Nothing is unique about my name – but its mine – and I am ubiquitously unique. I am my mother’s daughter, my father’s 1st born, Buela and Lovey to 5 pair of loving eyes and sugar lips, a wife who proudly tacks her husband’s name on the end of her own, who believes that all things are possible through Christ, who lives in her, who cries at the birth of a baby, at a wedding, over a song, or the death of a soldier.
I am thankful not only for my husband who eats my burnt pies, but for the world in which I live – the world of 2nd chances. There is power in 2nd chances. They have a voice by which your ‘callings’ rise forth like Lazarus from the dead.
A statistic on the chart of unemployed Americans, I choose not to loose hope. While America still lives and breathes, I will teach my children, solve the mysteries of life with my grandchildren, hold hands with my man on the porch swing, swim off the shores of Medina Lake, cut a rug in Texas dancehalls, buy Crisco Shortening and turn to the heart of my home to bake pies and write about all of it.
Inspired? A little. As I step and fetch around my kitchen, my rolling pin and heart are ablaze with a message. We are all given a 2nd chance but we don’t always recognize it or reach for it. When it comes, you must rally your spirit, awaken your soul where your dreams pitch, plunge, and wait for you to live them out.
If Texas women kill their own snakes, they ought to be able to open a pie factory in their own home, producing 50 pies in a few days time, from a one-butt kitchen.
So reach America! The folks on the Mayflower did. They heard the call, the still-small-voice of God that whispers perpetually to His children with the message of His love – they took that 2nd chance to live a free life in a new land and dauntlessly set sail across the vast Atlantic for Plymouth, Massachusetts.
