Shalee has written a a great post about God giving her the strength to endure a recent sacrifice, and she’s added a Mr. Linky so that the rest of us can participate, too. If you have a post – either new or old – that addresses (come on, now! TESTIFY! GLORY!) :-) God’s mercy at a particular point in your life, head over to Shalee’s and add your link. I can’t wait to sit down and go through every single one of them later today.

Also, Heather and Janice have teamed up to create a new devotional blog, Faith Lifts. They have lined up a great team of contributors, and it might be that you (yes, YOU!) might want to contribute, too. All the info is conveniently located on the Faith Lifts site – and pick up a button for your sidebar while you’re there.

Y’all have a great day!

When I was a little girl, I always sang in the choir at church. One of my first church memories is singing “Go, Tell It On The Mountain” at a Methodist church in my hometown. For some reason I had a solo, and I think that was mainly because I wasn’t shy and wouldn’t cry if forced to perform in front of a large-ish group of people. (By the way, I’m still not shy and still don’t mind being in front of large-ish groups of people, but at this stage of life solos require, you know, talent, something that’s in short supply with me.)

As I got older, I continued to sing in children’s choir. Every Sunday afternoon, from the time I was 8 until I was 13 or so, Miss Kitty Morris would sit at the piano and lead us through songs like “Ten Thousand Angels” and “Pass It On.” All these years later, I don’t think there’s a single Sunday when I don’t think about Miss Kitty. She served us so sweetly and selflessly, and it’s because of her that I know all the verses to “Amazing Grace,” “Blessed Assurance,” and so many other wonderful old hymns.

By the time I got to high school, I wasn’t so much interested in hymns, though I did wear out a couple of cassettes of Amy Grant: The Collection. I spent the next fifteen years or so wrapped up in “my” music – Blues Traveler, Shawn Colvin, James Taylor, Billy Joel, Hootie and The Blowfish (and I still LOVE ME SOME HOOTIE, by the way).

But once I hit my 30’s, something happened. Maybe it was hormones, maybe it was pending motherhood, maybe it was just where I was spiritually – but I could not listen those old hymns without going into the ‘bout-near-ugly cry. I’ll never forget one particular Sunday when I was about six months pregnant with Alex, and we sang “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” in church. There was something so sweet about feeling Alex kick as I sang words I’d known since childhood, and I cried so hard that a lady who was sitting near us took pity on me and passed me some Kleenex. Don’t get me wrong – I do love contemporary music, but the Holy Spirit stirs something deep in my soul through the words of the old hymns, through the words that have been sung by generation after generation of believers.

About a year and a half ago, after an almost-20 year hiatus, I decided that I wanted to sing in a choir again. At our church you have to audition to be in the “oh-they-can-really-sing” group, but there’s another group called Celebration Choir that sings about once a month – no audition required. My neighbor E. and I decided that we’d go together, and I’m pretty sure that D thought I’d lost my mind just a little bit when I told him I was joining. He knows my singing “limitations” better than anyone since he has to stand next to me every week in church, but he encouraged me, thought I would enjoy it, and then worried, I’m sure, that I would bring untold shame and degradation to our family with my off-key song stylings.

I wish I had the ability to explain why, but going to choir that night was like going home. For all intents and purposes, I was 8 years old again – singing along with Miss Kitty in the choir room at my hometown church. We sang some newer songs at “choir practice,” but we also sang “Oh, Happy Day” and “The Blood Will Never Lose Its Power.” And if you ever have the chance to sing either of those songs with about 150 people, I highly recommend it. It probably won’t change your life, but it’ll flat-out bless your heart.

Tonight, at 7:00, our Celebration Choir starts up again. For two blessed hours I’ll sing to my heart’s content and probably get in “trouble” a time or two for cutting up too much with the other altos. I’ll hit lots of wrong notes, sing in places where I’m supposed to be quiet, and pretty much make a mess of everything we work on – at least the first time through.

But I’ll make a joyful noise – though it may not be joyful to human ears – and I’ll treasure every single second of it. And when we sing an oldie but goodie – something like “Jesus Paid It All” or “Holy Holy Holy” – I’ll sing through tears, no doubt about it.

I think Miss Kitty would be proud.

My friend Norma gave me this recipe a couple of months ago, and I’ve made it at least six or seven times since then. It’s perfect for breakfast when you have company or for a wedding or baby shower where you’re serving brunch. It’s great with orange rolls and fruit – and so, so pretty when it comes out of the oven.

Crescent Roll Breakfast Casserole
1 12 oz. package bacon, chopped and fried (reserve about 2 Tbs. of bacon grease)
2 packages fresh sliced mushrooms
2 packages crescent rolls
8 large eggs, beaten
2 cups Pet milk (Pet milk is a brand of EVAPORATED milk that we like in the South):-)
2 cups milk
2 cups shredded Swiss cheese

Cook bacon pieces. Drain on paper towels. In reserved bacon grease, saute’ mushrooms until they lose their firmness (about 8 minutes). While mushrooms are cooking, press crescent roll dough in the bottom of a large (around 10 x 13), greased casserole dish, making sure that you press all the seams together. Depending on the size of your casserole dish, you may have a little bit of dough left over.

In a separate bowl, combine eggs, Pet milk, milk, and cheese. Set aside.

Scatter bacon and mushrooms on top of the crescent roll dough. Pour egg / milk / cheese mixture on top.

Bake 15 minutes on 325, then 35-40 minutes on 300.

You won’t believe how good this is. My husband even likes it – and he’s not a fan of breakfast casseroles (he thinks anything I would serve for brunch isn’t “real” food). And if you don’t like bacon and mushrooms, you could do sausage and onion, ham and spinach – any combination would work.

Y’all enjoy!

And for more great Works-For-Me Wednesday tips, go see Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer.

Cheryl tagged me for this meme, and since I still owe her the whole Novel Idea meme thingy that was going around a few weeks back, I figured I’d better take care of this one ASAP lest the Meme Police come after me.

Record usage of the letter combination “me” in the above paragraph, by the way.

1. If you make sweet tea, do you use Luzianne, Lipton or _______ whatever your brand is?

Luzianne – I find it to be a little milder than Lipton and oh-so-delicious.

2. What brand of toilet paper do you buy, and is it the larger rolls or regular?

Okay – in the official WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION department, I buy Cottonelle, 12 pack of double rolls. Why, you ask? Because there’s a yellow lab on the wrapper, and Alex thinks it’s one of our dogs.

3. Which brand of bath soap do you use? Is it body wash or bar style?

I believe I addressed my feelings about bar soap here. ALWAYS liquid. I use Softsoap Lavender and Chamomile. My favorite is Bath and Body Works Eucalyptus and Spearmint, and it’s my special treat soap.

4. Which cereal do you buy for yourself?

Smart Start or Frosted Mini Wheats

5. What brand of dishwasher detergent do you use and is it liquid or tablets?

Sunlight liquid. For some reason it works better on my dishes than anything else.

6. What is your favorite fruit to eat?

Strawberries if they’re in season. Ditto for blueberries.

7. Which brand of clothes detergent do you use?

Um, GAIN!

8. Do you like chocolate?

I’m sorry. Is there something NOT to like about chocolate?

9. Are you right-handed or left-handed?

Right.

10. Do you still write checks or use a debit card?

I’m a debit card queen. Well, really I’m a cash queen. More of a debit card princess, I guess. I write maybe four checks a year. Seriously.

Which brings me to an announcement.

If you are one of those people who is still using checks, PLEASE, for the love of all that’s holy, would you fill out as much of your check as you can before the cashier tells you your total? Because I’m telling you. People who leave their checkbooks IN THEIR PURSES until they get the total, then sort of leisurely dig around for it, pull it out, slowly flip to get to a check that’s blank, flip back to the register to check their balance, and then oh, they need their reading glasses, so they go back into the purse to search for those, and then FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER the transaction has mercifully come to a close?

That sort of gets on my nerves.

:-)

Consider yourself tagged if you want to do this one – and if you do, let me know in the comments so I can stop by and visit.

In the I-couldn’t-make-this-up-if-I-wanted-to-department, last night, in my dream, Antique Mommy and I foiled a terrorist plot.

Oh yeah we did.

I think we were successful because of our collective love for the short, choppy sentence combined with our deep and abiding affection for all things David Sedaris – who, I believe, would be simply delighted – albeit a bit disturbed – by his role as the unlikely catalyst for uniting a crime-fighting team.

And just so you know? AM and I stopped cars in the middle of a crowded road and FLIPPED THEM OVER.

Oh yeah we did.

So, dear readers, you can rest easy this Labor Day. Though dangers lurk in corners seen and unseen, Antique Mommy and I are ready and able to protect you and your family from evildoers.

And if our mad kah-RAH-tay skills don’t work, we can always go to plan B: Southern charm. With a little sarcasm thrown in for effect, of course.

By the way, if you’re wondering what convinced my subconscious that AM was the obvious other half to my dreamland terrorist-foiling duo, you need only look at this post.

The picture may not be her, but that’s a superhero cape if I ever saw one.

We’ve known for a couple of weeks that Labor Day ’06 was going to be chock-full-o-activity. We had plans to attend a party at my aunt’s, then hop over to Jackson for a surprise party for D.’s best friend. We thought we’d leave on Friday so that we wouldn’t be rushed, spend a leisurely weekend with all our people, and then come back this way Monday. It was going to be a thing of beauty, the weekend of the Labor.

But things didn’t go as we planned. I had a crazy week – and when Friday rolled around, I was nowhere near ready to leave town. Not by the longest shot. I called Mama and told her we’d be heading her way on Saturday.

Saturday morning I woke up Very Task Oriented because I think we all know that if you’re leaving town, your house must in fact be spotless so that All The Thieves can enjoy it while you’re gone. I got out the vacuum, ran it over the rugs in the kitchen, den, and dining room, then threw a load of clothes in the wash. I made up our bed, unloaded the dishwasher, and headed upstairs to get out a suitcase for the trip.

I don’t know what I did, exactly, or why a movement that I’ve made countless times in my life (the highly, deeply complex Reaching-Around-The-Door-For-A-Suitcase Move) suddenly went horribly wrong. But something in my neck / back / shoulder region caught, and all I could manage to say was, “OOOOOH? OOOOOOOH!”

I thought at first that it was a fluke, but when it became increasingly clear that my torso would in fact never be straight again, and that any attempts to straighten it would result in mind-numbing pain, I slowly made my way back down the stairs and proceeded to hobble into the bedroom, onto the bed – no, wait, that soft surface is wrong, all wrong – then back to the den, and slowly – slowly! – SLOW-LY! – made my way to the floor.

Alex, bless his heart, was just as confused as could be. He kept leaning waaaay down so he could look in my eyes and say, “Mama? You all right, Mama? You hurt your neck, Mama? Your back hurt?”

To which I replied, “Grrrmph. Grrrrrrmph. Hurt. Mama hurt. Yes. GRRRRRRRRRMPH.”

About that time D. came in the room to see what all the fuss was about (I’ll tell you what it was about! I’m OLD!), and he got me some Advil with a diet Coke chaser. He tried his best to work out the kinks in my neck and back with his mad impromptu masseur skillz, but then Alex wanted to help by running one of his toy cars up and down my spine.

And thus ended my brief and ineffective physical therapy session.

For the next thirty minutes we debated what to do. One thing I knew for sure – aside from the fact that I would never stand straight up again – was that I could not get in a car. Cars require sitting, and I could not, under any circumstances, sit. So the car was not an option. D. was concerned about leaving me at home, but I assured him that as long as I could get back and forth to the bathroom, even if it was slowly and awkwardly, I’d be fine. He asked me to show him that I could in fact get up off of the floor, and never one to back down from a challenge, I decided that I’d show him, oh yes I would. And GOOD.

So I gingerly rolled over on my stomach, took about four minutes to make the move to all fours, grabbed onto the side of the coffee table, and gradually pulled myself up to a semi-standing position while I attempted to blow my unkempt hair out of my face. And as I stood there in all my hunchback splendor, radiant in my t-shirt and decidedly unsassy pajama bottoms, just as lovely and put-together as the day D. married me (AHEM), he looked me over and said, “Yeah. So THAT makes me feel a LOT better about leaving you.”

Eventually, though, I convinced him that I’d be fine. I tenderly asked Alex if he’d be sad if I didn’t go with him, if he’d be okay going with just his daddy on the trip, and he answered me with, “OKAY! BYE BYE, MAMA! BYE BYE!”

Clearly, he was all broken up about it.

And as a result of all of those events, I have been by myself for the last two days. That doesn’t happen very often around here.

So after a couple of really hot baths, liberal doses of muscle rub stuff that stinks to high heaven, stretching exercises prescribed by my personal occupational therapist (okay, it’s Emma Kate, but she is licensed and all), a couple of magic pills that helped me sleep pain-free, and a hearty portion of blog reading (I read every single link. I did!), I’m all better now.

Sitting up and everything.

And not doing any more of that risky empty suitcase lifting anytime soon.

Oh no ma’am.