My Life as the Velveteen Rabbit

What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

Three  nights ago, I read The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams aloud to my daughter as a bedtime story. Although I've read the book many times, that night, it brought tears to my eyes.

Because that night was a turning point in my life. I'd gotten a phone call that assured me that I was ready to reveal something I've been afraid to share.

Something I haven't told anyone outside of my closest circle of friends.

I've been nervous and insecure, apprehensive of others' judgement, or dislike and disbelief.

And while I'm still experiencing all of those feelings from time to time, the phone call I got on Tuesday was a validation of sorts, and now I'm ready to share what I've wanted to tell you for a long time.

*Deep Breath*

Here it goes.


I.

Am.

An.

Author.


I have been on the fence about this title for a while now, ever since I was audacious enough to write my first chapter and see it through till the end.

The past couple of  years, I've started a blog and have joined numerous writing groups on social media forums. I attended my first writers' conference and had a select few people read my novel and give me feedback. All of these things were passive ways to declare who I was, but despite working on my book for years, I haven't felt comfortable outwardly claiming my authorship.

Why?

Because I'm not one of those strong women you hear about who can simply tell themselves they are capable and worthy and actually believe it. And being an author is something semi-sacred to me: it's hallowed ground I'm attempting to tread. I needed someone else - an expert - to tell me that being an author was an attainable status for me: more than an unreachable dream.

Three days ago, I got a phone call from the experts: two literary agents - Alex Barba and Michelle Johnson. 

These are women who have read thousands of manuscripts, who have worked with bestselling authors, the top five publishing houses, and even film production companies.

And these women called me to tell me they loved my book and would be honored to represent my best interests in getting it published and into the hands of young adults.

And in my head, just like that...

I became an author.



That was the same night I read The Velveteen Rabbit to my daughter. And as I read it aloud, I got all teary-eyed.

Because I realized that I was the Velveteen Rabbit. 

For years, I was wondering what could make me real.

At first, there was disbelief.

Could I really write a novel?  A whole book?  Could I make it entertaining, enthralling, even? Could I create lovable characters and a plot that will command the readers' attention?  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HOW WOULD I EVEN COME UP WITH AN IDEA???

HOW CAN I BECOME REAL????



Here's the excerpt from the picture book, with my thoughts as I read the story following it:

What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

My version: What is REAL? Does it just mean having ideas and writing about them? 

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

My version: "You weren't born an author. You become one. It's been a long, long process, and you've come so far. You created something that experienced agents loved and wanted to read more of.  You have what it takes, Amanda Deich. You've become REAL." 




You see, being an author is more than just doing something for the enjoyment of it.  Sure, you have to love it to see it through - you'll need the passion when you're on your 118th revision - but writing wasn't created to be an act of solitude.

It was created to speak to the heart of the person who is reading your work.

It's communicative. There's a giver and a receiver, and the receiver must always understand and appreciate the importance of what you are trying to say.

While it seems simple, it really isn't.  Again, from The Velveteen Rabbit:




"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

My version: You're going to suffer in one way or another. You're going to be critiqued. Some people will hate your work. YOU'RE going to hate your work. Readers will always find something about it that needs improvement.  But if you want to be real - if you want to be an author - you can be. You just have to love the work and the vision more than you hate the critique. 



"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"


"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." 

My version:  It takes time to become a real author.  No one has their first draft published. All authors have been rejected at one time or another. You cannot break easily if you want to succeed in this business.  

By the time you create a book worth reading, you're going to be falling apart at the seams. But don't worry, because you won't feel ugly. You'll feel proud to have done something very few have had the talent and fortitude to do.





My first novel was an "accidental" memoir I wrote as an anniversary gift to my husband. After I was able to fill an entire book with my real-life musings, I realized, I CAN DO THIS.  

I had to pray long and incredibly hard for inspiration, but eventually, God gave me an idea. And I wrote. 

It consumed me. 

After a significant amount of time, I gave it to others to read. An agent who led an online course pointed out that I began the book with a cliche. A good friend who is also an author informed me that the premise of my book was overused. I read it myself and realized that I had put too many redundant things in it, that it was too wordy and took away from the pace of the story.

Months passed, and then years.  And it wasn't ready yet.  But the whole time, I constantly said to myself, I AM GOING TO DO THIS.

I asked people to pray for me, and they did. THEY STILL DO.

I continue to feel the desperate need to write deep down in my soul, and I know that this is God's way of nudging me toward his purpose, of telling me, THIS IS WHAT YOU'RE MEANT TO DO.

And so I write.  I create.


What is that you are meant to do?

Write? Paint? Teach? Heal? Parent?

Calculate? Motivate? Insure? Assure?

<ENTER ANY ACTIVE VERB HERE!>?

What is keeping you from becoming real?  Have you taken the chance and shared your talent with the world? Have you listened to your critiques - truly ingested them - and made the decision to become the best version of you?

If not, what's holding you back?  Out there, this world has billions of people in it, and there is a desperate need for them to be blessed by your talents.

Don't hesitate any longer, friends.

Do what it takes to become REAL.

In the book, the velveteen rabbit eventually becomes a real rabbit, finally able to use his limbs to do what God intended bunnies to do.  And though he looks back at his past as a loved toy with fondness - as he appreciates what it took to be real - he doesn't hesitate to dart off into the world to do what he was made to do.


And that's where I am, people.

It's my life as The Velveteen Rabbit.

10 Signs That You Are a Parent to a "THREE-NAGER"

My daughter is three, and I'm counting down the days until she's four.

I'm pretty sure she's going to go to bed on the eve of her fourth birthday as a difficult and opinionated little girl, but that when she wakes up the next morning, she'll be the sweet and gentle girl that I always knew she would become.

I don't care if it's not based on science. On days like today, it's all I'm holding on to, so I'm going to choose to believe it.

This past year with her has taught me a lot - mostly about patience and understanding. You can't imagine why? Then you have probably never parented a three-naged girl. Here are ten signs that you are in the same boat as me:

1) 98% of all conversations involve bodily functions or fluid. I've reached my limit talking about poop. For those of you who know me, you know this is a big deal.

2)  You say you’re going hiking, she wants to wear plastic heels.  You say you’re going to a farm, she wants to wear plastic heels.  You say you’re going to church, she wants to wear boots with mud still on them from the previous fall.

3) You speak Disney when it comes to hair.  For example, this morning I asked A, “How do you  want me to do your hair?”

“I’ll keep it like Rapunzel, Mom.”

That means she wants to wear her hair down.

If she wants it all up, that’s Cinderella hair.  If she wants braided low pigtails, that’s Anna hair.  One braid off to the side is Elsa hair. Sides up is Belle hair. This is a science, and if you don't speak the language, then you better brace yourself for what's sure to follow.

4) If you say “no" to her fashion requests- or any requests, for that matter – she will go from happy to hurricane in three nanoseconds, flailing her body on the floor in a quasi-seizing motion and emitting sounds so ear-splitting you think neighbors just may call social services.

5) After said tantrum, as you’re evaluating your own behavior to see if it is the catalyst for her outburst, you’ll have a quasi-breakdown yourself, in which large quantities of chocolate, cake, or chocolate cake is consumed.

6) This will be bad because of the calories, but good because you’ll realize that she doesn't act this way because you do:  

You EAT your emotions!

7)  And then she’ll come and place her head in your lap, and ask for you to read to her.  She’ll tell you she loves you and ask if she can wear a dress the next day and if you could, too, so she could look like you.

8) And then you'll melt and think about how sweet she actually is.

9) You'll decide that maybe she does take after you, after all.

10) And in the end, you'll declare that perhaps - just maybe - she can stay your "three-nager" for just awhile longer.

Ringing in the New Year: On the Shoulders of Giants

2014 has been one of those years.

Ugh.

The optimist in me hates to write that sentence, because I know so many people who have had much
worse happen to them. I've never been superstitious, but I kind of want to use one hand to type and the other hand to knock on wood as I write it.

When I look at the battles I've fought this year, I recognize that they aren't huge. They aren't the same as the mother whose son is in the hospital fighting cancer.  They aren't the same as the little girl being abused. They aren't the same as the man who just lost his job, or the wife who just found out her husband has cheated on her.

My battles aren't even comparable.

But they are still battles, and while keeping a healthy perspective is good, we all need to take the time to think about what we've had to endure this year. Because those hardships define us, and even the small ones will likely shape our future.

My friend Amy spoke to me a couple months ago about battles, and ever since then, I haven't been able to get it out of my head.

You see, Amy's husband, Craig, is fighting cancer for a second time.

Awhile back, she told me that he was reading the book of Samuel in the Bible over and over again. Craig had told her that the story of David was speaking to him.

David: the man who would become the second most influential king of the Jews, whose very lineage would lead to Jesus.

David started off as an unknown child, powerless against the kings who ruled at the time, against the enemy army that constantly attacked his people. But when a giant mocked the opposing army and asked who would fight him, David felt God speak to his heart and knew he had to fight the battle before him. The men on his side tried to arm him with worldly things for protection, but David knew that he had to use his own particular gifts to defeat the enemy, and he knew that he had to glorify God in the process.

You could see how Craig could easily relate to the story.

Horrible cells inside of him continued to multiply even though he couldn't see them. Chemotherapy and radiation didn't work the first go-around.  And here he was, a father of two kids not even in school yet, a firefighter hero who couldn't stop microscopic cells.

What could make you feel more powerless than that?

Not much. But a weak child facing a massive army would be a contender.

And that weak child's actions in the face of battle is something we can all learn from.

Every other boy David's age must have been scared of the powerful army flanking the huge giant in front of them. But despite him likely sharing this fear, David found strength in the Lord.  He knew the Lord chose him - him, over anyone else - to fight a giant, Goliath.

God didn't cause the battle that was going on. He didn't tell the giant to taunt the army.

And He doesn't cause the evil that continues to plague us today.

But He equipped David with the tools he would need to defeat Goliath, and He equips us with the tools we need to defeat our battles, too.

He told David - so full of faults, a weak boy who grew into an imperfect man - to trust in Him, and He used his performance in battle to do amazing things.

Life-changing things.

Things like ruling a nation.  Things like fulfilling prophecy.  Things like creating a lineage for the only perfect man to ever walk this earth.

And all this happened to David because he chose to trust God through the battle and use the battle to bring glory and honor to the Lord.

Wow.


What's your battle?  It doesn't have be cancer, but we all have things that plague us.

Have you ever felt like David?  A no one?  Unworthy and weak?

The bad news is, we've all been David.

But here's the good news to go with that bad news:

We're all David. 

We are all treasured.  Deeply loved.  Favored.

Chosen.

And we often feel like we couldn't possibly fight the way God wants us to fight.

But, if we make the choice to honor God and do what He's calling us to do, we will fight, and we will win.

Maybe we won't win the battle like David did.  But we certainly win the war.  We glorify His name, introduce His love to others, and open their eyes to the Truth.


People have been doing this since the beginning of time, and they continue to do it today.  It's through those people - and the Bible - that I find the motivation to take on my own personal battles, and the inspiration to glorify and worship God through them.

Take, for instance, Tim Scott, the first African-American senator to be elected in the south since the Reconstruction. After his historic win this year, he tweeted:

My skin color is talked about often. Tonight I want to talk about it for just a moment. In South Carolina, in America, it takes a generation to go from having a grandfather who is picking cotton, to a grandson in Congress. We are thankful for those trailblazers who came before us and said the status quo was not enough. 

I stand on the shoulders of giants.

That's why we're here, folks: to look our scary stuff in the eye and know that our God is calling us to be greater than we think we are.

He is calling us to stand on the shoulders of the giants, those who have conquered things that once loomed over them.


Whatever you're committed to conquering this new year, whatever battles you want to fight and win against, fight with the assurance that you are God's and no one else's, because when you belong to Him, you can conquer any evil.

You can defeat any giant.

The Five Secrets to Leaving a Legacy

My grandma passed away a couple of weeks ago. Although she was 89 and "just a grandma", it felt much more tragic to my family and me than an ordinary passing.  Even though we knew her stage-four cancer was going to take her, could see her bony frame become more emaciated each week, could see her struggling for even the smallest breath of air... it still felt like punch to the gut when we found out.

And in the two weeks since her passing, I've been contemplating why.

Why does the death of an 89 year old woman feel so tragic somehow? Why do I feel as though the orbit of the planet has shifted?

It got me thinking about her, the amazing qualities she possessed, and what she contributed to everyone in this world.

And the inevitable follow-up questions were:

How do I live my life like her? 

How do I live in such a way that my death will feel like a tragedy, despite a hopeful old age and the possibility of failing health?

I could have come up with a hundred things Grandmom did to become such a legacy, because even the little things matter in a big way. But five, I know, she would want me to pass on. These five things are big ideas with an even bigger impact, things that we can all do to shift the orbit of other people's lives to give them a little more sunshine.

1) LOVE. Unapologetically and with a smile. Everyone, with no exceptions.

Greet family and strangers with a hug and a smile so wide that they can't help but smile back. 

Grandmom did this naturally. It didn't matter who was standing in front of her; they were always greeted the same way an old friend would be. I can still close my eyes and see her beaming broadly the first time she met my husband's parents, wrapping them in a hug so they knew they were not only welcome, but cherished. 

Her biological family benefited from her constant adoration, too. I always have been needy for affection (just ask my husband - ha!). As a child, I knew Grandmom's lap was always open and her arms would always be waiting for a hug.  I was borderline embarrassed about the amount of love she poured onto me until I noticed her lavishing my sisters and my cousins with the same attention, and then I was in awe of her. Who has the ability to show everyone that level of love? Even at a young age, she would show me a glimpse of Jesus every day by doing this. 

2) LAUGH. Allow yourself to be improper from time to time, and cherish the moment.

Good Lord, could Grandmom laugh.  She laughed at jokes, at memories, and even at herself.  Even as she struggled to breathe, she would laugh.  Two weeks before she died, my son was running circles around me. I made the comment that he was nothing like me (sarcastically, of course).  And she laughed.  It was followed with a cough that I'm sure was painful, but even in the darkness of her failing health, she chose laughter.

To her, laughter is what made life worth living. It was something even failing health couldn't take away.

3) EXPERIENCE. Value moments, not money. Value time, not treasures.

Granddad told us at Thanksgiving that he got Grandmom to marry him with the promise of a trip.  Their honeymoon lasted ten states and one month long.  For the rest of their lives, they traveled. They saw the magnificence that was God's creation.  They met people and expanded their family with each drive. Every year, they made it a point to go on vacation.  They weren't rich. In fact, they'd pack their food for the trip, and their family of four would all sleep in the pickup: my mother would sleep in the cab and my grandparents and uncle would sleep in the back on a mattress.

They didn't have much.  But they had the world.  And it's a gift God has given to all of us.

With Christmas coming up, it's easy to get caught up in the things.  We all have homes overflowing with toys, and all of them are things our children will outgrow. More importantly, if we're truly being honest with ourselves, they're all things that will spoil our children and their imagination, that will be yet another thing they receive without having the pride of earning it. Honor yourselves.  Invest in an experience, not an I-Pad.

4) SERVE OTHERS. Without expecting anything in return.

Grandmom was old school.  She loved taking care of her home, her husband, and her children. Later, she loved caring for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She was a proud member of the PEO, a social organization that met regularly in the homes of their members. I loved watching Grandmom get to work when it was her turn to host. She would polish her silver and get out her cherished family heirlooms. When I was young, I thought she wanted to show off what she had, that these functions were a chance for her to gloat about her family's fine traditions. But when I was in high school, that changed.  I was helping her set out her china for a function. "Amanda," she told me, "I love anything with tradition. It's a reminder of who you are and your family's history. I feel like I've gotten the best from mine, and I want to share that with others."

She wanted to serve others.  She wanted to share her best. It was her language of love, and no one left her home without feeling that love.

Even with non-formal meals, she would do her best to create an amazing feast.  She'd set the table and always apologize for something - anything - not being up to standard.  As a teenager, I told her, "Grandmom, I'm in high school and usually eat at the cafeteria. I have no standards."

It didn't matter, though. She still thought I was worth her very best, and she never thought her efforts were good enough for me. Do you have any idea how valued that made me feel? That the most attention I was receiving from anyone wasn't even good enough in her eyes? I was rich with the spoils of her love.

What an amazing servant to my heart.  I am grateful.

5) KEEP THE PERSPECTIVE.

This life is tough.  I only told you about the good things that Grandmom experienced in this post, and honestly, that's all I'm going to do, because that's what she would want.  Not because she wanted to be perceived as being perfect, but she wanted to be happy regardless of her circumstance.

I saw Grandmom worried, and she would pray.

I saw Grandmom sad, and she would focus on what made her happy.

I saw Grandmom angry, and she would allow herself to be.  But then she'd get over it, and she'd do it quickly. She'd choose happy.

I saw Grandmom old, and she'd insist she never felt her age.

I saw Grandmom sick, and she would try and will herself to be healthy.

I saw Grandmom doubt life after this, and instead of letting those doubts consume her, she'd turn to her Bible, her devotions, and to us. She'd talk to Christians.  She'd ask for proof, and God would provide her with it.

My friend Kim calls it seeing life through different "perspectacles".  Grandmom did that.  Even when life told her she should be angry and bitter and sad and hopeless, she wasn't.  Her heavenly perspective told her to focus on the gifts, not the discrepancies. 

Grandmom did these five things, all day every day.  And because of that, she was magnetic.  Her personality drew people to her.  Her smile made their days brighter and her hugs and laughter made their hearts warmer. She's left this world, and all of us in it, in a better state because of her presence. 

Rest in peace, Grandmom.  And rest assured that I - among others - will strive to leave the same legacy you did.

Husker Football: What it Means to 'Non-Nebraskans'

I've been thinking a lot about Husker football.

Not Bo. Not Ameer. Not the celebrations of the year or the controversies of the week.

I've been contemplating the very idea of the scarlet and cream football team. I've tried to ignore the specific players and coaches and have really concentrated on what our state's pride and joy means to me - what it means to all 'Non-Nebraskans' who shudder at being called just that: a NON.

When I first moved to Colorado, I waited until the very last possible moment to change my license plates. The green-and-white mountains seemed so impersonal compared to the scene of the Nebraska sunset.  The lack of two numerical digits at the beginning of the plate particularly bothered me: I already felt lost among a sea of city dwellers; now my car was virtually indistinguishable from all of the rest as well. I mean, the horror! How will they know where I'm from?

While I've gotten used to living in Colorado, I have yet to give up and call myself Coloradan. The reason is simple:

I'm proud to be from Nebraska, and I don't want to lose that identity.

Which brings me back to Husker football.

People from other states just don't get it.  They are spoiled with the riches of multiple college and professional teams. Their populations are such that they can be divided in who they root for, in who their family supports.

But Nebraskans have never cared about being rich. And we certainly will never be divided. Our unicameral legislature is just one example of that.

In Nebraska, weddings are planned so they don't coincide with game day. There is a genuine and valid fear that your wedding either won't be attended, or that it will be attended with the pastor pausing the ceremony to ask someone in the crowd - armed with a phone and 4G - what the score of the game is. And if the wedding happens to take place hours after a loss? Well, talk about a mood killer.

In Nebraska, over 90% of Lincoln's population wears Husker gear on game day.  It's not a scientific study, but one based on the power of observation: see if you can leave Lincoln on a Saturday night in the fall without literally seeing red.

In Nebraska, little boys pretend to be Husker football players every day on the playground at recess.  It's not surprising to find second graders capable of rattling off the vast majority of Husker starters and to even throw in some stats.

In Nebraska, everyone has a great understanding of the game and an opinion to go with it.  It both annoys and impresses me during game time.

In Nebraska, we haven't won a National Championship for almost two decades, but you wouldn't know it.

Because in Nebraska, the farmer mentality is to remain loyal in the hard times, to sometimes shake your head in disbelief, but say, "There's always next year."

For me, that's the reason why I have such a hard time being a 'Non-Nebraskan'.  It's because Husker football and Nebraska culture are so intertwined that I feel like a traitor, switching teams by admitting I live in another state.


This past weekend, I got to go to my first writer's conference here in Denver.  I met with a literary agent who asked me where I was from.

"Denver," I replied.  "But I'm originally from Nebraska."

There was no reason to say it, but there it was, pouring out of me like an excuse of some kind.

"No way!" she replied.  "My parents are, too." She nodded to her phone. "I just checked the score. We're ahead."

And thus began a conversation that lasted five minutes into my ten minute pitch session.  Will I ever be represented by her? Probably not. I mean, c'mon, I barely had time to tell her about my book.  But did it matter to me?

Weirdly, no.

Not because Husker football is more important to me, but because what Husker football represents is.

It's the comradery a person in California experiences when he pulls up next to a car who has a Husker bumper-sticker, and the disappointment he feels when he can't get the person's attention to show them his own.

It's the way you can go to a "Husker Bar" in virtually any state to cheer alongside fans.

It's the way you can spy a Nebraska shirt halfway across a store in another state, compliment the person for their choice in hoodie, and strike up a conversation based on where they or their family members are from.

It's the way you can meet another person with ties to a state you love, to a team you've grown up watching, and immediately feel as though you've found a friend.


Today - and the rest of all Saturdays - I know there will be celebrations.  There will be controversy.  There will be incredible wins and agonizing loses.  There will be opinions about coaches and players and comments and plays.

But today - and the rest of all Saturdays - there will remain something larger than a game.

It's the dream we had as children, combined with the passion we have as adults.  It's the pride and the love and the friendliness and the perseverance that gives a platform to Husker Football.

And it's the thing that all Nebraskans-at-heart (even the 'nons') can bank on to get them through another week.

It's the true meaning of Husker football.

GBR.

Kim and Miley, Meet Pure Dixie

Kim Kardashian. 

I look at her, and my jaw drops.  She is stunning in the way that I imagine Helen of Troy to be.  My hair will never shine like hers, and I will never be able to perfect a sultry stare under lengthy lashes.  Having children of my own, I can’t believe how amazing her body is after carrying a child just over a year ago.  Her style is inspirational for women who love fashion, and at the very least it catches the eye of people like me, who have no fashion sense whatsoever.

She is a beautiful woman.  Just gorgeous.

And despite really, really, trying not to like her at all, there are quite a few reasons why I admire Miley Cyrus as well.

I mean, come on. The girl shaved half of her hair off and still looks feminine. How is that even possible? She was thrust into the limelight at such a crazy, young, insecure age, and she tried for years to hide her adolescent mistakes in order to be what people wanted to her to be. And through it all, she built an empire: a business that went far beyond her musical talent.  When she sings – especially with no help from machines, foam fingers, or giant teddy bears – she makes me listen with my ears and my heart.  She has a strong, throaty voice that drips with emotion, and emotion is the reason we all listen to music, anyway.

She is so incredibly talented.  What a gift God has given her.

By society's standards, these two women are successful, and I can see why.

But I wish they could see beyond our world's definition of success. I wish they could see past the temporary highs and beyond the idolatry of money. I wish they would use their gifts in such a way that we want to worship our God for creating people like them, for giving us just a glimpse of the beauty and talent that He possesses whenever we revel in their beauty and talent.

But my heart breaks because the rare beauty in them is being masked by their brokenness.

Kim Kardashian recognizes that her beauty and physique are her brand. Desperate to push that brand forward, she posed nude for all to see. But Kim Kardashian, your body is more than beautiful.

It is sacred.

I just wish you knew that.

Miley Cyrus knows she’s talented, so she has surrounded herself with people who will only tell her how perfect she is, ones who will allow her to do tragic things and even give her a pat on the back for it.

But Miley Cyrus, those drugs will ruin you. And they’re ruining the lives of the countless young women who once looked up to you.  It’s easy for you to promote drug use because you have the money to spend on them. You work in an industry that embraces them. 

The millions of young men and women who listen to your music and idolize you don't. For them, drug use will make them lose their jobs. It will make them broke. It will make them addicts, without the luxury of a vacation that is also a rehab center.

People like Kim and Miley make it hard for young minds to differentiate between right and wrong, and, truth be told, it’s changed my views as well.

Because of these women, I’m beginning to hate feminism, and I’m female.

I almost hope we can no longer push the envelope of creativity, and I’m a writer.

I’m loathing the fact that we always seem to pursue happiness, and I am an extremely happy person.

I am sick and tired of all of these things, and I was once a passionate pursuer of them all.

I’m sick of those things because of the tragedies that accompany them. This current generation - and I'm talking about my own - wants all of life's luxuries without having to work for them, and they hope that those material things will make them happy. The era of social media has shown that young women are promoting themselves in the same way as Kim and Miley, despite having no celebrity status.  It has become blatantly obvious – to me, anyway – that a vast majority of young people are so narcissistic that they cannot even fathom finding fulfillment in anything but their own wants and desires, and our culture is saying that’s okay.  

It’s a sad thing, what our world has become, what world we are leaving to our children.

But I don’t think all hope is lost.

What our young women need are strong role models.  And while I can’t control what trash the television spews out, I can control the conversations I have with my daughter about these women. I can recognize both the beauty and the flaws of those celebrities. But even better, I can compare the beauty of those women to the beauty of others.

I’m lucky. I have a lot of friends and family members in my life who are truly beautiful, who I can use for examples when my daughter asks. But I'll tell you about just one.

I have a best friend that most of you would love to hate.

In fact, I’d love to hate her.

But I can’t.  

I would love to hate my best friend because she is good at almost everything.

Think I’m exaggerating? I’m not.  For one, she owns her own successful business: Pure Dixie (Cowboy Couture). She designs and produces one-of-a-kind, handmade accessories out of leather. Yes, I may be shamelessly promoting her business, but in order for you to really get an idea of her talent, take a look at some of her stuff:

Beautiful, isn't it?  Even if you’re not country at all, you have to admire her artistic ability, the fact that almost every single thing she creates is one-of-a-kind and is produced with perfect results.

You want to know something even more disgustingly awesome?

That’s her.  The beautiful woman who is modeling her belts and purses is her.

She is stunning. Believe me, for four years I lived with her and had to compare myself to her as we got ready in the morning. It wasn't an easy thing to do, trust me.

But do you want to know how I did it, how I was able to live with her and not succumb to jealousy or pity parties?

I did it because of her. 

She – amidst all of her beauty – would tell me how beautiful I was.  She – as smart as she was – would tell me I was intelligent.  She was artistic and athletic and would nurture these abilities in me as well, always congratulating and pushing me and believing in me.

What my best friend did for me - what she continues to do - is what is lacking in this world.

She has used her talents, her beauty, and her intelligence to empower others. She will be the first to tell you that she's made mistakes, but also the first to tell you that - by the grace of God - she's forgiven. She has always and will always give glory to God and to everyone but herself.  And she will always point out the good in others without noting the good in herself.

And she does this because she sees more than herself when she looks in the mirror.  She constantly strives to see a reflection of a servant, sent here to wash people’s feet the same way Jesus washed the feet of the disciples.

That's the kind of businesswoman I want my daughter to learn from, the kind of beauty that should truly be admired.

When my daughter notes that Kim Kardashian (or whoever the sensation of her generation will be) is beautiful, I’ll agree. And then I’ll ask my daughter a few questions about the star. What do you think she values most about herself? Is it something that is guaranteed to last? No? Then how do you think that affects her confidence? Her love for herself? I will point out to my daughter how others – like my best friend – have always put more effort into becoming more beautiful on the inside than on the outside because they know that those things matter.

When she asks why the Miley Cyrus of her generation wants to sing about getting high, I'll ask her to think about what it is that the young star is trying to escape from. If she points out the money that young starlet has, I will point out that God has the ability to gift us with worldly possessions, but that the true blessings he has for us are not of this world.

This is how my best friend lives, and I'm thankful I can use her as an example for my child.

I'm thankful there are a lot of beautiful, intelligent, honorable, creative, talented, and kind women out there. And I need to make sure that I point my children toward them while the rest of the world points them to women like Kim and Miley.

What kind of message will you send your children?

Will you teach them to be a servant to others? Or a slave to this world?

Will you teach them to embrace the “feminists” of our time who pursue ungodly things, or the true pioneers of feminism, like Susan B. Anthony and Margaret Thatcher?

Will you teach them to create so their talents will receive accolades, or will you show them the true joy of giving the glory to God?

Humans in general, we need to take a true selfie.  Look in the mirror.  And don’t make it a duck face, or a surprised gasp, or a glance down and to the left to hide the shameless self-promotion.  Look in the mirror and ask what you are doing to help others, to give the glory to everyone but yourself.

And when you do that, you will see what true beauty really is.

It'll look a lot like my friend, Pure Dixie.

The Glory of Gratitude

Days like Veteran's Day are my favorite.  They are days of reflection, days where you actually take the time from your busy life to appreciate everything that causes you to rush. They are days where we can appreciate all we have even amidst the chaos and the stress.

Waking up early to a baby? Wow! What a gift babies are! Taking a shower in the morning before work? Can you believe that we are spoiled enough to have hot water so readily available?  Stuck in traffic?  I can't believe we have the luxury of automobiles.  Too busy at work to eat lunch?  How great it is that we have jobs and food readily available!  And even if we don't have one or more of the things listed above, it's incredible that we live in a country where we can get the help we need when we are lacking.

Veteran's Day. It's a day to honor the men and women who fought with glory, and it's held in the month where we live in gratitude. I wish we could live all days like we live today.

The men and women who have fought or died for our freedom for two and a half centuries deserve so much more than twenty-four hours.  They deserve more than their meager pay, more even than all of the blessings I've listed above.  But when I've spoken to veterans, what they've appreciated most is this:

A thank you.

So I decided to write about the things in life I am thankful for: things that I wouldn't have if it wasn't for the sacrifice of so many brave souls.  The crazy thing about thankfulness is this: Once you start thinking about all of the ways you are fortunate, your gratitude can't seem to stop. So I apologize if you think I'm being to grandiose in my gratitude, but truly, I'm not exaggerating.

I'm blessed.

I love my son.  So much, in such a different way than I love my daughter.  I love his dimpled knuckles, his rubber band wrists, the way his eyelashes spill over the top of his cheek ones when he sleeps.  As a baby, I loved it when he continuously paused when nursing and smiled up at me, as if to say, “Thanks, Mom!” 

Makes me want to kiss his cheeks off.

I love my daughter’s kind and caring soul. She wants everyone around her to be happy.  Her ideal day would consist of someone holding her hand wherever she walked and hugging her whenever they could.  She is smart and funny, a combination that always keeps us on our toes.  She is in love with love. She gasps at Cinderella in her wedding dress and dances with her stuffed animals as Cinderella dances with her prince on the TV.  Her heart is so genuine and caring.  She’s only three, and at times her age and the drama that goes with it makes me want to scream, but the purity of her heart is unparalleled, and I wish I could be more like her.

I am so thankful to have my babies: at different times, they are a reflection of my husband, of me, of our other family members.  I am so thankful God gave us them to give us a taste of how much He loves us.

I am thankful for a warm home filled with things that comfort my soul when I want to rest.  Sure, part of it looks like a daycare.  But that’s okay.  Those toys bring comfort to my kids’ soul the same way that thick blanket slung over the couch brings comfort to mine.

I am thankful for my health and for the health of my family.  Too many people I love lately have been sick.  Too many. And I can only thank God that He gave us souls to not only make our bodies fight harder against sickness, but to triumph over the sickness in the end.

One of those sick people is my grandma. And it's hard to see her health failing.  It's hard to see her prepare to leave this world, because she's so much more to me than "just" a grandma.  Last year around this time, my husband and I got to go on a double date with my grandparents.  About halfway through the meal I reveled at the fact that somewhere along the way, I didn't just respect and love them like one is supposed to love his or her grandparents. I’d grown to truly love their companionship.  

They – at 89 and 93 – are my husband’s and my close friends.  I’d choose to spend time with them over almost anyone else.  And these people held me as an infant and saw me through my worst tantrums and awkward stages.  Amazing.

I am grateful for my friends, who I've collected into my own selective family over the years.  My closest friends are such amazing servants of God.  They love me, give me grace, at times even stumble with me, but they always push me to be a better reflection of Christ.  I am proud of them and what each unique person is, and I always try to be more like them, a better servant to God and less of a slave to the world.

There are so, so many other things for me to be thankful for: my faith, my husband, my relationship with Christ, my job, my other family members, my things, my students, my freedom, my…, my…, my… 

Both the most wonderful thing about days like today is the certainty that those can be written about another day.  I have the safety and security to know that those things will be there tomorrow and the next day. Amazing.  So many people don't.

Veterans, thank you.  Thank you.  Your love for our country - your love for us - is phenomenal.  Thank you for giving me all of the gifts I listed above and the freedom it takes to write about it. 

Thank you for sacrificing so I can relish the simple things and have too many blessings to write about in one day.