I Have Zits.

I have zits.

You would think by age 50+ that your face would quit producing oil and pimples, but NOOOOOO!

I'm pretty well sick of it.  At least I can wear makeup to cover it up or I'd be depressed every time I looked in a mirror.  Yes, I enjoy being a girl -- makeup is my friend.

NOTE:  You'd enjoy me being a girl too if you had to look at my zits all day.

My complaining makes me think about a story I heard last Sunday from our minister at Highland Park United Methodist Church, Paul Rasmussen.  Paul is our top dog at HPUMC and he is our usual preacher at the service where I'm an usher.  Anyway, Paul told a story about being late for a meeting at the church.  He was running a little late and then when he got to the church he had to drive around and round looking for a parking space.  This caused him to get more and more frustrated and mad.  He was fuming when he got up to his office where his appointment was waiting.

NOTE:  The following quotes are paraphrased by me -- I do not take dictation during church -- only a rare glance at the i-phone on occasion.  I never said I was a saint.  Saints don't have zits.

As any of us would, Paul dashed in and started apologizing -- "I'm so sorry I was late.  I've been driving around and around the parking lot trying to find a space.  I bet you even had trouble finding one.  It is just awful here with parking.  I'm really sorry that it is so bad here."

The man waiting for him said, "Gosh, you're really mad about this aren't you?  Well, you don't know what I would give to have a parking lot full of people who wanted to come to my church.  You can't imagine what I'd give to be feet away from a vital college campus like SMU.  Instead, I drive up to an empty parking lot.  That's why I'm here -- I want to get advice from you on how to grow my church into one where we will be flourishing like you."

So, while I'm not accepting these zits enough to show them off, it did make me think about how much better I have it than most people in the world.

What would the kids we help at Community Partners of Dallas give to be your child or mine?

How much would they love being part of a family?  Having siblings who live with them?  Having a dad to shoot some hoops with?  A mom who would tuck them in at night?

I lived a blessed life.  A zit or five is easy.

I'll Name My Kid Whatever I Want, Dammit

Every day I wake up glad that I'm an American.

NOTE:  Of course, not quite as glad about our leaders as I was 2 weeks ago, as I just got my first 2013 paycheck and DAMN -- so gross.  Bush tax cuts need to return immediately, Mr. President!

I am glad because I know that every single person I pass on the street is wealthier than 98% of people on the planet -- at least that is what our minister Paul Rasmussen always says at HPUMC.  Let this sink in:  Three billion people in the world live on less than $2 USD per day.

I am glad because I feel safe walking down the streets of Dallas and we have non-profit organizations to roll up their sleeves and do the tough work for those in our community who need help.

NOTE:  Community Partners of Dallas is fabulous (of course), but there are so many great agencies doing great work -- contact the Junior League of Dallas (or me) to find out about lots of different agencies focusing on different needs.

But I was never more glad about being an American than when I was reading the Dallas Morning News the other day.

On Friday, January 4, 2013, there were two small articles that stopped me in my tracks.  The first was a follow up article about the 23-year-old woman in India who was gang raped on a bus and subsequently died due to internal injuries.  In India rapes are often ignored and women are routinely mistreated.

I'm glad I'm an American.

The second article in the same issue of the DMN was about a 15-year-old girl in Iceland who is suing the government for the right to use the name given to her when she was born by her mother.  You see, her name is not on the Personal Names Register -- a list of 1,712 male names and 1,853 female names that the government approves.

NOTE:  Apparently a "handful" of other countries like Germany and Denmark also have rules about what a baby can be named.

Now, not that I think a bunch of Apples and Hashtags (yes, someone really named their kid this in 2012) running around is such a great thing, but it FOR SURE isn't the government's job to tell me what to name my kid.

So, please join me in being glad you're an American too!

Cue Lee Greenwood please...