Oh my Sole

Imagine the color gunmetal gray, only sparkly. Like Dolly Parton's six-shooter. That is the exact color of my toenails...and the only part of me that resembles anything Dolly.
My sister and I had a girls' night out on Tuesday, which started at Luxury Nails. Two nice people offered us drinks, and then went about pampering our feet while we sipped and chatted. I stopped chatting when they did the massage bit because it felt so good my words quit working properly. But, other than that we talked and laughed and tried not to squirm when they pumiced the bottoms our soles.
By the time we left, Courtney's toes were a glossy cherry red, and mine were the aforementioned shimmery silver. But, more than just our toes were more colorful when we pulled the little foam separators free and put on our shoes.
There's something about the occasional pampering that makes your soul a little prettier, too. It's a reminder that you're worth being looked after, that you can sit and relax, and let someone else take over. And then you feel pretty--and it doesn't require any pain or effort. 
You just feel special.
I think Heaven will be a lot like this. We'll feel like we're meant to feel--the way Jesus sees us always. As much as we want to be better people, our efforts are stilted at best, and massive, nuclear failures at worst. But God, He's the one with the ability to make us pretty. He calls us to sit back, and relax and chat with him, while he gets to work making us fancier on the inside.
I mean, Jesus even gave the disciples a pedicure of sorts before the last supper, so we must be on to something.
Well, given the current weather, I'm still the only one who has enjoyed my pretty toenails. But it was worth it. Not only did I get that taste of pure enjoyment, but now every time I take off my shoes, I get another little injection of that feeling.
Thank you, Jesus, for the nice people at Luxury Nails, the scientific geniuses at OPI who came up with this killer color, for sisters and girls' nights, and for that reminder that all is well and that when it comes to making me fancy, you do all the work and my job is just to sit back and enjoy the experience. All my love.

Revelling

Today I'm grateful for a good many things, but one most of all.
I was reminded recently that God is love. No, that doesn't quite capture it.
God is LOVE.
This morning he whispered it. While I felt a little battered and cried and left snot stains on the shoulder of his robe, He said, "Hon, you just look at me. I LOVE you. And you love me. No one else is a part of this thing, so don't let their words distract you from what you and I have."
So true.
I worship the God who so LOVED the world that He sent us sweet Jesus.
I worship a Savior whose blood is the purest thing this planet ever experienced, and by that sacrifice, all debts were satisfied.
I worship a Lord who is patient and long suffering and gentle. Whose heart breaks at the tragedy He sees. He doesn't want to see anyone die and longs for all of us.
I worship a King who never gives up. He is the Grandest Chess Master, who will have victory no matter what dark schemes Evil cooks up.
This Almighty, He came close today. He lifted off the burden I carried. Then he sent me a river of comfort and joy in the form of dear friends I got to talk with, an impromptu visit from my sis to look forward to, and...wait for it....
I got published!
okay, it wasn't my novel, it was an article in the Association of Retired Ministers and Missionaries, but still.
He is good. He is God. He is LOVE.
I can rest in that.
Heck, I can revel in that.
In fact, I think I will.

Shake your, um, broom.

There’s a man I see on my way to Panera. This is exceptional for at least two reasons.

1)      Panera is only three minutes away.

2)      The man is usually dancing with a broom and wearing a costume of some kind.

He’s not crazy, he’s the parking lot cleaner for the outdoor mall. I first saw him on Halloween and I thought the overalls and plaids and dance moves were a costume of sorts. But one night in the parking lot, I was treated to a solo of the moonwalk in the spotlight of my headlights.  He's no MJ but he gets serious spirit points.

I love this. A man dancing while he works. And he’s not an astronaut, president, world-class chef, or TV star. He’s just a normal man, with a normal job that he makes extraordinary one bust-a-move at a time.

I don’t want to get all deep and analogous…for once…except to say that it was a lovely reminder that life is what you make of it.

So today, I’m grateful for the man with the broom, for music, for dance—oh, how I’m grateful for dance—and for a job I enjoy. Even if the only one who gets to see me bust my workplace moves is Dirk the Blue Impala.