for a while, I lost myself in wonderful memories. It was such an exciting time for me. I can’t believe it’s been so long since I thought about it.. giving my speech at the different community luncheons, the big bronze medal on the red, white and blue ribbon and the $100 savings bond that came with winning. I really thought I was a big deal. I’m trying to remember now, just what did my youthful eyes see back then? Before life and the harshness of reality set in. If I know me, I saw hope for an unhappy world to find a happy tomorrow. I imagine I saw the very real possibility for brothers to come together on common ground. That’s always a good place to build a happy tomorrow…on common ground.

My eyes don’t see people trying to find common ground anymore. In these, my twilight years, what I see now makes my heart hurt. I see brothers, not just hating for no reason, but actively looking for any reason to spread rage, chaos and violence. I see society turning the values of a loving home and family into something warped and twisted. I see the government we put into office, feeding off of the American people, without conscience. I see kids raising themselves with no guidance, no discipline, no structure and no respect or appreciation for anything. I see adults who have adopted the new world philosophy because going against the flow takes effort. I see what was once the greatest nation in the world, crumbling before my eyes. I see The United States of America bowing to the rampant sickness of self satisfaction, no matter the cost. In these my twilight years, I’m broken in pieces for the beautiful life I knew but my grandchildren will never know. In my twilight, I see tears.

In these my twilight years, I see a world divided by a song. A song. A song against violence has caused society to once again, draw lines & choose sides where there was no conflict to begin with. A song about the way things used to be, when things were good and people weren’t crazy, has offended those who demand the right to destroy our way of life. MY way of life. Anything that isn’t ugly and perverse. Anything that isn’t dirty and swimming in filth. Anything that doesn’t celebrate a constant buffet of gluttony and sloth. Any values I was taught as a child have now become offensive and I am the enemy because I know my gender. In my twilight, I see clearly the author of confusion and he’s having a blast at our expense.

I need to end this on a positive note, if I can find one. And I think maybe I have just the thing. It’s my saving grace every day. There’s always only been one thing that’s stronger than hate and that’s love. There’s always only been one thing that cracks open the blackness of hopelessness and that’s the light of faith. There’s always only been one person more powerful than the devil and that’s God almighty. Everything that’s happening in our world is written. Yes, it’s all already planned but that doesn’t mean we quit. We still fight the fight in front of us. We still stand for the good. We do not bend. We do not break. We do not comply. We do not lose. Remember that. We do not lose.

*cliff notes* in the twilight I see … * we need the optimist club now more than ever * common ground is a real thing. I’ll always meet you there * if you are fortunate enough to live in the USA, say thank you & mean it * my lifestyle, skin color or religion may differ from yours. I still like you. * I have a big, bronze medal that tells me people once loved optimism. we should get back to that. * the light of faith is brighter than any darkness * the good guy always wins & he does not comply * small towns have huge hearts *

“When the path before me is dark and dangerous, the best thing for me to do is to not watch where I’m going. What else is faith for?” Jezebel

Greetings sweet friends and neighbors, thank you once again for joining me here. Although these days, I’m not exactly sure where “here” is. I’m wandering. Wandering. Walking aimlessly without a clear plan. The state of not knowing where you’re headed. Being awake but with no concrete direction or reason to get there. Wandering. And oh geeeeeez how I hate that! God knooooooows how I hate that!! It’s my kryptonite. Give me a direction and I’ll meet you there if I have to crawl. But have me walk in the land of limbo and I’ll crumble every time. That’s why my last blog entry was so hard. Hard to start. Hard to write. Hard to even read now, because I feel like it misses the mark. Jezebels don’t do failure.

Everything has been so calm and quiet the last several months. It gave me some much needed time to begin to heal. Now, as life starts back up, it’s time to finally finish the old and begin anew. Just starting over nowadays, and at my age, should be scary..but it’s really not. After the last couple of years, there’s not much that scares me anymore. I’m turning 60 in a few days but I feel like a kid with a big bag of shiny new marbles. There are challenges and obstacles, possibilities and successes, and the learning of love lessons all coming my way. It almost feels like I’m being reborn. I have a hunch God’s even going to teach me to thrive in the city of uncertainty. He’s got His hand on my life and His plan is firmly in place. My job is to not mess things up. Jezebels like to help God along when we should just keep our hands off of His work.

I actually know what He’s up to. God is transparent if you pay attention. He’s not hiding anything. Want to know what’s about to happen? Ask Him. He’ll tell you. Just be ready for the answer. In this case, I don’t have to ask. I don’t know much but I know my God. I know He has only my best interests planned for my future. I may not enjoy the “learning to flourish when I don’t know the plan and He doesn’t want my help” thing. That’s not fun. If it were anybody besides God, I’d say it’s rude to refuse the occasional well meaning assistance, however unneeded it might be. But my God doesn’t want or need my input. What He wants is for me to trust Him when I’m wandering. He wants me to trust Him when I’m in limbo. He wants me to trust Him with my kryptonite. Sometimes this Jezebel wishes He’d ask for something easier .. like solving The Riemann Hypothesis.

But .. apparently this is His plan, so here I am .. 60 and starting over. I’m too old to begin a new career, too set in my ways to fit in the new society we’re building & too tired to take up cardio. I don’t give God much to work with, do I? But if anybody can take my train wreck of a life and use it to help make somebody else’s life better, it’s my God. And I’m totally in for that. If me wandering for a while will take me where He wants me to be, just give me a sec to put on my traveling shoes. My sense of direction is right up there with my math skills, so I could end up anywhere. I still get turned around in Blanchard. Good thing this Jezebel doesn’t need a compass when Jesus takes the wheel.

Jezebel diaries * day 7 * cliff notes: I’m not exactly sure where here is, but that’s where I am & it’s OK with me * I’m completely positive that I have no idea where I’m going, but I know I’m not lost * Jezebels don’t do failure but we do faith in a big way * I’m not sure if it’s adorable or if it’s God’s sense of humor that His directionally challenged Jezebel is wandering * if our lives should pass on my journey, I’ll share my pretty new marbles with you * I was seriously kidding about wishing God would ask me to solve the Riemann Hypothesis. We all know this *

With slight hesitation and hanging my head a little, I begin today’s post. Picking up my pen after not writing for weeks feels strange. And not in a good way. Some things should always be as second nature as breathing. For me: praying, cooking and writing. Those things are the fabric of me. They’re my own personal Jezebel mojo. Every Jezebel has it. The something special that’s theirs alone. The head turning, heart thumping, story making, never aging, people changing magic that either brings warm light to a dark place .. or leaves a cold black hole that can never be filled. Jezebel mojo .. rare gifts borne out of the most awful circumstance.

Cooking: When I have an event for twenty or fifty or a hundred people, and I’m in my kitchen cooking.. something happens. Almost like a big, old, rusty machine slowly waking up. Ideas start firing from every crevice of my brain. Blood starts pumping so hard I hear it pounding in my ears like a bass drum. All of the sudden, I’m going through hundreds of recipes in my mind. I’m making dozens of calculations in my head. Yes.. calculations. Me. Math. In my head. And I’m loving every second. Jezebel mojo is a real thing. It’s even stronger than math. Or it’s stronger than my allergy to math.

Writing: When I’m having trouble finding words, if you can imagine such a thing, it almost feels like I’m struggling for air. It’s a kind of suffocating grayness that leaves me begging to breathe. There’s a part of me that’s unbelievably alive when I’m writing. When the ideas all hold hands and my thoughts flow together, I know I’m unstoppable. Like I finally become a hero in my own life. There’s a rush of satisfaction that takes me higher than anything I’ve ever felt. Jezebel mojo .. it’ll take your breath away.

Praying: When I jump into my day but I haven’t stopped to pray, I’m always uncertain, moody and sluggish. I know I’ll end up getting overwhelmed and wanting to quit. It doesn’t matter if I have big tasks in front of me or a couple of small ones. Nothing will be right because I left Jesus out of my equation. Such a simple thing but one of my classic character defects. I get full of myself. I try to hurry, skip a step, cut a corner. And the disastrous results are the same every time. But when I let Jesus make the plan and I follow His lead, even the unknowns don’t intimidate me. My Jesus went before me and my Jesus has my back. What harm could possibly ever reach me? And that’s the Jezebel secret. That’s the real Jezebel mojo. Total trust in the totalness of Jesus. Unshakable. Unmovable. Unending.

I hope Jezebel Diaries is bringing some little bit of fun distraction to your day. I hope it makes you think, or maybe, rethink. I hope it makes you pray. I really hope it makes you pray. The name isn’t because I’m like the Biblical Jezebel. Quite the contrary. But Christians and nonbelievers alike are so quick to throw around hurtful insults and juicy jokes full of some-truths, half-truths and non-truths. Now, thanks to the internet and the blessings of technology, thousands of people in different cities can all be misinformed at the same time. We’ve come a long way, baby.

I’ve been on the receiving end of this fun misinformation phenomenon, hence the Jezebel name. I admit it. That’s a little bit of me thumbing my nose at the ones who gave me the title. * Insert sigh here. * Sometimes I know I’m way too human. Although I’m standing, obviously still here to tell the tale, the journey didn’t happen without some deep scars. If Jezebel Diaries does anything, I hope it brings some small awareness to how cruel and unfeeling we’ve become. The casual destruction of a human being just because they’re different, is commonplace. Heaven forbid anyone not be some dull, cookie cutter version of everybody else. How did we turn into one nation under God but with an acceptable level of hatred for our brothers? Only the ones who are disposable, of course.. you know.. the lesser thans. Someone has to speak up. Someone has to still believe in the power of the good guy. Someone has to still know that one positive light can be seen through miles of ugly darkness. Someone has to be the one to bring Jesus to a self destructing society. Someone who walks with no fear. Someone with rare gifts borne out of the most awful circumstance. Someone with Jezebel mojo.

When I study my Bible, and when I write, especially lately, I gravitate towards certain characters and situations. I’m seeking comfort in my fellow square pegs who are scattered all through both the Old and New Testaments. I’m amazed and inspired every time I read about the unwavering faith of Job. How, after he lost everything, he sat alone, scratching himself with broken pottery. Everyone ridiculed him & turned on him. But he stood firm in his faith. Unwavering. And Jael. Still in the number one position of my favorites. The way she literally nailed the leader of the enemy army through his temple and into the ground, giving victory to Israel, she kind of reminds me of a somewhat twisted Tinkerbell. She flitted around like any good hostess and got him drunk while she made a plan. She was quick, courageous, strong and apparently, she wasn’t squeamish. The Bible doesn’t say so, but that says serious mojo to me.

Since every entry needs a direction, and this one is getting progressively longer, I guess what I’m trying to share with this is .. get up and go find your mojo. Whatever makes you breathe. Whatever makes you smile. Whatever makes you YOU. Then take your Jesus, take your mojo and go make a difference. The time to make a difference and the people who want to, are both disappearing. Because it’s nobody’s job, is it? But, isn’t it, really? It’s up to all of us. Jezebels know this.. it’s part of our mojo. Anybody can do it and everybody should. Be a difference. Be a leader. Be a voice. Be a shoulder. Be a friend. Be a change. Be a light for that poor lost soul. Be an unmovable truth in a world full of lies. Someone is watching. Someone will follow you. Show them your mojo. Show them your Jesus.

Jezebel diaries * day 6 * cliff notes: * jezebel mojo is a lot like having the proverbial fountain of youth. life is sweeter & you live forever * jesus gives His most beautiful mojo to His most fractured jezebels. now they’re stronger at the broken places * you know jezebel mojo is real because there’s nothing else that can make me happy to attempt math. also, it proves that square pegs can have mega mojo and still not be like the other girls * jezebel love can heal the unhealable wound, believe when there’s no possible way or turn the world on its axis. and it’s still not as powerful as the love of jesus *

🖍️❣️✏️ I’m working on my next Jezebel Diaries blog. 🎉 The last entry was harder to write. This one is flowing like wine at the wedding of Cana.

I think it’s a pretty fair assessment that we have become a sad society of self centered, self absorbed, self obsessed individuals. We are desensitized to things like a lack of compassion for our brothers, being more concerned with the bottom line than the lines crossed to get there, proving how powerful and important we are because we step on the sick and the weak .. then having the nerve to feel good about that. It’s just the way things are, right? Just flexing a little control muscle. Everybody does. Nothing to get upset about. Not really anybody’s responsibility to step up. Who could possibly make a difference in the machine of life, anyway? We’re all just cogs in the wheels of progress.

Somewhere, somehow in the race to keep up with changing times, we completely forgot about the human race. That dusty, obsolete reminder of how we once cared more about each other than ourselves.

So, without giving too much away about my next blog, I will tell you that I figured out, I’ll never be the woman I thought God wanted me to be. But I am absolutely passionate about becoming the woman He actually planned for me to be.

I thought a good Christian woman should always be quiet and meek and .. pretty much everything I’ve never been. And never will be, if I’m being honest with myself. I don’t really do the whole “disappear into the background” thing. Haven’t been known to hold my tongue when there’s something to say. Never try to fit in anymore with the movers and shakers. They tend to not like me and thankfully, I generally have zero in common with them. Let’s face it.. as nice as an $800 blouse is or a $5,000 bag or 60 pairs of Jimmy Choo’s, Jesus won’t be impressed with that. Not even a little bit. And I’m not either. It won’t matter if I tithed my appropriate amount or way more. There’s an honest to God reason why gluttony is a deadly sin. Besides, I’d much rather take that $800 and feed 200 hungry people 3 or 4 times.

God didn’t make me to float with the flow. There used to be times when I thought I wanted to just let things go & let someone else be the one that tries to bring change. But that’s not me, is it?

I will probably not have a million dollars when I die. Or I better not have. Just know, when you see me swimming against the current with all my heart, God’s put a battle in front of me. Feel free to come with.

Not all of us are meek and mild. Some of us protect the meek and the mild.

Proverbs 31: 8-9

• I hope you’re as excited about my next blog as I am about writing it. * I’ll publish it as soon as it’s finished.

Well this post is a long time coming. And hard to write. Hard to find the right words, even for this wordy girl. Jezebels are tough but giants are scary. And New Jerusalem is our hope for tomorrow.

When I started the Jezebel diaries, it was to share my own faith and some of the experiences that formed my faith. Nobody’s perfect. Some of us way less so than others. I hope to take some of the shame and guilt so many Christians live in and maybe shed some light there. Some super simple “we’re all damaged, we’re all just trying to live a better life” Jezebel light. And it seems to be the right thing to share because you’re responding, wanting more. So I’m guessing I’m not the only slightly cracked Christian out there. That’s nice. Thank you for sharing some of yourself with me. That’s big. I get you. I really do.

Sooo.. giants. Giants are real. If you don’t have any or have never faced one, I have to ask, how did you manage? Because my life is littered with them. Giants I’ve beaten. Giants that have beaten me. Giants I’ve given to God then taken back. Situations so big, so scary, so overwhelming, so painful that I couldn’t even begin to handle alone. Situations I’m facing even right now as I write. Giants.

I’ve wondered so many times about the young shepherd David, facing the giant Goliath. We know the story. David was a young Israelite shepherd before he was king. Goliath was the champion of the Philistine army, physically superior in every way. When the Israelites were facing the Philistines in the Valley of Elah, twice a day for 40 days, Goliath tells King Saul to send out his strongest fighter for hand to hand combat. But Saul is afraid. David, however, is not. David takes his staff, his sling, 5 smooth stones and his faith. David takes his God.

Watching as a spectator, on one side we see an enormous Philistine, backed by his enormous army. On the other side is David, a young shepherd boy. The Bible tells us that Goliath was some 9 ft and however many inches tall. After you get past 9 ft, does 9’1” or 9’4” really make that much difference? It’s not like David could see the top of his head or his helmet before he killed him, anyway. Goliath was all decked out in his heaviest armor, strongest shield, biggest sword, sharpest knives and a helmet that probably added several more inches to his already formidable height. And there’s David, in his wool cap, his shepherd’s cloak, his staff, his sling, his stones.. and his God.

Picture yourself watching this. Who would you put your money on? Common sense would tell us that the bigger guy with the bigger weapon wins. And He actually does. Because even though Goliath was physically superior to David, as were his weapons, he wasn’t superior in any way, to God. God used a shepherd boy and a rock to give Israel victory over the Philistines. Goliath had physical size, strength, skill, weapons, and an army. David had his faith and his God. The Bible tells us that “David hit Goliath in the forehead with a stone and killed him”. It also goes on to tell us that David took Goliath’s own sword and .. he relieved Goliath of his head. He sent the head to Jerusalem and kept the sword and armor in his tent. Christianity.. and I’ve said this before.. it’s not for sissies.

You know, life isn’t so different now, than in David’s time. The details have changed. Progress found us. Technology rules. Influencers influence. But God is still God. Satan is still Satan. Love is still love. Hate is still hate. Giants are still real. And Jezebels still believe with an all consuming faith. Only the arena is different.

When I’m facing a giant in my life, I face that giant on my knees. It wasn’t always so, but by God, it is now. There was a time when I would meet anger with way worse anger; hate with way hotter hate. I don’t do that anymore. I still can. It’s always there. Faulty humanness that wants to take over at any given time, instead of letting God fight my battles. For some strange reason, Jezebels tend to do things the hard way. I’m not sure why, but it seems to be true, for me at least. Maybe it’s the best way for me to learn. Maybe I’m just hard headed. That’s a definite possibility. But I do learn, eventually. And like my sister Jezebels, I’m sure, once God teaches me a lesson, I’m not likely to forget. This Jezebel learned long ago that there is only one God, one Jesus, one Holy Spirit and one chance at a heavenly life. One.

One chance at New Jerusalem. And oh! how I want that. It’s where my God is. It’s my promise. It’s my birthright. It’s for believers. Studying my Bible, I find the more I know, the more I want to know. Sometimes, I admit, just the sheer enormity of it all will stop me. It’s so huge. And complicated. And I’m positive there’s math involved somewhere. I’m no scholar. I’m not a learned person. How can I understand books that have been studied by professors and scientists and theologians for years and they still don’t agree? Who am I?

This is where faith comes in. And faith does come in. It comes when you need it the most. It comes when you see no way out. It comes when you have nothing left. It comes when you’re alone and all you have are tears. It comes when you have hard questions. It comes when you have big doubts. It comes to the shepherd boy facing a Philistine. It comes to an every day woman in the middle of a war, who answers God’s call without question. It comes to a man who lost everything but his very life and still praised God. Faith comes when you still believe in the face of the overwhelming odds against you.

I guess, the answer to the “who am I” question is this: I’m a Jezebel… perfectly imperfect in every way. I am a believer … I believe in the one and only everliving God. I am a Christian… I follow Jesus Christ and will until He calls me home. I live my life on faith. I know no other way. Do I understand the entire Bible? Oh my gosh no. Do I believe Jesus is the only Son of the only God? Yes I Do. Everything else is details.

And let me just tell you this about us Jezebels: our faith in our God doesn’t waver. Ever. Even in the face of giants. We’ve been there. We’ve done that. We’ve seen the ups. We’ve lived the downs. We’ve navigated the in-betweens. We know what’s right, what’s wrong, what works and what doesn’t. And we know what’s real. Our God is real. And our life with Him is real. It lies in front of us in a place of such peace and beauty, our mind can’t conceive. There will be no more tears. All things will be made new. This is our New Jerusalem. This is the hope of the world. The hope of the Jezebel. The hope of this Jezebel.

Jezebel diaries *day 5* cliff notes: giants are just overgrown bullies. * the bigger they are, the bigger the ego. * david proves that faith is greater than fear. and also shepherds have great aim. * jezebels do things the hard way. ask us before you make a bad decision. we can help. * jesus matters. everything else is details. jezebels know this. * my home will be in the new jerusalem. won’t you be my neighbor? * jezebels are kind of like a backwards mary poppins: we’re perfectly imperfect in every way. *

This weekend, dear diary and sweet friends who have stopped by to visit, is a sacred time for Christians. As followers of Christ, we honor the many wonders of our Lord. His birth, certainly. His first miracle. His baptism. His own death. That horrific crucifixion, so barbaric and brutal. Believers gasp at the literal details of Jesus’ last hours. What the Roman whip did to His flesh before they strapped the crossbar to His shoulders; the thorns, woven into a crown and shoved into His head; the endless, unimaginable torture.

He could have called legions of angels to save Him, but He didn’t. He could have come down or stopped at any time. But He didn’t. He chose to die. He knew what was coming and He chose. He was buried in a sealed tomb so He could perform the greatest miracle of all. His resurrection. Jesus rose from death. He conquered everything they did to Him. His empty grave is why we celebrate Easter. His empty grave is why we celebrate everything.

These things are so much more than stories in the Bible. It’s easy to knock off the rough edges of truth and sing pretty songs once every Spring. We forget that the life and death of Jesus Christ formed, and transformed, the entire world. Whether you’re a believer or not, before you and somewhere in the generations of your ancestors, billions of people lived their lives firmly grounded on the simple truth of Jesus, the only son of the ever living God. God. The great I am. The God of yesterday, today and tomorrow. The God that gently lifts the fallen sparrow and parts 174,000 square miles of the Red Sea. The God of ancient Egypt and Hollywood, California. The God of skid row and Park Avenue. The God of perfect people and jezebels. The only God.

The God of Job. Here was a man of faith. People talk a lot about the patience of Job, but what about the FAITH of Job? Job was a wealthy man. He had lands, camels, oxen, herds of sheep, sons, daughters. He was the greatest of all people in the East. He feared God, shunned evil and.. I love this part.. he would go and make burnt offerings just in case his sons had sinned against God. He covered all of his bases. He made sacrifices in case God might be displeased with his family. Job: good man.

Long story short. We all know what happened. To prove Job’s faithfulness wasn’t just because he was so rich and life was easy, God allowed Satan to take everything from him, but his life. Herds. Lands. Home. Wife. Sons. Daughters. Friends. Health. All gone, just like that. Now he was broke, grieving and alone. He was covered in sores that he was scratching with broken pieces of pottery. Satan really pulled out all the stops. He was determined to shake Job’s faith. But it didn’t happen. Because real faith isn’t built on things. Real faith is like real love: it’s unconditional. Job said “naked I came into the world and naked I shall return. Blessed be the name of the Lord”. There would be no cursing God on Job’s watch. Then God restored everything that had been taken and more.

Here’s a new one you may not have heard much about. I really, really like her. Her name is Jael. No, autocorrect, not Jake. Jael. She’s in the book of Judges. Her story is short and sort of sweet, depending on how you look at it. It’s true that she did invite Sisera, the Canaanite commander of the enemy army, into her tent when her husband wasn’t around. And she did give him fermented milk (a kind of alcoholic delicacy back then). Yeah ok, she got him drunk. Then she covered him with a warm blanket and, by offering this hospitality, she pretty much made what was considered a “covenantal commitment”. He knew he should be safe there. So, Sisera…this big, bad commander of the enemy king’s army, now safe and warm and drunk, fell into a deep asleep.

Given what happened next, he should thank his lucky stars or goats or whatever pagans thanked, that it was a deep sleep. We’re told that “Jael softly went to Sisera” and not so softly, “took a mallet and drove a tent peg through his temple and into the ground on the other side. And Sisera died”. Cause of death: tent peg through the temple. By golly, that’ll do it every time.

I picture Jael as having dark hair and being kind of feisty. Not really one to ask hubby’s permission about much. She also had to be physically strong. Women set up the tents, along with everything else, so she was no stranger to hard work. And she was able to make decisions quickly. This scenario wasn’t planned. She looked out and saw the general coming up the road towards her. He was probably running too, because he had deserted his troops. Captain Coward was trying to hide.

Now we don’t really know a whole lot about Jael. What we do know is that, although her husband was an ally to the enemy king, she didn’t consult him before.. well, assassinating the king’s general. This would have been an important piece of information. It’s not like she accidentally overdrew the checkbook. Killing the leader of the king’s army gave Israel victory. Jael ended the war for God’s chosen people, with God’s approval, without asking her husband’s permission and she did it with a tent peg.

The Bible says she went out to Sisera and invited him into her tent. She saw him. She knew he was evil. She made a decision. She formed a plan. She acted. She invited him in. She got him drunk. She tent pegged him to the ground. She delivered Israel. She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t run and hide. She had to be terrified. She didn’t cower. She didn’t question God. It wasn’t pretty. It was a time of war. It was ugly, deceptive, hard, scary, bloody. Whoever started the idea that serving God is nothing but easy, clean, gentle work is seriously confused.

The battle between good and evil is just that. A battle. It’s not brunch. It’s not girls night out or Bunco or golf. There’s a very real war still raging. It’s still ugly, deceptive, hard, scary and bloody. If you don’t think so, look at the crime in our town alone. That’s doesn’t frighten you? That’s war, my friend. And we are smack dab in the middle of it. God will choose His strongest warriors, who are up to the task, for this fight. Warriors with pure hearts and ugly scars to do the hard things. The Jezebels.

The perfectly imperfect living-outside-of-the-boxers. The leading-the-packers. The shine-a-little-brighters. The bar raisers. The trend trashers. The tapestry weavers. When others hear a song, we hear the music. When others follow the same well worn path, we walk off into the unknown. We weave a tapestry of winding roads and ever changing colors held together by the golden thread of God. Like Job and Jael, we face fear and uncertainty with unwavering love and unshakable faith.

At the end of a long week, when others are self-satisfied, comfortable in their accomplishments, so proud & plump in evident excess, jezebels are wrapped in the warmth of the Father. No bells. No whistles. Nothing that moth and rust can corrupt. Just a soft blanket with the sweet love of God ever so carefully woven into every fiber. Stitch by stitch, breath by breath, memory by memory, His hand never once stops. He’s always working. Always moving.

Life has hard turns, sharp curves and drop offs that leave you falling without a net. There are dead ends and fake doors that find the trusting jezebel quite blindsided. But we get back up every. single. time. We never forget whose hand holds us; chooses us to do all the hard things; covers us with love and binds us back together with golden threads. We are God’s jezebels. Chosen for our flaws and used for His perfect purpose. We don’t run. We don’t quit. We don’t question. The more God uses us, the more we go to battle for Him, the more beautiful our lives become.

Hold a diamond up to the sun and you can see light in all the different facets. Hold a Jezebel up to The Son, and you’ll see magnificent colors like you’ve never seen. Breathtaking beauty shining through every scar, every wound, every flaw; reflecting faith, strength, healing and an all consuming love.

Jezebel diaries * day 4 * cliff notes: * Christianity isn’t for sissies. all crosses are heavy but so worth it. * if God sends you into battle, go stand next to a jezebel. she may be rough around the edges, but you won’t win war with gossip and glitter. * jael shows us that God uses beautiful women to do ugly things. also tent pegs clearly have more than one purpose. * if your name is captain coward, don’t drink the milk and don’t take a nap * jezebels tend to follow their own path. they make beautiful memories. they go where no man has gone before.. then they call someone for directions because they’re lost in another state. * jezebels bring light and love and beautiful color to the lives they touch. if you have one, you know this. if you lost one, you know this. * when you look at a jezebel, all you may see are the scars. but hold her up to The Son, and she’ll sparkle all over you. *

the Jezebel

       let me introduce myself                                   
the tale I have to tell 
will paint for you 
with artist’s hue 
the story of a jezebel 

to hear the locals whisper 
you’d think she casts a spell 
better be leery 
she’ll catch the unwary 
this brazen jezebel 

the truth inconsequential 
what fun is that to tell?
invent or embellish 
with purpose and relish 
we’ll slander the jezebel 

did you hear her latest mischief?
the devil knows her well!
it has to be true 
what Christians must do 
is stone that jezebel 

such righteous indignation 
so proud, the heads that swell
they pick up momentum 
pretending God sent them
to purge the jezebel 

she dances inside the inferno 
her faith burns hotter than Hell
she stands in His favor,
with the love of the Savior 
she’s stronger and braver 
no chain can enslave her…
the unbreakable jezebel 

the truth inconsequential,
what fun is that to tell?
invent or embellish,
with purpose and relish,
we’ll slander the Jezebel 

Jezebel, Pollyanna and Mary, the mother of Jesus. Maybe my three favorite females, real or fictional. There’s something about each of them that I admire and relate to. I know! Talk about your different social circles. Had they all been real and lived in the same time, they wouldn’t have mingled. There would have been no friendly waves or chatting in the local market. I doubt there would have been eye contact. It wasn’t done. It still isn’t done. What on earth would people say? Everyone thought Jezebel was the most immoral person of any social circle; poor PollyAnna, an orphan with no home or family, had no position or status, let alone a social circle; and Mary… Mary was a very young girl who had just been visited by the Angel Gabriel and told she was going to deliver The Messiah. The Messiah. I think it’s safe to assume she had bigger concerns, than where she was or wasn’t, in some social circle.

Today dear diary and friends, as promised, marks the conscious decision to be more upbeat in my writings. You deserve a smile with your coffee or water or nutritional tea. If I can help you see through my eyes, we can both laugh at the awful, beautifully imperfect life I’ve led. Maybe mine will make you feel better about yours. Maybe you’ll begin to see how amazing you really are. Maybe you’ll want to understand the faith that wakes me up every day. Maybe you’ll just forget about your outside stress for a few minutes because this wordy girl caught your attention. Whatever the reason, you’re reading my words. I’m glad you’re here.

So, how’s this for a Jezebel Journey challenge? By the time you finish reading today’s entry, you’ll not only understand me a little better, but you’ll gain that understanding by way of getting to know a Jezebel, Pollyanna and Mother Mary. Basically, we’ll take a walk through my thoughts and you may end up with, at the very least, a different perspective. Do they make Bengay for the brain? You may need it. Did I mention I’m glad you’re here?

If you’re just joining us for the first time, welcome! In case billions of blogs aren’t enough, now you’ve found mybrokencrayon.com: a sounding board for square pegs everywhere. Within that, I started a small series, The Jezebel Diaries. It’s nothing special. I’m not an actual writer. Just lending insight from an outsider who’s always believed in the magic of the good guy. I’ve changed hundreds of things in my life, but that’s never changed. Believing in the good guy is part of my soul. Sylvester doesn’t eat Tweety. Wile E. Coyote can’t blow up the Roadrunner. Cat Ballou doesn’t hang. Elmer Fudd will never eat wabbit stew. Germany was defeated in Casablanca by Rick, Ilsa and love. No Clingon is a match for James T. Kirk. Ebenezer Scrooge sees the error of his ways. Tiny Tim doesn’t die. And name or man-with-no-name, Mr. Eastwood doesn’t lose. I believe. Sooner or later, the good guy always wins. Jezebels are the good guys.

Are you wondering, how did my own bio end up a (to me) stunning blend of Jezebel, Pollyanna and Mother Mary? Most days, so am I. It would be easy to cry, blame and woe is me. But let’s not. I don’t have to know the why’s. I don’t have to know the when’s or where’s. I don’t even have to know the plans. Because I know the good guy. THE good guy. The only one who matters. This is where the flawed Jezebel meets the unwavering faith of Mother Mary. The simple, unshakable belief in Jesus, no social circles involved. Then Pollyanna comes skipping in, finding the good in everything, telling us all to rejoice and be glad 826 times… and all of the sudden, the me that made mistakes that could haunt me in my grave, is holding hands with the me who believes as the mother of Jesus. And we’re both holding our arms open to embrace Pollyanna me, who’s seen enough bad to last lifetimes and beyond. But I’m still looking for the good in people. Because The Good Guy looked for the good in me.

Jezebel diary * day 3 * cliff notes: * social circles are really just shallow puddles full of shallow people * no matter how different someone seems to be, you have common ground with them, if you’re willing to look * God tells us 826 times to be glad and rejoice. He wants us to live. He wants us to love. He wants us to laugh. * Wile E. Coyote should order his rockets from somewhere besides ACME. * Mr. Eastwood doesn’t lose. * Tiny Tim doesn’t die. * God bless us every one * but mostly the perfectly, imperfect Jezebels. We paint the world, we write the songs, we put feelings into words.*