Wednesday, February 3, 2016
By The Book: Shark Bait! A Review on Daymond John's The Power O...
By The Book: Shark Bait! A Review on Daymond John's The Power O...: I love him! He truly is the "people's shark", and I like what this book is about. It's definitely motivating and speaks...
By The Book: FIVE WILD SUCCULENT STARS for SUCCULENT WILD LOVE ...
By The Book: FIVE WILD SUCCULENT STARS for SUCCULENT WILD LOVE ...: Just completed reading the new book by SARK (Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy) and her fiance Dr. John Waddell! As an avid fan of previous SARK ...
Monday, February 1, 2016
Bare Naked Worship: Raw Faith for Real Life: A Different Kind Of Worship.....
Bare Naked Worship: Raw Faith for Real Life: A Different Kind Of Worship.....: Worship: it's what we do, as believers. But what does worship look like when you're hurting so much you can't even imagine do...
View Donna Surgenor's profileSaturday, January 30, 2016
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Charlotte Tries For Miss Teen!
https://www.crowdrise.com/charlottereamestriesformissteen/fundraiser/donnasurgenor
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
By The Book: Brilliant Little Book: My Review of Marie Kondo's ...
By The Book: Brilliant Little Book: My Review of Marie Kondo's ...: "Life truly begins only after you have put your house in order." Thus begins the delightfully illustrated companion guide to au...
Monday, January 11, 2016
In The Little Things...
God made a tiny little miracle happen today for me and for Caroline and for a lady whose name we don't know.
We went to get gas and the lady, an older lady with silvery hair and a pretty purple sweater, was finishing up. We waited for her pump. She pulled away and we pulled up to the gas tank. As I walked to the pump, I saw something glinting on the ground. I bent to pick it up. It was a blue and silver credit card. I knew it must be hers, so I looked around hoping to catch her. She was gone. I bent inside the car and asked Caroline to pray. I prayed too. "Lord, I can take it in the store but she may need it before they find her. It could get lost again. Please, let this lady come right back for her card."
Before I could say "Amen", Caroline said, "Mama, there she is!" and, sure enough, there she was driving up. I saw the panic in her eyes, and ran over to her, waving the card high. When I gave it to her, the look of relief was unmistakable. "I didn't know what I would do," she said, obviously still stressed. "I have never done this before and if I hadn't gone to Publix, I wouldn't have known." I gave her a hug and told her I'd done it myself and I was just glad she came back. She straightened her shoulders. "Well," she said, a bit hesitantly, "I have actually never done that before but I'm a bit forgetful lately." She looked down at her card, fingered it slowly, and then looked at me again. "It's frightening, really."
In that moment, we connected. I knew what she wasn't saying, because I've felt it myself. That secret small worry, wondering about not remembering how to spell a word, or forgetting how to turn on the computer. I don't know if she is talking about normal aging, or if she is afraid of the possibility of something more serious, but I did get that uneasy concern. I've felt it many times since brain surgery, wondering if my forgetfulness, those "black spaces" where I can't remember how to do something I've done a million times automatically, wondering if those would lead to more, and worse.
But I'm just fine, and so is my brain, and so, I'm sure, is she. It was just one little connection, one small encounter that left us both relieved and happy, and I know that it was God Who sent her back, gave her the "impulsive" (as she described it) desire to go to another store just around the corner. And who is to know whether God needed to do something bigger than return the card to her?
Maybe it was His sweet way of using the little things...a forgotten credit card and a quick prayer sent up fast...to bless three people today. My daughter, a stranger, and me. We got to see a bit of grace right there in the Quiktrip parking lot.
We went to get gas and the lady, an older lady with silvery hair and a pretty purple sweater, was finishing up. We waited for her pump. She pulled away and we pulled up to the gas tank. As I walked to the pump, I saw something glinting on the ground. I bent to pick it up. It was a blue and silver credit card. I knew it must be hers, so I looked around hoping to catch her. She was gone. I bent inside the car and asked Caroline to pray. I prayed too. "Lord, I can take it in the store but she may need it before they find her. It could get lost again. Please, let this lady come right back for her card."
Before I could say "Amen", Caroline said, "Mama, there she is!" and, sure enough, there she was driving up. I saw the panic in her eyes, and ran over to her, waving the card high. When I gave it to her, the look of relief was unmistakable. "I didn't know what I would do," she said, obviously still stressed. "I have never done this before and if I hadn't gone to Publix, I wouldn't have known." I gave her a hug and told her I'd done it myself and I was just glad she came back. She straightened her shoulders. "Well," she said, a bit hesitantly, "I have actually never done that before but I'm a bit forgetful lately." She looked down at her card, fingered it slowly, and then looked at me again. "It's frightening, really."
In that moment, we connected. I knew what she wasn't saying, because I've felt it myself. That secret small worry, wondering about not remembering how to spell a word, or forgetting how to turn on the computer. I don't know if she is talking about normal aging, or if she is afraid of the possibility of something more serious, but I did get that uneasy concern. I've felt it many times since brain surgery, wondering if my forgetfulness, those "black spaces" where I can't remember how to do something I've done a million times automatically, wondering if those would lead to more, and worse.
But I'm just fine, and so is my brain, and so, I'm sure, is she. It was just one little connection, one small encounter that left us both relieved and happy, and I know that it was God Who sent her back, gave her the "impulsive" (as she described it) desire to go to another store just around the corner. And who is to know whether God needed to do something bigger than return the card to her?
Maybe it was His sweet way of using the little things...a forgotten credit card and a quick prayer sent up fast...to bless three people today. My daughter, a stranger, and me. We got to see a bit of grace right there in the Quiktrip parking lot.
Friday, January 8, 2016
Pink Dreams: Little Girl Dancing...for Zoe...
There are days, like this one, when I find myself lost in daydreams....mostly a happy swirl of pink and blonde and little ballet slippers and tiny tutus. Memories come together with my heart to create an inner world that seems so clear and real....
I see my Zoe, big blue eyes shining with unshed tears, one of her eyes already swelling and bruising...her very first "shiner". She'd fallen and I was frantic to help her, rushing to the car, snapping her car seat buckles as quickly as I could with fingers shaking. I knew it hurt. How could it not? I hurt for her. My heart contracted with regret...should I have taken the training wheels off so soon? Why didn't I catch her in time? I was right there, but not quick enough. I see my intrepid baby, holding my hand tight as we walked into the pediatrician's office. Not a peep, not a cry. Her eye was black and blue. We got to a room, I lifted her to the exam table. I was crying myself by this point, my mascara smeared in messy streaks down my cheeks. And as I stopped finally to catch my breath, I looked at my little toddler and couldn't help but laugh out loud right there in the exam room. One beautiful blue eye was nearly hidden by now, under all the swelling and bruising. Her one good eye, however, was winking at me! A huge grin spread across that lovely little happy face. "Mommy!" Her sweet voice rang out in the room. "Did you see me ride like a big girl?!" My heart leapt with joy and gratitude as I reached over to draw her close to me. As always, my Zoe found the good in any situation, this one no exception.
Another daydream pops like a pink bubble in front of me. This is one of Zoe dressed in her favorite kelly green dancing dress, the one with all the ruffles and lace that we got for two dollars at the thrift store down the street. It was one of those dresses little girls wear to their tap dance recitals. We didn't have the money for Zoe to take the lessons but she longed to dance. Our next best thing was to get that dress. Zoe loved it. She would have worn it every day and all night if I had let her. This particular day she was twirling and bowing and dancing with all of her four year old heart. I was watching her, taping it on video so we could sent it to her daddy in Georgia. As she danced, her blue eyes sparkled and shone with joy, and her smile lit up our tiny one bedroom apartment in that cold Indiana town. Suddenly, as I was taping, my little girl got a little dizzy and as she twirled, she twirled right into our old t.v. and she fell down, plopped in a blur of bright green and white lace. Recorded on tape is a moment she and I will never forget. As quickly as she fell, my baby jumped right back up, grinned at me as if nothing happened, didn't miss a beat, and danced her way around the worn sofa and our Salvation Army coffee table....making my shabby world suddenly golden with her joy.
There are so many many dreams, pink with pleasure, that I have of growing up with this little strong independent girl by my side, but I can't put them all in one place. I save them, take them out a little at a time so that I can feel her close by. I didn't believe her when she said she was moving out as soon as she turned 18. I didn't believe it, because I couldn't believe it. I could not imagine my life without those blue eyes, that smile, the heart that captivated every single person she encountered.
But that day came faster than it should have and my little girl dancing became my young woman walking away from me, straight into a brand new shiny life all her own. Tonight we got to share some long-distance time together, via messaging on FB. And she was suddenly three years old again...so happy and excited about her new life in a country across the ocean from her mama. I could hear that sweet voice in my mind, could close my eyes and imagine my baby still dancing, dancing her way into a world that is so, so lucky to have her in it. And even though I worry, as mothers must do, about her so far, far away, I know that if the bumps and bruises come, like that old shiner from so very long ago, my girl will be a survivor. She will look straight past any pain or setback...and I can hear her little voice asking me, once again, "Mommy! Did you see how I did it all by myself?!"
Yes, my girl, I see it. And I see you. You with all your beauty, all your talent, all your goodness of heart and soul. You are my dream come true.
I see my Zoe, big blue eyes shining with unshed tears, one of her eyes already swelling and bruising...her very first "shiner". She'd fallen and I was frantic to help her, rushing to the car, snapping her car seat buckles as quickly as I could with fingers shaking. I knew it hurt. How could it not? I hurt for her. My heart contracted with regret...should I have taken the training wheels off so soon? Why didn't I catch her in time? I was right there, but not quick enough. I see my intrepid baby, holding my hand tight as we walked into the pediatrician's office. Not a peep, not a cry. Her eye was black and blue. We got to a room, I lifted her to the exam table. I was crying myself by this point, my mascara smeared in messy streaks down my cheeks. And as I stopped finally to catch my breath, I looked at my little toddler and couldn't help but laugh out loud right there in the exam room. One beautiful blue eye was nearly hidden by now, under all the swelling and bruising. Her one good eye, however, was winking at me! A huge grin spread across that lovely little happy face. "Mommy!" Her sweet voice rang out in the room. "Did you see me ride like a big girl?!" My heart leapt with joy and gratitude as I reached over to draw her close to me. As always, my Zoe found the good in any situation, this one no exception.
Another daydream pops like a pink bubble in front of me. This is one of Zoe dressed in her favorite kelly green dancing dress, the one with all the ruffles and lace that we got for two dollars at the thrift store down the street. It was one of those dresses little girls wear to their tap dance recitals. We didn't have the money for Zoe to take the lessons but she longed to dance. Our next best thing was to get that dress. Zoe loved it. She would have worn it every day and all night if I had let her. This particular day she was twirling and bowing and dancing with all of her four year old heart. I was watching her, taping it on video so we could sent it to her daddy in Georgia. As she danced, her blue eyes sparkled and shone with joy, and her smile lit up our tiny one bedroom apartment in that cold Indiana town. Suddenly, as I was taping, my little girl got a little dizzy and as she twirled, she twirled right into our old t.v. and she fell down, plopped in a blur of bright green and white lace. Recorded on tape is a moment she and I will never forget. As quickly as she fell, my baby jumped right back up, grinned at me as if nothing happened, didn't miss a beat, and danced her way around the worn sofa and our Salvation Army coffee table....making my shabby world suddenly golden with her joy.
There are so many many dreams, pink with pleasure, that I have of growing up with this little strong independent girl by my side, but I can't put them all in one place. I save them, take them out a little at a time so that I can feel her close by. I didn't believe her when she said she was moving out as soon as she turned 18. I didn't believe it, because I couldn't believe it. I could not imagine my life without those blue eyes, that smile, the heart that captivated every single person she encountered.
But that day came faster than it should have and my little girl dancing became my young woman walking away from me, straight into a brand new shiny life all her own. Tonight we got to share some long-distance time together, via messaging on FB. And she was suddenly three years old again...so happy and excited about her new life in a country across the ocean from her mama. I could hear that sweet voice in my mind, could close my eyes and imagine my baby still dancing, dancing her way into a world that is so, so lucky to have her in it. And even though I worry, as mothers must do, about her so far, far away, I know that if the bumps and bruises come, like that old shiner from so very long ago, my girl will be a survivor. She will look straight past any pain or setback...and I can hear her little voice asking me, once again, "Mommy! Did you see how I did it all by myself?!"
Yes, my girl, I see it. And I see you. You with all your beauty, all your talent, all your goodness of heart and soul. You are my dream come true.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Pink Haze
I think I'm about to be a great-aunt again! My niece Savannah is in the hospital tonight, no guarantees since she is kind of ahead of her due date, but the chances are good that ...just maybe...by tomorrow morning I could be Great-Aunt to Little Miss Heidi Kate, baby sister to Kylee Emersyn! Thinking about this Big Event makes me remember three other beautiful moments in my life....back in the nineties when, after 12 years of infertility, God blessed me with my own little girls, my Zoe in 1993, my Chloe in 1996 and my Caroline in 1999. Those years drifted softly by in a bit of a haze, a pink, bubbly, magical kind of a time when I often held my babies in my arms and closed my eyes, unable to believe that I, at last, was a Real Mother.
Today, Zoe is in Central America, surfing and helping to manage a Bed and Breakfast in a sleepy little town so tucked away the streets don't even have names. She tells me she "wakes up with the sun and goes to bed with the sun" and that she eats from the earth around her, greens and avocados and mangoes. I imagine my sticky-faced toddler Zoe, blue eyes wide with wonder, watermelon juice all over her little face, her beautiful lips curved in their usual smile. "Mommy, God made beautiful food, didn't He?" I remember that moment, clear as day, and for me, that moment is more real and that little Zoe is more familiar to me than this striking girl, this woman who has grown up and so very far away from me....yet whose voice softens when she calls, whose heart leaps across the waters and the waves that separate us...because, in her heart, she is still my little girl too. And I am still her Mommy.
Tonight, Chloe sleeps in her tiny, perfect little studio apartment in South Florida. She will rest well this night, having worked yet another double shift at the Country Club. But she doesn't mind the work. She's good at it, people love her immediately and instinctively. She draws the lonely, the outcast, the popular, the fun and the hurting, all with the same irresistible charm that has graced her since the second she was placed in my arms, all the nurses cooing and pointing at her lovely, sweet face. Chloe will be in college this spring, but right now she is busy with work, with the love of her life, her David, and her "child," my grand-dog Lady. I imagine another Chloe too, a five year old with blonde pig-tails, pink ribbons, and a pink and white dress. She is holding a Mason jar carefully, looking lovingly down into the mix of sticks and blades of grass where Ashley, her lady bug, will live for one night at our house. We lived in a rent-controlled apartment then, the girls and I, and there were strict rules against house pets. Chloe loves animals with a fierce passion and she was determined to have a pet. After puppies, kittens, a horse! and bunnies were ruled out, she came up with a surefire plan. She would, she informed me, find a pet that could would not bark, have accidents, or be big enough to catch the watchful eye of our landlord. And that she did, my irrepressible youngster, marching proudly into the apartment with her sweaty little fingers rolled into a fist. "Look, Mommy," she proclaimed triumphantly, "we have a pet! Her name is Ashley and she's a lady bug!" Ashley the Lady Bug lived for exactly four hours in that Mason jar before I convinced Chloe that Ashley's mother lady bug might be missing her and that maybe we should let her go. Sadly, but willingly, because Chloe's heart is too tender to allow even a lady bug to suffer, she went with me to the yard where, with great ceremony, we opened the lid and pulled out the stick on which Miss Ashley was perched. As Ashley took off, flipping her teeny ladybug wings, Chloe stood bravely by, watching her beloved pet leave. The moment was too big for her to contain and fat tears plopped down her baby cheeks. "Mommy," she said tearfully, sliding her little hand into mine, "do you think Ashley will remember us? Do you think she'll ever come back?" I gathered my girl into my arms and nodded, smiling. "Yes, baby, I do think she will remember us. Every time a lady bug comes by, we will know that it could be her, remembering that we loved her and that she was a part of our family." Even if it was only four hours. That baby with the blonde pig-tails is now my engaged young woman, confident and assured in the plan she has for her world.
And then there is Caroline, my baby, who will be my baby forever since she is the last of my chicks. She is still at home with me and I thank God for her presence every day. Because of how my heart misses her big sisters, because of how a part of me was ripped away the days they left home, I am more aware of how swiftly this time with this, the last of my precious girls, will be. I hope secretly that she will be different, that she will not want to go, that she will be content to live with her mom forever, but even as I wish it, I take the wish back because I want more for her than that. I remember the little serious dark-eyed girl she once was, my little Caro, who sat with an Anatomy textbook at the age of four, poring over the illustrations of bones and muscles and joints. Enthralled, she spent hours every day staring at skeletal parts, smooth-ridged bones and pink glistening muscles. She has had a thirst for knowledge from even before then. When she was two, she climbed in my lap and wanted a story. I skipped a few parts because I was sleepy. She sat up straight in my lap, pointed to the book and informed me, in no uncertain terms, that I "didn't weed it wight." Duly informed, I started over and read the book word for word. Caro is a high school junior now. She is taller than I, and much smarter already! She is disappointed if she makes less than 100 on anything, and she fills journal after journal with stories that read truer and deeper and stronger than many on the actual bookshelves in the library. She is quite brilliant and if you don't believe me, ask her teachers. They tell me all the time that she is gifted beyond measure.
A truck rumbles by outside, shaking me from my reverie. I glance at the clock. 1:36 a.m. No call from the hospital yet. Maybe Heidi Kate is holding out for her due date. I lean against my pillow, smiling. I hope Savannah stretches out this time she has with her two small girls. I will tell her that. But she won't believe me. She won't understand how quickly it will drift away. I know. I didn't either. And the pink pink haze of time will work its magic. And once again, little girls will turn into women. Overnight.
Today, Zoe is in Central America, surfing and helping to manage a Bed and Breakfast in a sleepy little town so tucked away the streets don't even have names. She tells me she "wakes up with the sun and goes to bed with the sun" and that she eats from the earth around her, greens and avocados and mangoes. I imagine my sticky-faced toddler Zoe, blue eyes wide with wonder, watermelon juice all over her little face, her beautiful lips curved in their usual smile. "Mommy, God made beautiful food, didn't He?" I remember that moment, clear as day, and for me, that moment is more real and that little Zoe is more familiar to me than this striking girl, this woman who has grown up and so very far away from me....yet whose voice softens when she calls, whose heart leaps across the waters and the waves that separate us...because, in her heart, she is still my little girl too. And I am still her Mommy.
Tonight, Chloe sleeps in her tiny, perfect little studio apartment in South Florida. She will rest well this night, having worked yet another double shift at the Country Club. But she doesn't mind the work. She's good at it, people love her immediately and instinctively. She draws the lonely, the outcast, the popular, the fun and the hurting, all with the same irresistible charm that has graced her since the second she was placed in my arms, all the nurses cooing and pointing at her lovely, sweet face. Chloe will be in college this spring, but right now she is busy with work, with the love of her life, her David, and her "child," my grand-dog Lady. I imagine another Chloe too, a five year old with blonde pig-tails, pink ribbons, and a pink and white dress. She is holding a Mason jar carefully, looking lovingly down into the mix of sticks and blades of grass where Ashley, her lady bug, will live for one night at our house. We lived in a rent-controlled apartment then, the girls and I, and there were strict rules against house pets. Chloe loves animals with a fierce passion and she was determined to have a pet. After puppies, kittens, a horse! and bunnies were ruled out, she came up with a surefire plan. She would, she informed me, find a pet that could would not bark, have accidents, or be big enough to catch the watchful eye of our landlord. And that she did, my irrepressible youngster, marching proudly into the apartment with her sweaty little fingers rolled into a fist. "Look, Mommy," she proclaimed triumphantly, "we have a pet! Her name is Ashley and she's a lady bug!" Ashley the Lady Bug lived for exactly four hours in that Mason jar before I convinced Chloe that Ashley's mother lady bug might be missing her and that maybe we should let her go. Sadly, but willingly, because Chloe's heart is too tender to allow even a lady bug to suffer, she went with me to the yard where, with great ceremony, we opened the lid and pulled out the stick on which Miss Ashley was perched. As Ashley took off, flipping her teeny ladybug wings, Chloe stood bravely by, watching her beloved pet leave. The moment was too big for her to contain and fat tears plopped down her baby cheeks. "Mommy," she said tearfully, sliding her little hand into mine, "do you think Ashley will remember us? Do you think she'll ever come back?" I gathered my girl into my arms and nodded, smiling. "Yes, baby, I do think she will remember us. Every time a lady bug comes by, we will know that it could be her, remembering that we loved her and that she was a part of our family." Even if it was only four hours. That baby with the blonde pig-tails is now my engaged young woman, confident and assured in the plan she has for her world.
And then there is Caroline, my baby, who will be my baby forever since she is the last of my chicks. She is still at home with me and I thank God for her presence every day. Because of how my heart misses her big sisters, because of how a part of me was ripped away the days they left home, I am more aware of how swiftly this time with this, the last of my precious girls, will be. I hope secretly that she will be different, that she will not want to go, that she will be content to live with her mom forever, but even as I wish it, I take the wish back because I want more for her than that. I remember the little serious dark-eyed girl she once was, my little Caro, who sat with an Anatomy textbook at the age of four, poring over the illustrations of bones and muscles and joints. Enthralled, she spent hours every day staring at skeletal parts, smooth-ridged bones and pink glistening muscles. She has had a thirst for knowledge from even before then. When she was two, she climbed in my lap and wanted a story. I skipped a few parts because I was sleepy. She sat up straight in my lap, pointed to the book and informed me, in no uncertain terms, that I "didn't weed it wight." Duly informed, I started over and read the book word for word. Caro is a high school junior now. She is taller than I, and much smarter already! She is disappointed if she makes less than 100 on anything, and she fills journal after journal with stories that read truer and deeper and stronger than many on the actual bookshelves in the library. She is quite brilliant and if you don't believe me, ask her teachers. They tell me all the time that she is gifted beyond measure.
A truck rumbles by outside, shaking me from my reverie. I glance at the clock. 1:36 a.m. No call from the hospital yet. Maybe Heidi Kate is holding out for her due date. I lean against my pillow, smiling. I hope Savannah stretches out this time she has with her two small girls. I will tell her that. But she won't believe me. She won't understand how quickly it will drift away. I know. I didn't either. And the pink pink haze of time will work its magic. And once again, little girls will turn into women. Overnight.
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