Posts Tagged ‘carbonated joy’

Tucked away in the 24th chapter of Luke is one of my favorite Bible stories. It is the story of two heart broken men walking down a dusty road. Jesus has been crucified and their dreams and expectations have died along with him. They are desperate to pack up their dead dreams and get as far as possible away from the scene of the crime. They just need to sort things out, so they take a walk. They are taking a seven mile hike from Jerusalem to a crazy little place called Emmaus. They are basically second string disciples, not Peter or any of the other headliners. They have lived on the fringe of the following, but it seems that God has a real soft spot for the second string…

Suddenly, they are joined by a third man who they don’t recognize. The stranger seems to be clueless about everything that has happened. But then the mystery man tells them that THEY are the ones who need to get a clue. He asks “why are your hearts so sluggish?” Then He starts giving them answers. Along with the answers comes recognition…a spark!

This is Jesus! And he is very much ALIVE!!! And he has set their hearts on fire!

“they asked each other, ‘were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32 TNIV)
God gives us heartburn! When we spend time with Jesus we are ignited! Sometimes when God shows up we might not recognize him, but, if we walk with Him, even accidentally, He will leave us ignited!
He is the source of the heat…
He is the light.
The fire is ignited as we walk and talk with Jesus.
The spark kills the sludge.
Our sluggish hearts come alive.
We are consumed by a holy fire.
Burn, baby, burn!
I also think that is the way that people are meant to find out about Christ.
We walk alongside them…we talk …our hearts burn…a spark is ignited.
We are carriers of the flame…
We are the fellowship of the burning heart.
Walk and talk with Jesus! Let him give you heartburn.

I love this story so much that it inspired me to do two things:

1. get a tattoo

2. write a poem

The tattoo is on my arm. It’s a permanent reminder of the everlasting flame.

here’s the poem:

I bear on my body the mark…

the mark of the burning heart.

engraved in my skin and engraved still deeper into my heart

is the symbol of the eternal flame.

I have joined the most sacred of orders, the fellowship of the burning heart.

it is made up of those who have felt their hearts strangely warmed and failures forgiven. those who have touched God and found themselves forever changed and consumed by an unexplainable fire.

the broken heart is transformed into the burning heart.

though at first I didn’t recognize Him, in time I came to know the Christ as the only one who could set my life aflame. I have felt the heat of his presence.

fire is life…

I have been ignited…

I glow in the dark…

I bear on my body the mark…

the mark of the burning heart.

I am a big fan of party food and one of my faves is the seven layer dip. You dip your chip into the thick, spicy explosion of goodness. You don’t know what you are going to get….Cheese or bean dip?…Sour cream or black olives? I like some layers more than others…I love cheese! Bean dip makes me dance. I’ve never been a fan of the olive.

In the Gospel of Mark chapter 5 there is an incredible story. It is like a big 7 layer dip with hurt, hope, confusion, distraction, healing, death and resurrection.

Jesus is surrounded by party people. It is a massive crowd pushing in on Him. A desperate man pushes through the crowd and falls at Jesus’s feet. He is an important man named Jairus. He is a leader in the synagogue, but that doesn’t matter now, because he is also a daddy. And, his 12 year old daughter is sick…real sick…about to die. He begs Jesus to do something…PLEASE…FOR THE LOVE OF GOD…DO SOMETHING!! He believes and prays a prayer of hope: “Just place Your hands on her. I know that if You do, she will live.” Jesus smiles a kind smile, a knowing smile, and He starts traveling home with Jairus. Time is of the essence, so Jairus does his best to hurry God through the crowd. But, there’s problem…a divine distraction.

There’s a woman who has suffered continuous bleeding for 12 years, the entire life of the little girl. this is the kind of thing that made her ritually unclean and a social outcast. she has spent all her money trying to get better and she had only gotten worse. She has heard all the talk about this Jesus. So she takes a huge risk, the untouchable one pushes through the crowd to touch the miracle man. She sneaks up behind Him…it’s not easy, there’s a desperate looking man trying to hurry him down the road. But, she is desperate too and this is her last resort. She reaches out her hand and touches His cloak.


The nanosecond that she makes contact with Jesus she is healed!!! Immersed in a flood of wholeness.

Here’s where it gets crazy…okay crazier. Jesus is immersed in a flood of humanity. He is a being pushed on every side. But he recognized her touch. He stopped. Everyone stopped. He looked around. And he asked: “Who just touched My robe?” awkward…uneasy silence….his disciples are wondering if he has finally lost it. “ummm…Jesus, there are about a bazillion people touching You. What do You mean, Who touched Me?”

I think Jesus just grinned and glanced around with a look of holy mischief. The woman fell at his feet. Busted! She was shaking with fear and amazement.

I think Jesus knew who touched Him…I think He wanted the woman to know who touched her.

He took the time to listen to her story.

This has to be killing Jairus…MY DAUGHTER IS DYING and you are taking time to listen to this lady’s story?! Imagine the frustration that he felt as Jesus is distracted by the needs of others! Can you relate? I can! I have prayed and I’m waiting for an answer. But, God seems to be distracted by helping other people. What is he thinking!?

While Jesus is wrapping things up with the lady, Jairus gets word… Your daughter is dead.

It’s over…

We were so close…

If only…

If only God had behaved the way I expected.

Jesus looks him in the eye and says: “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid; just…believe.”

They get to the house and things are messy. There is loud mourning. Some genuinely crushed family members and friends. But there are Some people just looking to be a part of something. People are attracted to drama like mosquitoes to a bug zapper and there is a large crowd assembled, after all Jairus is an important man.

I imagine, Jesus, once again with a look of holy mischief, clearing his throat, rolling up his sleeves and saying: “ Why are you making all this noise? The child isn’t dead. She’s just sleeping.”

Mourning quickly becomes ridicule and unbelief.

Jairus is crushed and confused, but he is hanging on to something that Jesus said…one word…BELIEVE.

He said it after healing a woman who had been sick the entire time his baby had been alive.

Jesus runs out the posers, so that only three of his disciples, Jairus, and Mrs. Jairus were left inside with Him.

Jesus took the child’s hand and said “Little girl, it’s time to wake up.”

Immediately the 12-year-old girl opened her eyes, immersed in a flood of life!

Jesus tells her parents give her something to eat. I love that! He grins and says I gave her life…you give her something to eat!

So what do we learn from this multi dimensional story of the multi tasking miracle worker?

Maybe…it’s that just because Jesus is working on somebody else’s stuff doesn’t mean that he’s not working on mine.

Maybe…it’s that the way Jesus works with me is completely different from the way he works with others…so stop comparing.

Maybe…it’s that when we are at our lowest we should hang on to one word…BELIEVE.

Maybe…it’s that Jesus makes all things NEW, but He gets to define NEW.

I don’t know, but I do know that Relationships are about layers, even a relationship with God…we will like and understand some layers more than others.

Don’t let that stop you from dipping in…it’s even okay to double dip.

Get immersed in a flood of seven layered goodness

I am an American kid.

I was raised on fried food and football.

I have a lot of really sweet memories that smell like football.

I remember a bitter cold winter night, my Dad, brother and me, huddled in a pick up truck, listening to the last few minutes of the Super Bowl on an AM radio.

I remember sitting on metal bleachers eating steaming Frito-chili pie (I know, it’s an Oklahoma thing!) at home football games.

I remember falling in love with America’s team. When I was in 3rd grade, I decided the Dallas Cowboys were my team too. They have been ever since. I stuck with them through the good years and the bad years. You learn that haters are gonna hate, but you got to stick with your team. That’s what you do.

My personal dreams of football glory were lived out in our front yard. Growing up, We had a huge front yard that was an almost perfect football field. On most fall Saturdays we would gather…a rag tag collection of neighborhood NFL wannabes, We would choose teams and draw elaborate plays in the dirt.

We were completely serious about our fun! It wasn’t pretty, we fumbled and stumbled. It wasn’t about perfection, It was all about play.

We didn’t have nice uniforms or pads. We played in t-shirts, jeans and Chuck Taylors. We got dirty.

Sometimes kids got mad, hopefully it wasn’t the kid who owned the ball.

We learned that it was more about heart than ability, my brother was the youngest player but also the scrappiest.

We learned how to (and how not to) play through pain. I remember the same kid got hurt every game and went home crying. We adjusted and kept playing. It was a rough game.

Sometimes the game hurts, you learn to get up and carry on. Most hurts were solved with a little break and a Dixie cup full of warm tropical punch Kool-Aid.

On that note, we had a bird house on a very tall metal pole right in the center of our front yard. Inevitably someone would run into the birdhouse. They knew it was there, my Dad didn’t move it. It was a big, unyielding, permanent fixture in our football field. Most of the time it wasn’t a problem, but if you forgot it was there, and hit it at the right angle, it would jack you up! You gotta watch out for the bird houses in life. We all have bird houses in our lives, things that could jack us up. The lesson is simple…know that they are there and avoid them.

But, I think the single biggest thing I learned in the front yard was where I fit.

I couldn’t catch or throw, I wasn’t fast…

but I DO have a very low center of gravity.

Because of that I could stay on my feet when people were trying to tackle me.

Our quarterback, usually my friend Jimmy, would hand me the ball and shout “RUN!” And I would.

I was more grunt than graceful.

the truth was you couldn’t really call what I was doing running…

I was really just moving in the right direction…that was enough…life is more about just moving in the right direction than speed.

I realized I could run…okay…move in the right direction with 3 or 4 guys hanging on my neck. They would desperately try to bring me down but they couldn’t!

It was awesome!

My team mates celebrated my innate ability to stand up.

There are a few benefits to being the same height and width.

I can’t fully explain the feelings of achievement and belonging that I felt when my team celebrated me finding my place.

It was soul Gatorade.

It was life.

AHHHH!!! the sweetness of finding your sweet spot.

Know your role and play it.

Don’t compare yourselves to others.

Don’t keep track of how many times other people get the ball.

There is only one quarterback on the field…but he’s not on the field by himself!

Find your sweet spot.

Now, several decades later, I, like most chubby, middle age guys, live out my football dreams second hand. I put on a jersey and I talk about “OUR” team going all the way…this could be “OUR” year!

But, I remember the lessons that I learned. I play, I watch out for bird houses and most important, I know who I am.

I know what I can do and what I can’t.

I also know there is nothing better on a cold day than a steaming styrofoam cup of frito-chili pie!

Go Cowboys!

It was a really good day…until it wasn’t.

It was the summer of 1981.
My Dad was teaching me how to drive.
Dad had just gotten a 1974 Ford Maverick. He restored it and had it painted and pinstriped. It was a beautiful chunk of shiny metal. He was really proud. It was a beautiful, reasonably fast car. He had recaptured a part of the youth that he had forfeited in the name of responsibility. You have to understand, my Dad was a very practical man who drove practical vehicles. He usually drove pick up trucks with gun racks. This was his big mid-life splurge. It was the closest thing he ever had to a sports car.
He took me driving on a Summer afternoon. At first, he was driving. We were just taking a lazy drive. We drove through our neighborhood and over by my Grandma’s house.
then, He pulled over and threw me the keys…to HIS MAVERICK! I adjusted the seat as far up as it could go. Then I took off. I was a little nervous, but I was doing it. I was focused and I even used the turn signals once. It was going good. My Dad was in a really good mood. We stopped at Hi-View Mini-Mart and we each got a cold glass bottle of Pepsi. We were cruising through the back roads with the windows down and an Alabama song playing on the radio. It was a perfect summer afternoon. Dad punched me in the arm and grunted, “you are doing alright, boy.”
It was the closest that I felt to my Dad in a while.

It was a really good day, then in one moment EVERYthing changed!

We were almost home…

I was turning into our long gravel driveway and…well…I guess, I might have over compensated a bit…Instead of the driveway…I was headed straight toward the barbed wire fence that ran parallel to it…in HIS MAVERICK!
We all have moments where we honestly don’t know what happened.
HOLY CRAP moments.
I was disconnected from all reason and road safety and I punched it.
It was an ugly blur that seemed to be moving in fast forward and slow motion all at the same time.
There were metal fence posts and chunks of dirt and grass flying through the air.
It was all accompanied by some unbelievably ugly scraping noises.
For some God forsaken reason…I…just…couldn’t…stop.
I had one foot pressed down on the gas and one pressed down on the brake.
It was a surreal moment of stupidity.
The car finally came to a stop.
I had taken out about 25 feet of barbed wire.
I wanted to throw up or run away.
I slowly looked over at my Father…
His face had turned a shade of pink that I had never seen him wear before.
His eyebrows were twitching and his nostrils were flaring.
It looked like his forehead was about to explode.
He glared at me and got out of the car. He stomped around looking at the mangled fence and the horribly disfigured sports car.
Then he shouted one four letter word that pretty much summed up the whole situation.
My Mom, who had witnessed the whole ugly ordeal from the dining room window, hurried out with two glasses of sweet tea. (Sweet tea has supernatural soothing powers…Mom recognized this as a situation in need of soothing.) I’m pretty sure my siblings were making my funeral plans.

I walked out to our hay barn and cried for hours. I had screwed up. My Irish setter, Pat, put his head in my lap and let me know that I was gonna be alright. Sometimes, only a good dog understands your pain.
Then, my Dad and me fixed the fence together, because that is what you do. We didn’t talk much…we just fixed a broken fence.
Eventually Dad could look at me again without making that strange wheezing noise in his throat.
We got through it.
It became a story…a story that EVERYbody who came over to our house the next 2 years heard. “Hey…you see my boy over there…let me tell you what he did…”

My big stage debut was in a first grade play. It was a sweeping musical production about changing seasons.

I was a leaf.
It was not a speaking part.
I was a leaf.
That’s not as glamorous as a snowflake, that role went to the more graceful kids, it seems that snowflakes have to be graceful and coordinated.
Leaves do not.
I was a leaf.
It was pretty easy. I got to jump/fall out of the tree, that was the fun part.
But, then I got raked around on stage by the farmer (played by my overall clad friend, Terry Shipman).
My stage direction was pretty clear…fall and flop.
It was really the perfect role for me. It didn’t require any coordination or memorization.
I fell down…
I rolled around…
I nailed it!!
I WAS a leaf!

Since first grade I’ve learned a few things about leaves.
It turns out there is a CIRCLE of LEAF.
it looks something like this…
1. Leaves are produced by the tree.
2. Leaves are attached to the tree and live out on the limb.
3. Leaves give shade.
4. Leaves give life – they produce oxygen.
5. Leaves experience seasons. Each new season brings new expressions of beauty.
6. Leaves fall from the tree and die.
7. They get trampled on and become mulch (which is a very ugly word that sounds like an ugly sound effect)

That, my friends, is the CIRCLE of LEAF. That is the inevitable life span of a leaf. It is just the way it is…the way it has always been. Leaves live, die and become mulch.
The secret to their life is their attachment to the tree.

BUT…HOLD ON…WAIT A MINUTE…what if there was a little rebel leaf?
Imagine a little rebel leaf, who decided he really didn’t like the way it is…the way it has always been. He decided to change the CIRCLE of LEAF. he didn’t have a problem with items 1 through 5, but he hated items 6 and 7, the whole dying and mulching thing.
So he decided, “NO…I’m not gonna fall…I’m not gonna be mulch…HECK NO, I WON’T GO!!!…I’m not leaving (or LEAFING…HAR!) I’m staying! I’m clinging to this tree. If I leave the tree I will die. I will not die.”
The little rebel leaf breaks the CIRCLE of LEAF.

What does that have to do with us?
I think Jesus has invited us to be the rebel leaf.
Break the CIRCLE of LIFE.

Look at what he tells us…
“Abide in Me, and I will abide in you. A branch cannot bear fruit if it is disconnected from the vine, and neither will you if you are not connected to Me. I am the vine, and you are the branches. If you abide in Me and I in you, you will bear great fruit. Without Me, you will accomplish nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me, he is like a branch that is tossed out and shrivels up and is later gathered to be tossed into the fire to burn. ” – John 15:4-6

Life…real life comes from abiding…from rebelling against going with the flow.
It comes from clinging to the tree and refusing to let go.
Stay attached…be the rebel leaf.
We are meant to live out on the limb.
We are meant to give soul shade and life.
We are meant to go through seasons, each with glorious new expressions of beauty.
We don’t have to become mulch.
We need to refuse to leave the tree.
Hang on for dear life…literally!
How do we break the CIRCLE of LEAF?

“If anyone is united with the Anointed One, that person is a new creation. The old life is gone – and see – a new life has begun!” – 2 Corinthians 5:17

Life…new life…quality life is all about getting attached to the Anointed One and leaning in.
Rebel against the old by becoming the new!
Find yourself by losing yourself in the tree…in the life of the one who beat death.
The rebel leaf…the new creation has broke the CIRCLE of LIFE by discovering new life!
Be the leaf…
Be the rebel leaf.

There is a time honored rite of passage called the Snipe hunt. When I was about 12 years old, I got welcomed into the club.

I was on a camp out with the youth group from St. Henry’s Catholic Church. (I think St. Henry is the patron saint of men who smoke pipes.) we had backpacked, ate a large amount of canned beanie weenies and sat around campfires, farting and giggling. It was a memorable trip into the deep woods of north east Oklahoma. I don’t mind saying, We survived some pretty harsh conditions, we hiked for minutes, our tents flooded one night and we ran out of Vienna sausages. Then late one night, we were told by the older dudes that the conditions were perfect for a snipe hunt. Evidently, The perfect conditions were a moonless night and a bunch of gullible 7th grade boys. We were instructed that we were going to catch (and probably kill and possibly eat) the exclusive wild snipe. We were ready! We were MEN and we were ready for the hunt. Snipes were described to us as cross between a wild mongoose, a Pygmy goat & an electric eel. Needless to say we were horrified but we were men so we hunt…right?
We were given a musty burlap bag and 2 sticks and carefully worded instructions: The older guys would take us into the snipe hunting grounds and help us find the perfect spot. We were to stand there,expectantly, with our bag ready to snag a snipe. We also were told to bang the sticks together and make the snipe mating call, which sounded like this: “kissy kissy woooo!” The snipes would then run into our burlap bags. It sounded pretty easy…a little scary, but simple…right? So we did it. the older guys separated us and took us out and left us alone in the dark with a burlap bag making kissy noises. We waited and waited and waited. It was dark and scary. It’s really not fair, being 12 years old is already a really hard and confusing time. It’s even harder when you get left in the dark. There were weird completely unfamiliar outdoor noises. Then, when you were really creeped out and about to lose your mind the older jerks…I mean guys would sneak up on you and scare the crap right out of you. It was all a lot of fun…if you were an older guy. I was crouched in the dark with my burlap bag making kissy noises. I wasn’t a big fan of the dark at home, but in the woods I was consumed with wide eyed, crazy fear. Right about then, my friend, Arthur’s brother, Phil, snuck up and grabbed my leg. My finely tuned survival skills kicked in and I did what came primal. I had two sticks so I used them. I started beating the crud out of Phil with my sticks. He was yelling “LUKE…LUKE…IT’s ME!!!” I shouted back: “I KNOW!!” I still feel kinda bad about that, Phil was a really good guy.
Looking back there was something real cool about that night. It was scary and earthy and dark and mysterious. But waking up the next day we were different. We were in on the joke. We were part of the club. We packed up camp and hiked back to the station wagons waiting to take us home. We were older and wiser and manlier.
Now, Pass the beanie weenies.

Recently we went to a race at a dirt track, it was awesome!! We were surrounded by some really fun people…lots of mullets and muscle shirts. We watched the cars slide around the track. As they did they kicked up ALOT of dirt. It got in our eyes and teeth, we were covered in it. It was seriously dirty fun!

There is an undeniable magic in dirt. It attracts us. We cultivate it and plant seeds in it…it gives us food. We dig in it. As kids we want to play in it. We make mud and sculpt it into wonderful things. I don’t think it’s accidental that we like to play in the dirt. Genesis 2:7 says “One day the Eternal God scooped dirt out of the ground, sculpted it into the shape we call human, breathed the breath that gives life into the nostrils of the human, and the human became a living soul.”
It turns out that God loves working with dirt.
The most common ingredient combined with the breath of God creates…

This is really good news because sometimes my efforts look like dirt.
Dirt happens…
God breathes…
LIFE is created!

The breath of God changes everything!
Give Him your dirt.

He breathes life into the dirt of our life…
Into the common.
He makes beautiful things out of dust.

When we were kids, we would spend every New Year’s Eve at our grandparents. All of the parents would drop the cousins off and we would party like 6 through 10 year olds…it would get crazy! We would eat cookies and popcorn. We would build forts from furniture. We would jump up and down for no apparent reason. We would listen to grandpa’s police scanner. Then, when it was getting late, around 8:30, we would gather in the living room for a talent show. My cousin, Gayla, did a marionette show. She had a very cool stage and she always did a great job. My cousin, Kayse, did some ballet. There were impressive professional wrestling exhibitions and home movies. I think there was a trained ferret once. There was an occasional ukulele or harmonica solo. I always did a…umm…magic show.

For a few years I got a magic kit for Christmas, the kind with…wait for it…24 real magic tricks!! This gave me a week to master the skills of illusion. This usually didn’t work out.
The problem was, it seems, that to master sleight of hand, you really need actual motor skills and discretion. I still can not shuffle a deck of cards, that makes card tricks a little…well…tricky! But, my obvious lack of skills didn’t stop me. I was hopeful. I had big dreams, I was going to be the next Houdini. I called myself the amazing Languini, because I thought it sounded mysterious and cool. I didn’t realize that I was calling myself a noodle. Nothing says mystifying like pasta.
Each New Year’s Eve I put on quite possibly the worst magic show ever. I remember trying to do the trick with the little red plastic vase and rope and never being able to do it right. The only thing I managed to pull out of my hat was lint. I poked myself in the eye once with my real store bought magic wand. Luckily for my self esteem I had some very supportive cousins. With each mediocre trick they gave me a new chance. “That last one was pretty rough, but let’s see what you got now…”

There is something so completely hopeful about a new year.
It’s freshly fallen possibility, untouched, unsmudged, pure potential.
You can pick it up and take it wherever you choose.
Technically, January 1st is just another day, right?
But there is something magical about it.
There is a strange magic in NEW.
The chance to start over…to begin again…a fresh start…a clean slate.
Last year was tough, but hey…you get a fresh start.
“That last one was pretty rough, but let’s see what you got now…”
It’s really good news…it’s the power of potential. Hit the restart button. It’s not too late.
It’s like every 365 days we get a Do-over. It’s a built in time for reflection and renewal.
There is power in pause.
Stop…What did I get right? What did I screw up? What is beyond my control? How can I start all over?
It’s strange magic…How can I make the ugly disappear and pull some new dreams out of my hat?
I love that new year smell…
Each new year smells like the spirit of do-over.
It’s downright magical


I want to walk in your favor and flavor.
I want to live out your story, all for your glory.
You are the King of me, reign in every part of my life.
I fix my eyes on you so that you can fix my eyes.
Help me see what really matters.
May I see people and situations the way that you do.
Holy Spirit…
Give me fresh faith and a fire in my gut.
Refill me…consume me.
Lead me into truth and beauty.
Work wonder in my life.
My God…
I give you this year, let your will be done.
Your joy is my strength.
Your peace is my anchor.
I love you.

Who is the strongest person you know? I’ve met some pretty tough people, football players and fighters, pro wrestlers and soldiers. They were pretty impressive individuals, BUT, not the strongest person I know. I’ve even met Chuck Norris, he was a super cool guy, BUT, he wasn’t the strongest person I know.
The strongest person that I know is 4′ 11″, she sometimes walks with a cane and hangs out with a weenie dog named Stretch. It’s my mom, Marilyn Lang. She is the strongest person that I’ve ever met.
My dad was a tough guy, an all American MAN. He was John Wayne and Superman all wrapped up into one hairy package. He was tough, but he wasn’t as strong as my mom.
She was strong enough to beat the odds that everyone saw and the ones that nobody knew about.
The summer before she turned 8 she was diagnosed with polio. Her life would never be the same. It was often hard and painful. She was strong enough to beat polio, although, like Jacob in the Old Testament, her struggle left her with a limp. She was strong enough to live with the limp. True strength…real strength comes from living with weakness. What weakened her legs FOREVER strengthened her spirit.
She was strong enough to raise three kids, she birthed two and chose one (but, she did have labor pains the day my sister, Hope, was born 6,645 miles away).
She was strong enough to simply be herself and encourage her kids to do the same.
She was strong enough to, by her example, instill something in us that is unbreakable…a faith. By herself, she took…sometimes dragged…us to church. My brother, Mark, and I are ONLY in the business of changing lives because She was strong enough to change our lives.
She was strong enough to work hard at a school cafeteria, a bank and a pharmacy. Only to come home and work hard some more.
She was strong enough to get in the face of people twice her size if they were messing with the people she loved. Sometimes she even used a footstool to do this.
She was strong enough to love one man though good, bad and ugly. Then, just when things were getting beautiful, She was strong enough to carry on with life, when that man left the dance way too early.
She was strong enough to dance alone.
She was strong enough to make a new life.
She is strong enough to do the right thing, even when it wasn’t the easy or popular thing.
She is strong enough to tell the truth.
She is strong enough to love.
She is strong enough to forgive the hurters and the haters.
She is strong enough to dance like nobodies watching.
My little Mother is the biggest badass I know.
Life has thrown her some serious curveballs, sometimes it still does.
She will beat them.
She is just that strong.
Don’t mess with her.
She is THE strongest person I’ve ever known.