Dear Girlfriends,

Q: Bavaria is a state in what European country?

This is why I will never be a contestant on the television game show "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?" I'm an idiot by today's academic measure; kids, these days, are incredibly intelligent. And, as I watch my granddaughter grow, I realize they are often very wise.

Many of you have followed my blog or read my book and might remember the series, What Does It Look Like that I wrote for Ava just after her birth; if you haven't read it, this series is about all the important things I want to teach Ava and model for her. But the tables have already turned; Ava, now 2 ½ years old, is teaching her Sugar a thing or two - like how to bask in happiness.

Observing Ava as she plays, I realize that we lose something as we grow and mature. We lose the ability to look at life with childlike wonder, to be open to new concepts, welcome new friends, and live in the moment. As grownups, we burden ourselves (and usually others) with negative thoughts, selfish actions, and vanity.

Because some of you, my Girlfriends, do not have the opportunity to be influenced by a wee one, I thought I would share with you the Five Secrets to Happiness that I am learning from the master. Yes, she's only two; but God love her - she's given me a brand-new perspective on:

1. The importance of self-control,
2. The benefits of a limited vocabulary,
3. The release from a good belly-laugh,
4. The self-confidence that results from taking risks, and
5. The freedom that comes from being absolutely oblivious.

If, like me, you could use a happiness mentor, I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to share mine with you - if you can look past the fact that she's only 34" tall.

Remembering what I forgot,

Ellen

P.S. If you answered Germany, congratulations, you're as smart as a 5^th grader (and way smarter than me).

The Date:                      July 19, 2009; 12:20 p.m., Central Standard Time            

The Place:                     The Bridge, Dallas' Homeless Shelter

The Human Form:          A big black guy, sporting a gold tooth, who looked like he could smoosh me with one hand

Dear Girlfriends,

It is only fitting that I end this series on my angel-sightings with the first one that really caught my attention.

As was typical on a third Sunday, Steve and I were serving lunch to our city's homeless; Steve was slinging hash behind the serving line and, as was customary, I was playing waitress as I raced around the dining hall refilling water glasses.

My customers and I have grown comfortable with one another. I know that for the most part, they're good people who have just fallen on tough times, and they believe I'm Sandy Duncan. Regardless of my protests, they're convinced. Geez - how embarrassing to be 50 years old and have the physique of Peter Pan!

Anyway - on that hot July afternoon, I was "in the zone", running around the room with my water pitcher (you can imagine trying to rehydrate 500 people when it's 100 degrees outside), when I saw a woman place her tray on the table a few feet away. New to our lunch patrons, I approached her from the left and bending down, as I do with all of the folks there, looked into her eyes. I softly addressed her, "Ma'am, would you like some water today?" But instead of the customary positive, grateful response, she sprung from her chair, knocking it backwards. As she yelled at me to "stop looking at her," I lowered my eyes and backed away. I'll be honest: In my nearly two years of serving, it was the only time I have been nervous or frightened.

The lady continued to yell as she left the dining hall - her tray of food intact on the table. I took a deep breath and was walking back to retrieve her tray when a man, bigger than three of me, reached for my arm. I held my breath and then he asked: "Are you OK?"

My tall, dark, homeless angel - whose troubles that day were way more serious than my startle - was genuinely concerned for me. I'm sure I was pale as a ghost, but as he flashed his "streets of gold" smile and began to assure me that I had done nothing wrong and that she was "just sick," I was quickly comforted.

My homeless angel taught me, if asked at just the right moment, "Are you OK?" can be a powerful question of compassion turning one's vulnerability and fear into assurance.

I also realized that, if asked at just the right moment, "Are you OK?" can also be a generous offer to join someone in their despair transforming loneliness and isolation into a community of two.

But when asked by a total stranger that hot July day, "Are you OK?"  became a simple request to join someone else in her humanity. These three little words were the catalyst that connected our hearts and souls - if only for a moment.

"...make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose. Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others." - Philippians 1:2-4

I will close this series for now but am sure I will return to it in the future because if there is anything I learned on July 19, 2009, it was to pay attention to the heavenly and earthly beings who bless my life every day.

On the lookout,

Ellen

The Date:                      October 22, 2009; 10:00 a.m., Central Standard Time

The Place:                     Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport; Terminal A

The Human Form:          Male; appx. 80 years old; 5'4"; 150 lbs; wearing a red volunteer vest

Dear Girlfriends,

Not all angel sightings are positive experiences. Sometimes angels are sent to "expose us" for who and what we are; in my case: a spoiled brat.

Steve and I had arrived at the airport, excited for our long weekend in LA. Approaching the self-serve kiosk, I whipped out my American Advantage Platinum Card to check in for the flight. As our first class boarding passes were printing, a little bitty angel-man, sporting a red vest, appeared out of nowhere and leaned into me, while pointing at my roller bag, to say: "You can't carry that bag on the airplane."

"Sir," I said in my most patronizing voice (the stupid one I find myself using with small children and old folks) - "I travel several times a month; this bag has flown millions of miles in the overhead compartment." I smiled sweetly. He glared. "No. It won't. You've gotta check it." I tried again to reassure Mr. Volunteer that "Yes. It will fit." But he insisted, "You gotta check that bag. It's too big." Geez. Who put this little man in charge, today?

Hoping he would get distracted, I faked a phone call (very mature, Ellen), waiting for him to go harass someone else. Finally, he strolled away but as I rounded the corner, I could see he was talking to a security agent and pointing. At me! Oh. Good. Grief.

As I approached, the agent directed me to the wire frame bag "tester" to prove that the bag would fit. I protested and flashed my Platinum status but she sided with the angel and said, "Ma'am (urrggwww...) he's just doing his job." I thought to myself, "REALLY? What job is that? Making my life totally miserable on this beautiful Thursday morning?"

After a bit of pushing and pulling, the bag passed the "fit test" and we proceeded, just as the angel fluttered by again. It was then that the sound of his wings revealed something unbecoming about my character that morning: I was suffering from a bad case of entitlement.

I think some of us tend to get "uppity" when we're challenged and those of us who aren't "uppity" are just plain spoiled brats. We assume rules should be broken (or at least bent) for us because our status exempts us from "playing along".

My angel-bombing in Terminal A humbled me as I placed my "just the-right-size-it-will-fit" bag on the security belt. As I kicked off my shoes to walk through the detector, I flashed back to times when I have been disappointed by others' poor form and was further embarrassed by my actions. It took an angel to hold a mirror in front of me to see my own shortcomings.

Placing my roller bag in the overhead compartment on the plane, I thanked God for a volunteer angel who showed me that in the blink of an eye, we can go from kind, Godly women to total self-serving all-about-me brats.

Since God chose you to be the holy people he loves, you must clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, gentleness, and patience. Colossians 3:12

I failed my angel-test in Terminal A, but you can bet I'll be clothed in patience and gentleness the next time a little man in a red vest gets in my face. And I'm sure it will be sooner, rather than later. God doesn't miss a trick.

Packing for Toronto,

Ellen

The Date:                      August 21, 2009; 3:30 p.m. Central Standard Time

The Place:                     Nails 2000, Dallas, Texas

The Human Form:          Two women; one approximately 25 years old, the other approximately 50

Dear Girlfriends,

I was in a hurry as I raced into my favorite nail salon for a quick manicure. My heart was pounding and my adrenaline was pumping - not because of my quick pace, but because of fear and anticipation. In my arms - for the first time - I carried my book.

It was an early edition, hot off the press and literally, just minutes before leaving my office, I opened the long-awaited package from my publisher that contained the single copy.

Excitement and a sense of accomplishment washed over me - for about 15 seconds, only to be immediately replaced with FUD: fear of failure; uncertainty of my next steps; and doubt. Lots of doubt: What in the world was I thinking, writing a book?

But like a bystander who can't turn away from the scene of a gory accident, I couldn't put the book down. As I drove to the nail salon, the book sat on my lap, the pink cover looking up at me. Although I placed it in the passenger seat after I parked (not intending to take it into the salon with me) like a newborn, it somehow made its way back into my arms and I rushed in.

Sitting side by side at the first nail station were two women who looked up as I walked in. As I hurried by them, they stopped me. "Whose book is that?" one of them asked. I answered dumbly, "Mine." They giggled, "No. I know it's yours. Who wrote it and what is it about?" A little embarrassed, I told them that I wrote the book and that it was a devotional for women.

The angels getting coats of pink polish swooned over the cover and asked if they could look through it while I had my nails done. I vapor-locked. "Well. Yes. Of course." "Oh, Lord," I thought, "Here it comes." As I handed the book to them, I thought to myself, "This is going to be embarrassing."

I could hear the younger angel reading aloud to the older angel, but I couldn't tell what she was reading...but once, I thought I heard them giggle. By the time I finally got the courage to turn around and look at them, they were both crying. CRYING! Oh, good grief! I never figured it would be so bad that women would cry!

When they finished their manicures, my Nails 2000 angels brought the book back to me, telling me how one of the devotionals particularly touched their hearts. As they left, they hugged me, applauded me, and celebrated with me. In less than 60 seconds, two total strangers - one named Caroline and the other named Venise - angel-bombed me with encouragement.

Worry weighs a person down; an encouraging word cheers a person up. Proverbs 12:25

My angels could have kept to themselves - but instead they started a friendly exchange with a total stranger. My angels could have curbed their enthusiasm - reserving their positive energy for each other or someone else. But my angels with the perfectly-manicured nails taught me a powerful lesson on August 21, 2009: You never know when your extension of warmth and kindness might just turn another person's FUD into absolute delight!

Getting "the full treatment" at my salon,

Ellen

The Date:                                  January 14, 2010; 7:50 a.m., Central Standard Time

The Place:                                 Standing in my bathroom; in Dallas, Texas

The Human Form:                      Female; dark skinned; early 30's; dancing brown eyes

Dear Girlfriends,

I was staring into my makeup mirror, applying my mascara, as I listened to the morning's edition of The Today Show. Tragedy had fallen on Haiti less than 48 hours earlier and reporters were interviewing the survivors first-hand to give us, here at home, some insight into the physical and emotional devastation that was playing out on a beautiful island in the Caribbean.   

I was processing the morning news as I regularly do - ears slightly tuned into the speakers in my bathroom, eyes focused on concealing imperfections reflecting in my makeup mirror, while my mind planned and strategized my day. In other words - I was only sort-of, kind-of listening. Until I heard a beautiful lilting voice softly say, "My baby is safe. Now I know God loves me."

I blinked. Then thought, 'What did she say?'  Wanting to ensure that I heard her correctly, I ran to the remote control, to replay the interview. The woman, a young mother, was beaming at the camera, holding her wee one in her arms. My Haitian angel rocked my world reminding me how misguided we all are when it comes to the mind and ways and the love of God.

Had her baby perished, would this devoted mother have believed that God despised her? That he was punishing her or worse - that he was completely apathetic? What if the little one had lost a limb? I wonder what she would have thought God felt towards her then? Or perhaps, what message of hate or punishment would she have believed God was sending to her child?

My dark-skinned angel could not have been more wrong about our God but she could not have been a better mouthpiece for most of us: When life is good: God loves us. When life is bad: He doesn't.

We may not be sitting in rubble. We may not be desperate for a bottle of water. We may not be suffering from broken bones or lacerations and our emotional state might be fine and well today as our children sit safely at their little desks at school. But individually, most of us are as confused spiritually as my Haitian sister. We put God in a box and blame him for nature's wrath and man's frailty and sin. We limited God to only what we know of our own conditional grace and mercy, failing to grasp that his love is beyond anything we can fathom; so often forgetting that he celebrates for us when we have an earthly win and grieves with us when our world comes undone.

Then, Jesus wept. John 11:35

My Haitian angel jolted my being as she reminded me how little we really know about God; how we so often forget that in good times and bad times, in joy and suffering, and times of abundance and scarcity God is with us. And how we forget that his love is not demonstrated by a happy ending on earth - but a better-ever-after in eternity.

Praying for the Haitian angels and all the angels working to save them,

Ellen

The Date:                                  October 30, 2009; 5:30 p.m. Central Standard Time

The Place:                                 Bass Pro Shop, near Rockwall, TX, a suburb of Dallas

The Human Form:                      Female; 34" tall; 25 pounds; black curly hair; brown eyes.

Dear Girlfriends,

As I mentioned in my introduction to this series, angels seem to appear when you least expect them - and in this case, in an unlikely hangout for heavenly beings (unless you fish): the Bass Pro Shop.

Steve and I had joined our daughter Shauna, son-in-law Adam, and our nearly 2-year-old granddaughter Ava to enjoy the festivities at their community Halloween carnival. To kill time before the carnival started, we stopped in the Bass Pro Shop to allow Ava to watch the fish swim in their oversized aquarium.

After Ava waved bye-bye to the fish, we turned around and paused to take in the preliminary elements of the store's Christmas installation. As we discussed the display, I felt someone looking at me - from below. Looking down, I peered into the eyes of a beautiful child - just staring at me, while I held Ava. I decided the little girl wanted to "network" so I kneeled down to put Ava on the floor. However, Ava didn't seem to notice her and started to walk away. At that moment the angel lifted her arms for me to take her. Instinctively, I picked up the toddler.

Typically, I would never do this. Under normal conditions (when angels aren't involved) I would never even ask to hold someone's child unless it was obvious they need an extra pair of hands. But in one fluid move, the toddler reached and wrapped her arms around my neck. Holding her closely, I realized what I had done and immediately looked at the child's parents (for the first time) for a visual cue of concern or confirmation. I got neither (except from Ava who was, by now, TOTALLY aware of the angel in our midst and was not the least bit joyful that another child was in Sugar's arms).

Trying to console Ava, I put the toddler on the ground next to her. That seemed to appease Ava and she walked back to the Christmas trees; but the angel reached for me again. And this time, I fought back my tears.

For no reason, whatsoever, this angel loved me. I had done nothing to deserve to her love. I had no history with her or her parents. I was a nobody in her world. But, regardless, she loved me.

Sporting the remnants of animal crackers on her chin and a mushy lion's costume, my angel - without ever uttering a word, imparted in one, simple gesture in less than 60 seconds what we should never forget: we are loved for no other reason than because we exist.

For God loved the world so much that he gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

When family members judge you, when friends criticize you, or when the world just seems to be closing in - remember that you're loved just because you "are".

Thankful,

Ellen

Dear Girlfriends,

There are angels among us. I can't prove it - but I know it. Walking, talking messengers of God wrapped in skin. When I write the words it all seems a little spooky - I actually hear the theme song to the Twilight Zone playing in my head. And then I think, "Am I a nut job?"

I'm not sure these "beings" have been sent to earth by God to do a particular job - but I do think that we all experience a "touched by an angel" moment where an important truth is purposefully communicated to us. And I think these occur more frequently than we realize. I started keeping a little journal of my encounters over the past 60 days and I can say unequivocally that I have been angel-bombed!

All of my encounters were with stranger-angels (people I had never laid eyes on before); few lasted longer than a minute (some, only seconds); all exchanges came out of the clear blue sky (when I was least expecting a revelation); and all reminded me of important truths (primarily, Biblical principles).

For this last truth series of the year, I will share with you some of my angel sightings, including those that occur between now and Christmas Day, and will explore with you the lessons I think God is working to teach me through others. Over the course of this series, if you have a close encounter of the angelic kind - I hope you will share your experience with us via my blog.

Surrounded,

Ellen

P.S. I am not making this stuff up:

For he will give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. Psalm 91:11

Dear Girlfriends,

Last week was my birthday. I say last week because I celebrated for days on end. Because I turned 50.

All my life, I've waited for this important day. Don't ask me why, but 16, 21, 30, and 40 were not particularly important milestone birthdays for me. Although they represent an age when there is a shift in opportunity, responsibility - and at 40, shifting boobs and buns - I can't say that any were ages that I looked forward to becoming. But 50. This one is different.

This is the age I've always wanted to be. I am a big girl, now.

At 50 I am fully aware of all that is right and wrong with the world; but at 50 I know that not all things can be fixed, and only a precious few need to be fixed by me.

At 50 I have perspective on what is important and what is insignificant; and I know at 50 to focus my energies and resources only on things that are meaningful and lasting.

At 50 I know what it is to invest in myself or to play the martyr; and at 50 I have learned to really be kind to me.

At 50 I realize that I can choose to read this month's Vogue or the Holy Bible; and at 50, I long to know the mind and ways of God much more than this season's color.

Our stay-young, look-young, be-young culture has stripped away the pride of milestone birthdays after 30. It's not that I don't want to look and be at my best - don't get me wrong. I have a rendezvous with "Travis" (the treadmill) every morning at 6:45 a.m. I have nearly spent the equivalent of the national budget deficit on creams, potions, and procedures to look "dewy and radiant". And you won't find me wearing sensible shoes; I'll continue to shop 'til I drop to find the best deal on a great pair of heels (preferably Jimmy Choos). But I won't be defined by those things that only defined me when I was younger. Today, more so than ever, I will be defined by the condition of my heart and the wisdom of my soul.

Because this is the age I've always wanted to be. I am a big girl, now.

Celebrating liberation,

Ellen

Dear Girlfriends,

Difficult.

I glanced down at the piece of paper that listed highlights and important information for the hike we were on, and scanned quickly for the rating of the trail that was taking us further up the mountain pass just outside Aspen. Immediately I was comforted. Next to the words "hike rating" was the word that I was looking for: difficult.

As my calves cramped from maneuvering the steep switchbacks (who in their right mind took this hike in the first place?) and as my heart pounded and I gasped for breath at nearly 12,000 feet (Dallas sits at a mere 463 feet above sea level) and as my skin seemed to shrink on my bones from losing every ounce of its moisture (I will never, ever complain about Dallas's humidity again), I felt immediately comforted by the confirmation that this was not considered a simple stroll. It was difficult.

And here's what else that was affirming: I knew this pass had been rated by people who actually hike. Had the information sheet been written by a person who doesn't regularly experience a challenging workout, I would not have been so reassured. But this was information that was issued by locals, maybe even experts, providing even further legitimacy to the claim. Their rating of the excursion proved to me that I wasn't being a whiney baby. This was difficult.

As we slid (not literally, but nearly) back down the mountain pass, I thought about the reward at the end of our hike - the turquoise waters of the beautiful Cathedral Lake. Was it worth the pain and suffering? No. Not really. It was pretty and all. But I can't say I thought that putting my life on the line was worth the view. And if I had known then that I would barely be able to crawl out of bed the next morning I would have said Cathedral Lake was way overblown. However, what did make the hike rewarding was the fact that I survived it.

Today, as you sit reading this, some of you are grasping for air and looking for comforting confirmation that you're not alone on your journey. Others of you have been this way before and are experts at maneuvering difficult passages. You have trekked your way through tough times; you have faced fear; you have cried, doubted, and been on the verge of turning back. Some of you have stumbled or tripped on the way but all of you have made your way to the top of the pass.

I remind you of this because today, you might be the comforting confirmation to another who is on your same hike. One who needs to know that she is not alone; that the trip will eventually come to an end and like you, she will survive.

Sometimes the most comforting confirmation is just knowing that someone else knows that yes, indeed, this is difficult.

Your mountain hiker,

Ellen

Dear Girlfriends,

Since we last visited, Steve's dad, Al, passed away. Our family's grieving began months ago when the cancer diagnosis was pronounced terminal, and ended as we said good-bye at his bedside on Wednesday evening, July 29.

I say that our grief ended then and there because Al's strength, intellect, and spirit live on in his children. As Steve, Mark, and Candy sat with our minister and prepared for the service, I listened as the three of them recounted the most important gift Al had given them. Steve said, "Dad wouldn't do anything for you. But he'd do anything with you." Although by profession Al was an engineer, to his children, he was their teacher.

Each sibling told their own stories of what Al had taught them to do: change a tire; fix a garbage disposal; work through a math problem; or find their own answer to their question. Each recounted a time when they needed help but he consistently refused to "fix" things or come to their rescue. But because of this philosophy, each sibling pointed to Al as their source of empowerment, confidence, and self-reliance, as he gave them the tools to learn to deal with life's problems (as well as tricky plumbing or electrical challenges).

My generation of parents has been anything but empowering. We write checks; we Google; we network; we direct; we call the shots. I'm afraid we've often taken the opposite approach from Al in our parenting. One that says, "I'll do anything for you. But I haven't the inclination do anything with you." We've replaced the investment of time and patience with getting to the end game: "just get it done". And I wonder if, subliminally, we aren't saying to our children, "We haven't the confidence you can grasp this and do it for yourself." Will our children feel as strong and as equipped when we die, as my generation feels as our parents pass on?

Over the last few years, I've written a lot about our legacy - how we live it and how we leave it. So taking a page from Al's book, I will add this to the list of things to leave to the kids: the power tool of empowerment. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

Even now - still learning from Al,

Ellen