Touché Cliché (Her Best Work Yet) LOL!

I don’t usually talk in clichés, but in this instance, it’s quite healing. Some of you will get the gist. Others, I may lose quickly. But hang on. I just may step on some toes! This is a true story. Oh, and see if you can tell me how many clichés I’m using! :)

I’m not gonna beat around the bush. A little bird told me I may have pushed the proverbial envelope a little too far. The egg on my face is not all it’s cracked up to be, but none-the-less, there’s not enough room to swing a cat in this over-the-top naked truth. Simply said, I was caught red-handed, but thankfully NOT with my pants down. Instead I let the cat out of the bag and was called on the carpet for jumping on the bandwagon of terse reality. I couldn’t keep it under my hat any longer, but I knew somehow this might be the kiss of death for me and my holy humor. The jig is up. Can’t hold a candle to it. It’s a Catch 22, if there ever was one.

You see, I’ve been known to charm the pants off many. I’ve chewed the fat and jumped through hoops with the best of ‘em. Since the fans of this gospel/singing/comedy life assume you live the life of Riley, the truth is: It’s pretty much hand to mouth. I have no bitter pill to swallow or reason to get my dander up. I’m no longer quiet as a mouse and I must quit my belly aching. But after three long weeks with extra long graveyard shift drives, I was head over heels weary while barking up the wrong tree of fatigue. Bet your bottom dollar, this best bib and tucker girl will say wrong things when she’s tired. (Lord, what did she say??)

Ready. Set. Go. I said the “A - double scribble” word during one of my comedy concerts. It flew out of my mouth like birds of a feather flocking together. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I tell ya for sure - my mother would have boxed my ears, breaking a leg (or two), and surely would be busting my chops over this one. By hook or crook, I knew this can of worms would NEVER give me enough time to spew an explanation or get a word in edgewise to the audience. It’s like I was caught red-handed in “if the shoe fits, wear it” language faux pas. 

So Sue becomes Johnny on the spot, keeping her fingers crossed, that no one noticed this “let your hair down” expression. I was simply making no bones about it, the “A _ _” word came out after the mom in the audience finally took her precocious toddler out of the sanctuary. The naked truth is, the toddler was a full gamut loose cannon and mark my words, whatever I would or would not say, I’d be here today and gone tomorrow. I, the performer, was distracted. So I raise my Ebenezer, hit the nail on the head, and say (out loud to the audience), “If that was me when I was a kid, my mother would have hauled my “A _ _” to the parking lot!" (except I said THE word). 

Silence, horror, then applause and laughter....

Beggars can’t be choosers, but bet your bottom dollar, someone in my world will be offended that I'm even retelling this tale. But hell or high water, I was between a rock and hard place dealing with both the toddler and his behavior and me and my “I can’t bite my tongue” any longer syndrome. My heart hurt like the Dickens, but I grinned like a Cheshire cat. We laughed, we cried, (the audience and I) for forever it seemed. Thank God they didn’t throw the baby (me) out with the bath water. I was down in the mouth for dropping the hammer for only a little while. This dyed in the wool singer/humorist of over forty years has realized that this once in a blue moon utterance was one for the road. 

Before you cast the first stone, eat your heart out, oh precious sacred-talking friend! Like you’ve never done something like this...

I am eating crow and eating one’s own words, but I’m thanking God today that being real is as easy as pie for me. Too easy maybe..

In this eleventh hour, pardon my french here: If you fly off the handle or fight fire with fire, you’ll surely be an offense. If I can put my two cents in here: Put a sock in it. You’re like the pot calling the kettle black, if you haven’t at least once said something publicly you shouldn’t have. If your name is mud today, I’m not pulling your chain here - be very thankful. The people around you who are fit to be tied because of your transparency aren’t as fit as a fiddle as you think. I’d prefer to just put a feather in my cap, face the music, whistle down the wind on a wing and a prayer, and quit wearing my heart on my sleeve. 

You’ll get opposition and you’ll make some mad as a hatter. But don’t ever give up being real. Two shakes of a lamb’s tale, I’m up the creek without a paddle sometimes. Thankfully my ducks are all in a row and I’m eating humble pie. With my kit and caboodle, I’m loaded for bear and keeping my shirt on ‘til Katy bars the door.

Let that cat out of the bag. Let your hair down. People need Jesus. The real Jesus. The one without the chip on His shoulder, ‘cause when the chips are down, He’s no cock and bull story. Give credit wear credit is due. Be the low man on the totem pole and you’ll be pleased as punch, flying with colors when your fair to middling life becomes truer than every other Tom, Dick and Harry. Be you. For the love of Pete, be you. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re the apple of HIS eye, even when you can’t bite your tongue or resist blowing off some steam. Loose lips sink ships, but mark my word, don’t go dragging your feet down the straight and narrow.

The photo below is the creation of my good friend and MOST HIGH REVEREND Tim Satryan. LOL!

I Think I Have Aibohphobia

Do you have Aibohphobia? (The fear of palindromes). If you do, here's your answer. Every word listed below can be read either way - forwards or backwards. They aren't the exact kind of palindrome we're used to, like "civic", "rotor" or even "aibohphobia". But what if words, spelled correctly both forward and backwards, two completely different words - together - share a definition? Hmmm. Let's see..

• SMUT: What a person wants when they've been locked in a closet for having too much gas.
• STRESSED: That anxious feeling as you trotted backwards, forgetting that you walked right by the chocolate cake.
• SLIPUP: A condition that comes from going to an Optometrist rather than an Opthamologist
• STINK: This happens when you don't wash your cotton socks.
• LEON: That age-old Christmas Carol, sung by Mr. Redbone 
• PEES: You don't want the accidental equivalent of either of these.
• POTS: Those things Jeff Duffield never seems to find, so he remains halts in his tracks.
• DENNIS: Pray for this man, because "...ALL have ______ and come short of the glory of God.
• DOG: All GOD parents adopt your fury friend.
• SERACS: The fear of a large freestanding ice column falling on you.
• AIDAN: The names you pick out, in case your obstetrician is wrong
• RATS: The word you say when you're late for the race to the sun.
• SPAN: Your world, for some reason, is more palatial and broad, because you took a snooze.
• FLOG: To personally promote your own "duffer" ways..
• MOOD: If you have this, be careful, of what a bad one can do!
• PACER: Someone who diligently knows the value of a summary

The word-police people will hate this post. However, the linguists and the teachers who teach the meanings of words will probably love it and come up with a few on their own.

Good night, all.  My TIMER went off so it's time for me to dispatch the sleep fairy and give her some payola.

Do you have any words, that when spelled backwards and forwards, need a new definition? I'd love to see what you come up with! :)

BTW, the Bible is FILLED with those regular kinds of palindromes, like:

Eve, Ada, Anna, Abba, Gog, Nun..

Drive By Devotion #31 "I Hope You Are Satisfied"

Satisfaction. Such an over-rated word. :)

Sister-calm

Another airplane episode..
Most planes I fly these days are jammed-packed. Not an inch of wiggle room. Not that I have any plans to wiggle while on a plane, but sometimes you just have to adjust and squirm a bit in that sacred space, to evenly distribute the cellulite...

The flight attendant announces that this is a "light" flight tonight. Then she laughs.
"OK, folks - let's move around a bit. There's only forty-five of us going to Nashville tonight. So, spread out, lots of room - and enjoy the ride."
I'm ecstatic. Lots of room! Over-joyed. Until...

A very nice, (I'm assuming). tall and skinny gentleman in shorts and a Baltimore Ravens tee-shirt makes his way to my row. I'm sitting on the window seat of this Southwest 737 which is the norm for me on return flights. I can lean my head on the window-wall, slobber and pass out.
He plops his backpack onto the middle seat right next to me, while throwing something in the overhead bin. Then he grabs his backpack, jostles his body and flops into the seat right next to me. No one in front of me, no one in back of me and no one on the aisle seat! This man chooses THIS seat. I mean, c'mon!

I look at him and say, "Um, you don't really have to sit in this middle seat, sir - there's tons of seats all around."
He pauses, looks around.
"Oh, I know, but I find that I do much better flying when I'm in a middle seat, sitting next to someone", he says matter-of-factly. Then he pushes his backpack underneath the seat in front of him. He's there to stay.
Dumbfounded, I stutter a bit, in the craziness.
"Really? How come I'm your chosen one when you have a hundred middle seats all around you?"
He takes a breath and says, (get ready)
"Oh, you look like a calm person, plus you look like my sister."

Oh great. I'm his Sister-calm.

So, I do what I normally do on a home-bound flight - snore. I miss the free beverage and peanuts. I don't even remember the take off. Upon waking though, I notice my tray table is down, a cup of ice water somehow appears on it along with two mini-bags of peanuts.
I shuffle around in my seat when the gentleman next to me says,
"I took the liberty to get you some water and peanuts. I hope that was OK."
I thanked him and took a sip.
"You looked really tired and I didn't want you to miss getting some water. Water really helps when you fly. You must fly a lot", he says.
"Yeah, you got that right. I appreciate your kindness. Thank you."
Then he says, "Thanks for letting me sit next to you. It helped. I'm just not a great flier. Hearing you sleep was actually a good thing for me. I've got a hell of a week ahead of me."

The sleeping Sister-calm. I did nothing. I said nothing. In fact, I was kind of rude. especially when I realized he'd be my initial space-invader. But then I was aware of some things I hadn't really thought about:

• Sometimes there's no need to say a thing if Jesus truly lives inside you
• Just be; and don't be offended at every little thing
• Be aware of your body language and how it can either repel or invite
• Thank God every day for His grace towards you - even when you're not so nice
• Everyone has a story; And it rarely has anything to do with you

The singing/speaking/ministering part of my life has no real validity unless I walk in grace, love and care towards those around me. One day I want to teach a course on the "Ethics of Christian Performers". Your success as a singer or speaker has everything to do with your conduct and treatment of those around you, before and after you grace a stage. Period.

Psalm 17:27
The one who knows much says little; an understanding person remains calm.

Take Time To Poofread

I consider myself quite the pompous proofreader. I'd gouge out my eyes first, before EVER letting something like a manuscript or paper get by without reading it fifty-seven times. I even pretend to be a teacher - buying red pens, circling my own mistakes, grading and writing in the columns, "You can DO much better than this!"
And yes, I will even correct you, given the chance. There is an edit button on each of your Facebook pages that, if you took the time to spell-check your posts, you could correct your own mistakes. Nah, why do that? Especially when you can just post (again), "Ooops, I meant to say or type,,, whatever..", boring us all half to death.

So enter the texting, typing, "I am lazy" editing world where it's quite common (and expected) to make grammatical mistakes or punch out mis-spelled words, or even worse -  the word you type is correctly spelled, but spell-check doesn't understand that it's not the right word for the sentence. (Or run-on sentences, like the previous one..) Say, like public vs. pubic. One little "L" separates these two words. Flirting with this could be a disaster, especially in a church bulletin or on power point. I'll leave it at that..

So, tonight, I'm poof-reading. Poof. Funny word. I like it. It's here one minute; gone the next. And here's poof:

• My eyes deceive me. I think I type 2013, when indeed I type, 2103. There's poof.
• I assume I'm making you laugh here, and I have no poof of that.
• Double check not only what you type, but what you mean. Poof spoken.
• Thank God every day that you don't get penalized for your grammar lack. Otherwise, it'd be like **poof**, and you'd be gone.

No your faults. And be sure to poofread, especially when your using the wrong words. I'm knot even going to go their, because I just get sew frustrated with people who don't take the time to poofread. Honestly, people, unless ewe take the thyme to evaluate you're own faults, please don't judge judy me or anyone else. Simply put: Poofread for yourself and be thankful that everybody makes mystics. I, for won, am proud that I know longer suffer from all of this.

What Knot To Wear

Just finished watching the final season of my fav TLC program of all time, "What Not To Wear". I just enjoy watching the squirm of the most unlikely candidates they can find. Stacy and Clinton always convict me with their rigors of questioning like, "Do you like wearing your clothes?", or "Are you more concerned with comfort than fashion?", or "Do you REALLY think that looks attractive on you?", or (even worse), "You know, we're getting rid of your entire wardrobe, right?" Ugh. It's not Sue Duffield on the program today, but it might as well be. My Annie often threatens me that, one day, Stacy and Clinton will appear when I least expect it.

As far as fashion goes, I know I lead two very distinct and different looks and lives. I have a stage wardrobe life and a casual every-day "whatever" roadrobe (!) Raise your hand if you have a roadrobe? I know you do. And depending on the fluctuation of flab and distribution of equidistant fat cells, my roadrobe is much more forgiving than the wardrobe. I also have a friend who tells me that I need to wear more scarves, with different chic and creative ways to tying the knot. Now, that's "knot" saying that I can't, but I struggle with knot-tying. Definitely knot a strength I have. And that's knot saying that I can't learn... Knot really.

Here's three "knots" that I learned from Clinton today. He actually mentions these three points in one definitive sentence. Clinton has no idea how this applies to just about everything I am. I think we can learn something here: 

1. Become your own woman. 
I'm not sure who's dressing who, but when it comes to stage attire, it bothers me how some grown women are letting their teenage/young adult daughters tell them what to wear. Becoming your own woman really means: Be who YOU are, not your daughter's replica or the stores' style where she buys her stuff. In my line of work, I take a lot of time making sure my image isn't overshadowing the real reason I am there, and that's to be a vessel for Christ. I recently sang for an event where eighty percent of the audience were men. As a precaution and as an awareness mindset, it would never be in my thoughts to dress provocatively, curvy or exposing more flesh than necessary. Modesty, I know, has become the socially distressed dinosaur in some circles, but in this particular venue - it is imperative that I project a more business style. There is no question I am here for one reason and one reason alone: To be a carrier of the gospel and not a physical distraction. Following the service, a man approaches me and says, "Thank you, Ms. Sue, for presenting in a way where we men didn't have to fight thoughts and fantasies." I knew immediately what he meant. I smile and say to myself, "Thank you God, for wisdom." What knot to wear? Wear the knot in your throat that reminds you, you could miss this whole thing, if you wear something inappropriate. (Time capsule): I used to wear short skirts (mini-skirts) on the stages of churches back in the 70s. And yes, I listened to the wisdom of my mother-in-law, and "lengthened" my shelf life in the gospel business, by lengthening my skirts.

2. Define your own style.   
Marita Littauer makes a great living counseling women speakers on how to dress. She has a more flamboyant style than I'd wear, but over all, she's right: Your personality and the colors you wear really go hand in hand. I prefer to wear more solid colors rather than prints on stage. In the professional world, solid primary colors show confidence and command attention. Imagine this: What if it was just a tweaking of a color change or a solid color that made your message even more effective? Would you change what you're wearing then? I prefer suits. Always have. Always will. But not every venue is a suit venue. I have a more tailored style taste. I know it. I live it. And because this style is never trendy or reflective of the current culture fads necessarily.. I'm always IN style. What knot to wear? Wear the knot on your head, after you've hit your noggin with your V8 moment realizing... your definitive style speaks volumes. They'll hear your message louder, without the showy distraction.

Though one may be overpowered,

    two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.Though one may be overpowered,    two can defend themselves.A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

3. Get On With Your Life!   
Here's the freeing aspect that goes hand in hand with the gospel: We "wear" His name. And if we wear His name, no matter what our size or style, we are free to get going with the things that matter most. What knot to wear? Wear the knot that ties us together. Keep your stomach OUT of knots, when you know you have the power to be a great witness, and not a preoccupation with how you look. Wear the knot that signifies a coming together of many strands. It's the knot that can never be torn apart. It's the knot of eternal friendship. Ecclesiastes 4:12 says, "Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

For more fun, here's a great book, "The Knot Handbook". You'll see more spiritual and scriptural application in this little manual than most Christian books! And you'll really see "what knot to wear"!

And more good follow up (from a man/father filter), ready Michael Hyatt's blog post here:
Whatever Happened To Modesty?

Never A Dull Moment - Interview with Pam Unthank

You really never can tell what direction or spontaneous stuff will come out of my mouth! It's true - I don't think I have a filter anymore! Thanks Pam, for spreading around a little fun and laughter. This is also posted on Absolutely Gospel. This was recorded during the Absolutely Gospel Fest at River of Life Church, Smyrna, TN July 16, 2013. It was also almost a hundred degrees with about 90% humidity and the air conditioning was peddling as fast as it could...so yes, a bad hair day, but who cares! :) Check out the video below:

A Communicable Dizzy-ease!

   I told a little friend of mine, who will soon turn eleven - "Sweetie, you will draw more people TO you when you smile!"
   She looked at me dumbfounded and said, "I can't draw people too good. I can draw trees and horses better."
   I got it. I laughed.
   My favorite story recently was posted on Facebook by a gal attending church here in the Nashville area. When she "checked in" and wrote a status update, she inadvertently checked in to Hooter's Restaurant, which was right across from the church. That's funny in itself. She wrote, "In His Presence" - at Hooters. (I'm dying over here!) But the best response was her friend's comment under the status update. "Girl, you better cross that street!"
   Now THAT"s funny right there!
   I love the comedy network on Sirius radio. Without it, I'd be in a ditch somewhere off a major highway. It keeps me in stitches, laughing, even when I'm bone tired from late-night driving. Keeping me awake is the goal. That's a good thing. A comedian said yesterday; (Husband in his eighties yells to his wife) "What's it like outside?" She says, "It's windy." He responds, "No it's not, it's Thursday." She says back, "Yeah, so am I - what do you want, water or tea?" (I'm dizzy with laughter! Love it!)
   I have since decided, since most of you who follow me know - I have a communicable funny dizzy-ease. It's infectious, transmissible and comes by being in direct contact with someone who is dizzily in love with laughter, goofy stories, and spontaneous kid-like frolic. People will be drawn to you, like a horse drawn to water. (Literally though, my glass is half empty right now, 'cause it fell off the table! But that doesn't mean that my attitude is half empty. it just means I got to get up again from the table and fill my glass back up with cucumber water... and clean the mess on the floor. I need Mr. Ed..)
   For all my social media friends and experts out there who post on a regular basis, let me help you with something: Don't be God. Don't be judgmental. Don't express hatred through sarcasm. Invite others in the conversation. Applaud, praise and comment on posts that are worthy of your stamp of approval. Be communicable in the best of ways. Share in the "dizziness" and ease of your shortcomings. You never look better to the world than when you are real and vulnerable. I ain't horsin' around with this.
   Jesus reminds us all, "Everything I have is yours." (Luke 15:31) It's a contagious and communicable "ease" (without the dis), knowing that you can have this gift called everything.
Share it. Sing it. Speak it. Write it. Live it. Draw it.
   BTW, my little friend drew a picture of me. When she handed it to me, I looked like a horse. I laughed. She laughed. Then she said, "I 'drew' you, right?"
   Yes, baby girl, you drew me alright. :)

From My Perspective: Our Days With Sammy Hall

I was sitting on a beach in New Jersey when Mike, a friend of mine who was running the snack shop, walked toward me said, 

“Your mom’s on the phone.”

 

Now in those days, this wasn’t unusual, especially since there was no other way to connect. Find a community pay phone, park by it and give your mom the phone number. That’s what the Salem County Sportsmen’s Club Snack Shop/Beach phone had become: A community. Everybody used it to find their kids.

 

My mom said that Sammy Hall called and was offering both Jeff Duffield (my then boyfriend) and me a job. I gathered my stuff and jumped in my ’73 Plymouth Gold Duster and headed home. I’m thinking during the drive, “Who in the world is Sammy Hall?” 

 

Jeff had a prior knowledge of Sammy after hearing him perform in Atlanta around 1971. I forgot I recorded one of Sammy’s songs, “Jesus Is the Man For the Hour”. Wow. That song was from one of my favorite Oak Ridge Boys albums, “Light”. But still, I knew nothing about Sammy. We said yes.

 

This was a huge step for these two yankee kids who just graduated from high school. We soon make the trek to Sevierville, Tennessee and join a group of rock ‘n roll ruffians who learned to play gospel music! What an eclectic group. Lenny Stadler, on bass, came from a hard rock music background. Mike Cain, drums, was playing clubs when he got the call. Row Jennings was a young Church of God girl. And together with Sammy, Jeff on keyboards and me on vocals, we rounded out a whirlwind of over 400+concerts in a year. Sometimes we’d sound like ‘The Mamas & The Papas” and other times we’d sound like a cross between contemporary Christian and southern gospel.

 

Sammy recently went home to be with the Lord and Lenny passed away also from cancer. But the legacy of these two will live on. Weekly, if not daily, I receive messages either on Facebook or by email from people who found God at a Sammy Hall Crusade. Our music at the time was years ahead of most. It was also hard to pigeon-hole Sammy into a venue. One week we’d do a series of Orrell concerts in the mid-west, then the next week, sing in High Schools all over the south, doing more of a British rock flare.

 

I had the privilege to sing for Sammy’s home-going service. I sang Elmer Cole’s classic, “Ten Thousand Years”. This was a signature song for us in the ‘70s and one that Sammy graciously gave me the lead. 

 

I’ve just spent ten minutes of your time telling you facts. Some you may have known. But now, let me just share a piece of emotion that I’ve probably never shared before.

 

We left the group the next year. We didn’t leave because we didn’t agree with the philosophy of Sammy’s ministry. If anything, that alone could have kept us there for decades. We also didn’t leave because we weren’t getting the industry “looks” and accolades. We got plenty. And many top record labels were offering Sammy and his “new” group a chance at doing some great things. Gary S. Paxton, for one, grasped the concept and talent of this band. Jeff and I didn’t even leave because we thought our specific talents weren’t focused enough. No. Truthfully, I always thought that we had way TOO much focus. Jeff was the first American gospel keyboardist to play a Mellotron, a Clavinet and a Wurlitzer electric piano - all at the same time on stage. And I was featured way too much vocally. We also didn’t leave because we had difficulty with getting along with band members. No way. Rick Sandidge, who drove the bus for us, still remains to be one of our closest friends. And the connection piece has always been there with all the band members. We really had no clue how much we had.

 

The reason Jeff and I moved back to New Jersey was to start our own ministry. We could barely make it on $99 a week back then. So, soon after we were married, we began a music ministry in the northeast. Forty-plus years later, we are still in that ministry. It has taken on all kinds of dimension and changes, but I have to say, if it wasn’t for Sammy Hall and the gift he gave us, I doubt we would have taken such risk. Ironically, we moved back to Tennessee four years ago..

 

It’s a different world now. Groups come and go and change personnel like dirty socks. But for one very brief moment in time, Sammy Hall’s group, the one that turned heads, still continues to be discussed and written about. We saw this energy at his funeral. It was a surreal moment for me, because back in the day, I didn’t really think anyone paid attention. And maybe that was a good thing. God was protecting all of us from letting it go to our heads.

 

Sammy later traveled internationally doing huge business events and other outreach venues. But still, as far as I’m concerned, he was at his best when we all shared one cause, one voice, one band, one hope, one mission: To reach young people for Christ. And to do it well - musically.

Pool Over and Abide By The Rules

Hotel rules and ticky-tack regulations could cause me to be arrested. I know that they have to jump through ALL kinds of hoops and regulations to please both the city and state. Some of their policies operate on the side of caution. I know this.
I check into a well-known chain hotel and I receive the following notice. (Verbatim. It's attached to my key sleeve, with a rubber band wrapped around it.) Here goes:

In accordance with our state's Health Department Regulations and for your safety,

it is important that you are aware of our pool regulations:

1. There is no lifeguard on duty.

2. Never swim alone

3. There is no substitute for adequate supervision. Children under 16 MUST be accompanied by an adult or guardian.

4. In an Emergency pick up pool area phone and dial #9.

5. No alcohol or glass around pool

6. No running, diving or horseplay.

7. Swim at your own risk.

The gal at the front desk says I have to sign a form stating that I have "read" these pool regulations and that I will abide by them. I'm laughing to myself thinking - this is NOT a problem. You see, it is March and it's New York and it's 29 degrees outside. Dumb. Save it for summer, for cryin' out loud.
So, in reality, these guidelines for protection weren't applicable right now, wouldn't you say? I think so. It's much like reading from the scriptures - words that don't really pertain to me right now - but later on, you find that they "fit" just right.
I remember reading a passage from Proverbs 31:25-26 when I was a teen, thinking, "This really doesn't apply to me. I'm not an old woman."

She is clothed with strength and dignity,

    and she laughs without fear of the future.

26 When she speaks, her words are wise,

    and she gives instructions with kindness.

"She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.

When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness."

Maybe now the age old ice is melting and I'm ready for an arctic swim. No running or diving, mind you, but you can bet - there'll be some horseplay! That's just who I am. "Pull the icy tarp off! I'm ready for a plunge!"
So, the next day I check out of the hotel. I smile at the manager and mention, "You know, I had a good laugh over your rules and mandatory agreement for your pool - especially since it's sub-freezing outside!"
He laughed too. Then said, "You know we have an indoor pool too, right?"
(Silenced, I drop my head in embarrassment.)
Yes, I laughed out loud without fear of the future, knowing that one day I'd tell you this story. "When she speaks, her words are wise." (When exactly does this happen? Swim and speak at your own risk. I need adequate supervision...)

ALSO posted on SueDuffield.com

Sue's "NO'lasses Cookies....

I struggle with following a baking recipe. But this time around, I always follow (to a T), this particular recipe of my mother's. Somehow, the genetic pool of kitchen greatness, passed me by. Oh, I can bake to a degree... but I SO wonder what my grandmothers, great aunts and mother FORGOT to tell me. I think they followed their own conjured up recipes in their head. But I also think they did what ever they wanted to, tasting as they went along. (and hoping some day, their children would struggle trying to make THEIR concoctions!)

Today I follow my mother's beloved Molasses Cookie recipe. Again, for the tenth time, they just don't turn out like hers. Jeff is taste-testing and says, "there's nothin' wrong with them...". He's kind. He eats just about anything I present him with (unless it has the words pimento or mousse in it).. Family joke.

Here's Naomi Beatty's recipe, passed down from her grandmother, Elizabeth Miller:

3 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp ginger
1 tsp cinnamon

3/4 cup of canned milk
3/4 tbsp vinegar
1 cup shortening/margarine/oleo (whatever)
1 cup sugar
1 egg well-beaten
1/2 cup molasses

Put dry ingredients in a bowl. Combine canned milk and vinegar in separate bowl.
Cream shortening & sugar in large bowl; add beaten egg and molasses.
Gradually add canned milk & vinegar mixture slowing/alternating with dry ingredients.
Slowly mix just until ingredients are blended.
Drop by rounded teaspoon on non-greased cookie sheet.
Bake in moderate oven 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes... depending on oven.

There you go. Should be simple. It is! And they are wonderful. At least they were in 1957, 1964, 1971, 1985, 1997, 2001. Geez....

Maybe it's time for a new recipe!

Oh, BTW, I'm a good singer. I'll stick to that... :)

This Speaks Volumes

There are very few songs that really move me. Does that surprise you? Probably so. But as a singer and musician, it's both a blessing and a curse to think, live, eat and dream musically. It's just the way I process. So amidst the clatter and pseudo-music-forms that most of us are content and presented with, I sometimes (and oft times) choose to go outside my chosen venue and clear my internal song-cluttered governor. It's like a cleansing of the palette.

Today I'm reading about "being content in all things". The Philippians 4:11-13 passage speaks volumes when you have nothing. But it really speaks like a cruise-ship horn, when you "think" you have it all. I meet people every day who have volumes of stuff but no volume of space for the thing that means the most. I'm sure if we asked anyone in Moore, OK what matters most, doubtfully they'd say it's their possessions. Just being alive is their volume.

So Frank? I think you nailed it today. "All My Tomorrows Belong to You". And for me? I'm aware of what matters most: My relationship with God, my family and my friends. Anything else really doesn't matter much to me. Paul's secret of contentment really shouts the loudest, not just to those who have nothing, but to those of us (and even Frank in his day) who seemingly have or have had it all. Take a few minutes today and be thankful for what you have, and not what you don't have. Know that you are able to face anything by the One who makes you able to do it. All your tomorrows are His tomorrows too. And that speaks volumes...

(Also posted on Sue's Blog)

Where's The Safe House?

This will be an unspecified and ambiguous post. No real details of location, times or names. I'm protecting my new friend and her family. But "Jane" has given me permission to tell her story. After a women's event, Jane, a beautiful and shy young woman, approaches me in the foyer of her church. This is her first words to me.

  

"Sue, you know when you were talking about women who are stuck in a lifestyle that they just don't know how to get out of? Well, I'm one of those stuck women. I was abused physically early in my life by a friend of my father. I tried telling my parents about it but they didn't believe me. Later, in High School, I became infatuated with a boy who I thought cared about me. Instead, he put me in horrific situations (sexually) with his friends. He told me that if I didn't do this, he would tell my friends, hurt my mother and ruin my father's name. I was 16 then. Now I'm 28. Sue, please tell these women who are trapped in unsafe houses, that there is hope and that there are agencies and safe places they can go. I lost my childhood innocence. And later, when fear gripped me along with doubt and disregard for my own body, I just caved in and prostituted myself to make money. All the while I was doing this, I still went to church. I'm the pastor's daughter."

Jane, your word is out. I never ever once think that all women I speak to have it all together. If anything, I know that many women come with dark secrets. Some I may never know about, but all have a chance to uncover their hidden heart to an embracing forgiving Jesus. I try very hard to make these events a safe place. A safe place to laugh, cry and share our stories.

It doesn't stop here. When they're willing and ready, the process of healing and restoration for these women and girls begin at that moment of confession. Jane has been referred to a women's counselor and is working her way back to health, physically and spiritually. Her father now knows and he too is getting help for his neglect.

You see, even as a pastor's daughter, Jane is not exempt from the cruelty of the dark side. If anything, her face told me, "I've been bruised and battered twice - once by these men and boys. And again by well-meaning parents who refused (for fear of their own reputation) to believe me."

My ears and eyes are wide open. The heart of Christ is her safe house. This is only the beginning of the uncovering. Pray.

(On a side note: I wrote this story a few months ago, but waited until the right time for the reveal. Today is the day, especially after the breaking news story of the three women rescued from a Cleveland house where they were held hostage.)

Two completely different houses - both unsafe. One in Cleveland and one in a reputable neighborhood with a little white church.

This post also featured on Sue Duffield's blog..

Can I Bring My Children To A Women's Retreat?

I'm not the one making decisions for who can or can't attend a women's retreat. Surprisingly, once I had a man ask me if I thought it would be OK if he could attend. After clearing my throat and trying not to laugh, the comment begged for a question:

"Sir, why would you want to come to a women's retreat?"
He quietly responds.
"My wife is handi-capped, and she rarely goes anywhere without me. She saw the topic of the weekend, looked at me with her big blue eyes and said, 'Can you take me?'"

After I pulled my foot out of my mouth, I say, "Yes, you surely can come."

I spoke for a retreat with a different flavor. In all of my retreat years, I've never encountered this. There were several young moms, not only bringing their infants, but also small toddlers. I have never been a proponent of bringing babies/toddlers/children to women's retreats. I just know that (as a mom), you'll be spending more time in the hallways than in the sessions. I also know that many other women who paid equally to come and get away, can get quite offended by the squabbles, the crying, and the disruptions. I really can't blame them. It's also very hard as a speaker to work with all the distractions.

The other side of the story, however, goes like this: Many of these young moms wouldn't be able to come without bringing their children. Some by self-induced choice; others by the fact that anyone they would remotely trust to watch their children for the weekend, are already here with them at the retreat!

So what I encountered in Clarion, PA happened so quickly and so divinely that I don't know quite how to write it. Courtney, a precocious two year old, is quite a hand full. Her mom, who I grew to love instantly, IS spending more time in the hall ways and her hotel room than in any of the sessions. She has all three of her children with her. Her life is in a crisis mode and many around her know this. I do not. At least not yet.

Courtney was in the back of the ballroom just being a typical two year old. I have to admit I was very close to frustration myself, knowing that the other women present were a little fatigued with the interruptions. I just started to sing, "Amazing Love" and I watched as Courtney separated herself from her mother and started walking slowly up the center aisle towards me. I saw her immediately. I kept singing and slowly walked towards her. I got down on my knees and sang directly to her. Face to face. She didn't move for over five minutes. I was staring into those gorgeous blue eyes, while at the same time stroking her hair, her shoulders and her hands. It was a divine interruption.

Every woman in that ballroom had tears in their eyes. I knew it was a sacred stop. I knew that the Holy Spirit had an agenda and it was up to me to flow with it or lose it. Someone captured this on video and I surely hope to pass it along here when I get it.

Courtney, her mom, her family and their situation needs a major miracle. It was in that sacred pause that I believe God showed me how to quit. To quit trying to make things work. To quit trying to force stuff. To quit being the orchestrator and let God direct the symphony.

Courtney never moved a muscle, looking deep into my eyes. After the song finished, we all sang "Yes, Jesus Loves Me" and Courtney sang with me. She was a different child from that point on. So was I.

I'm still not a proponent of bringing kids to a retreat, but I've got to say - this was a superb picture of what Jesus would do. To be "interrupted" by children, is to see the hand of God. I'm not that smart, but I knew better. This would turn that ballroom into a sanctuary. And it did.

How do you handle the interruptions in your life? Wouldn't it be amazing if you allowed yourself to flow with God-ly peace, even when it's not in your plan?

The child in me says, "Yes. Because Jesus Loves Me."

(The photo above really tells the story.... she never moved, or blinked an eye. A sacred moment)

(Also posted on SueDuffield.com)

No Hiding What The Hyacinth Does

This is a picture of my $4.99 "on sale" after Easter purchase: three beautiful white hyacinth blooms in cheesy yellow paper and a plastic pot. It's my welcomed house guest, sitting on my counter. Her aroma is dancing in every crevice of the downstairs. In every corner. But not just in the house, but in every part of my heart and brain..

"It smells like a funeral home in here", says my husband.

"No it doesn't. It smells like Easter Sunday morning; spring walks through Longwood Gardens; Grammy Allen's pungent perfume; Aunt Myrtle’s dancing thru the hallways with all five of her purses; it smells like the side yard of my childhood home on Dixie Drive; the Philadelphia Flower show; black patent leather shoes; the Wilmington Flower Mart in Rockford Park with the kids; K-Mart's Lawn & Garden section; it smells like Gangy Link's dinner table... and it smells like my life story," I whisper to myself.

"It still smells like a funeral home to me...", he adds.

"No it doesn't. It smells like sweaty runny-nosed children laughing; Pop Pop singing his dumb-ditty songs; Annie's "peety jesses" (pretty dresses); and windows wide open with the stereo blaring. It smells like melted chocolate peanut butter eggs; week-old marshmallow ©Peeps; it smells like sitting in the bleachers watching David's roller hockey games, or the fragrance of crescent roll chicken baking; it smells like Phillies opening day baseball games; fresh cut grass clippings; pot roast simmering in the Crock Pot; Little Tykes plastic toys all over the yard; and my dad’s Honda Gold Wing in the driveway. I think it also smells like singing "Up From The Grave He Arose"; a Sunday School filled with little Bibles and chalkboard dust; a Chevy convertible top-down drive on route 47 to Cape May; eighth grade graduations and proms; little bow ties (that I refuse to let go of); trips to Vineyard Lake in Michigan; school buses with squealing kids and brakes; skateboards and kid-built wooden ramps in the cul-de-sac; neighbors laughing while sitting on their porches; it’s the smell of fresh earth-dirt and me (dressed in my hat, goggles and mask) chasing old Barry with a fired up weed-wacker!”

“It smells like the times in my life when I cried at loss and felt my stomach wrenching while trying to sing at my dad's funeral; it smells like standing motionless in a florist showroom, trying to pick out the right flowers for my mother's services. And yes, it even smells like losing a friend while my heart and heels sank in the soil at the cemetery. That's what hyacinths smell like to me," I whisper under my breath.

"You smell ALL that in those flowers?", he asks.

Yes. I smell it all; the balance, the dance, the death, the joy and new life of - a hyacinth.

2 Corinthians 2:14 "....an aroma redolent with life."