the toenail An Important Part Of The Whole

It’s a new year.

Welcome, 2026. Where have you been my whole life?!

Turning the page.
New mercies every morning.
A clean slate.

There is something so alluring and crave-worthy about starting a’fresh.
This year want to…

stay the course.
finish what I start.
check all the boxes.

What I don’t want is to…

fall off the wagon.
lose my direction.
revert back to old habits.

Am I setting myself up for disappointment?

Probably.

Am I being unrealistic in wanting this year to find me different?

Maybe.

But, none-the-less, here I am.
Fingers to keyboard.
Hoping for something adhesive to happen.

Listening to some good 90’s music today whilst being chauffeured by my youngest adult man son, I was delighted to hear old familiar artists crooning through the speakers, one after the other, whom seemed more like old friends…

Sugar Ray (did I really let my then 6-year-old oldest adult man son sing along to “Every Morning” on the drive to his elementary school on the regular? you bet I did. I just didn’t know better.)

Barenaked Ladies (has it really been one week since you looked at me?)

Del Amitri (Look around your world,pretty baby, I still know every.single.word to “Roll With Me”)

THEN, Semisonic. If there could be one song to define an era in the life of me-as-a-young-adult, it would be this one-hit wonder, “Closing Time”. I smiled to myself as I glanced away from my driving son out the right passenger window. “Closing Time”. How many times did the DJ queue that it was time to stop dancing and head home?! I quit singing the lyrics and began listening to them with now-grown-up-ears. That’s when I heard it.

I’ve been trying to put my finger on what this new year is to be for me.

I’m so tired. Aren’t you?

2025 hit me with a bunch of hooks and jabs that have left me feeling flat out beat up. Bruised to the core. And I want a gentler 2026. I exited ’25 with a paranoia of what’s around the corner…a feeling of defeat…a thirst for something more, something different, something simple.

It seems ole’ Semisonic’s words of wisdom were exactly what I needed to hear today, from the passenger seat of my Subaru:

“Every New Beginning…Comes From Some Other Beginning’s End”

Did you catch that?

Today marks a new beginning.
It is gifted to me from the end of last year’s beginning.

Oh boy! The joy found from listening to a 1998 song! Does Semisonic know the power of those words!?

Immediately my head started compiling a list of things that came on the heels of some other beginning’s end. Not all are praise-worthy, but there are many, many good turns that have come as the result of certain things ending.

2025 was hard. There were a lot of trials and obstacles that were unexpected. Some things just took the wind right out of my sails. But I realize today that with a new year, those hard things of 2025 are now behind me and looking forward, I’m excited to see every new beginning birthed from some other beginning’s end. I’m looking for the good – expecting the good! – and taking 2026 as it comes, one day at a time, one foot in front of the other.

A glance at the dashboard clock told me it was 5:40 a.m. It was a quiet moment in the cab of the car, even though my daddy, who was riding shotgun, was talking. He had been pondering out-loud non-stop since we left the hospital parking lot. A consuming, thick fog had settled over the roadway since we first started out on this early morning journey.

“I just don’t understand it”, he said. “It seems to happen every couple of years. Hmmmm. Just doesn’t make sense.”

Before he finished that last sentence, I saw them. Four, skinny little legs testing the waters of the asphalt in the distance ahead of us from the right shoulder of the four-lane highway. I stealthily slowed the Subaru so as not to alert my passenger.

“Out of the blue it seems”, he continued. “For no reason, really. I wish they knew why my blood pressure does that. And my head and arm ache so much…..” he trailed on.

I couldn’t be sure if it was a male or female deer thanks to the cloud of fog hiding most of the animal from view, but I began surveying both sides of the road now, searching for additional legs. There were none. I slowed the car even more, as the legs proceeded to cross before me. As they reached the median, I relaxed the slightest bit. And that’s when it happened.

Unaware that there was any other vehicle traveling in our direction, a midsized SUV came speeding passed my 25 mph crawl, and then I knew.

It was a male. A young buck. Maybe 6 points or so. The headlights from the passing auto reflected off his dew-covered rack.

In an instant, he turned to face the direction from which he came, and he darted out in front of that SUV. We both slammed on brakes, albeit my stop was less severe than that of the faster companion driver in the left lane who made contact with the animal.

A piece of antler flew over my car. Half of a silver bumper catapulted into the air and landed beside us. And those legs. Those delicate, skinny lil’ legs. The buck was tossed in the air, and the legs were scrambling to right his summersaulting torso. Buck landed directly in front of our car. On his side. Flailing about, still trying to right his body. What seemed like 15 minutes, I’m sure was over in a handful of seconds. The two front legs tried desperately to pull him to the safety of the grass just beyond a roadside mailbox.

“Oh, daddy, he’s suffering.” The first words I had said since leaving the hospital parking lot moments before.

“No, no, he’s going to be alright”, reassured my anchor.

And in an instant, Buck got his back legs to agree with his front two and he raised up and walked out of the spotlight before us.

I pulled over to the right side. The SUV pulled over the left. I rolled down my window to ask if the driver was okay, when an unknowing work van barreled between our vehicles, crushing the already broken pieces of deer and SUV. The driver was alone and already calling for help on her cell phone. “Thank goodness!”, I sighed.

Just hours earlier, as I sped out of my driveway to hopefully beat, or at least meet, the ambulance in my daddy’s driveway, I prayed: “Lord, Your will, not my own, Lord. Your will, not my own. Even though I’m going to tell you, Father, that I want my daddy to stay here for years to come, if that’s not part of Your will, please help me accept that and be ready.”

Daddy was having chest pains. His blood pressure was high. Daddy is almost 82.

“Father, please keep our travel safe and help it be swift. Please keep deer out of our path tonight. Amen.”

The ambulance trip was fast. The rescue workers were really good to daddy. The hospital staff was the best. I’ve come to expect really great care from everyone in this particular medical center. One nitroglycerin and positive lab results a few hours later, and I was driving my daddy back home.

When we pulled out of that hospital parking lot, all thoughts of the prayers I’d laid out before the Lord earlier were gone. I was, instead, tired and focussing more on getting daddy home so that I could get a couple of hours of sleep before heading to work.

Valley versus Mountain.

I was valley-dwelling, in the unknown, when I called out to Jesus and asked for help.

I was mountain-dwelling, in anticipation, when I didn’t call out to Jesus to say thank you right away.

Praise the Lord, He doesn’t keep score the way I do over what I see as my own strengths and weaknesses, as pertains to my relationship with Him.

God knew those skinny lil’ legs would catch my attention.
God knew I would slow down and remember asking Him to protect us in our travels.
God knew tangible evidence of His protection would go miles with me.

And just like that, from my point of view, God showered me lavishly in showing his protection.

I became aware of the skinny lil’ legs.
Thank you, Lord.
I slowed and was cautious.
Thank you, Lord.
The deer didn’t hit our car.
Thank you, Lord.
Nor did the flying antler.
Thank you, Lord.
Not even the airborne bumper.
Thank you, Lord.
The SUV driver was not injured.
Thank you, Lord.
And Buck walked away.
Thank you, Lord.

I couldn’t help but think of how much our Father loves us.
How He loves me.
My dad.
The SUV driver.
He sent His only Son –
a Sacrifice for us.
For me.
My dad.
The SUV driver.

God reminded me in an instant of my prayers.
And I saw them answered.

As I think about that deer, Buck, I also was thankful that I didn’t have to watch him suffer and die. It was a hard hit. I can’t imagine he survived it. But I didn’t have to see him struggle. It was heartbreaking to see such a beautiful creature flailing about like that, right in front of me, knowing I couldn’t help it. And this train of thought lead me to think of Jesus hanging on the cross. All the beating and flogging leading up to the cross. The crowd of people witness to His suffering. His willingness to take on that suffering because of us.
Because of me.
Because of my dad.
Because of the SUV driver.

And my daddy?
I didn’t miss that, God.
Thank you for giving us more time together.
Thank you, Lord! Your will be done.

Before chaos has a chance to shake things up this morning, I have stolen away to a quiet corner on the couch by the glowing Christmas tree, yesterday’s mail in hand – three unopened Christmas cards. I open each very slowly, fitting for a moment that feels reverent, and gifted.

The three, all traveling long distance to reach us, are from

a Sunday school couple who moved away years ago as a family of two, and are now a family of four;

an elderly couple who were lifelong friends to my mother, hence, being a part of my own growing up years, who now live in a retirement community in NC;

and relatives – a cousin, her husband and daughter, who reside in VA – a cousin who was more like a sister to this only child when I was her own daughter’s age, spending much of my weekends and summers visiting her family.

All three, precious.
All three, strands of the tapestry that is who I am.
All three, a blessing in this early hour.

I continue to sit in the quiet, pondering the wonders of His love – his vast, unconditional, unending and overwhelming love. The wonder. The awe. And I am grateful for all the ways His love is lavished on me through these people whom I may not see often, if at all these days, and whom I talk with even less, but am remembered by, and I remember, so fondly, in reflection of nothing less than the beautiful gifts they are.

My hope for all this Christmas season, and for for all of 2022 – May peace and gratitude surround all whom love you and whom you love this season. May your tapestry come alive with the memories and knowledge of His overwhelming love woven into every strand.

It’s November.
The weather is behaving like it ought to.
54 degrees.
Rain.
An ushering in of all things not spring.

In honor of this gray, not-quite-blustery day, I’m wearing white shoes.

Never a slave to fashion, or the latest trends,
nor to the “dressing rules” that have been held over the heads of little girls growing up in the south forever,
I choose freedom from all of that stuff.

This morning I had to heave the Rubbermaid, clear plastic box from the top shelf in my closet, so that I could find something with long sleeves to wear. You know, because “Baby, it’s cold outside” in South Carolina. The first thing I spied when I unsnapped the lid was a gray and white striped sweater. “Perfect!”, I thought all excitedly in my noggin’, “because I can wear my favorite Espadrilles with it!”

Not only are these shoes an open-toed no-no this time of year, being akin to the treasured flip-flop, this particular pair is white, which is probably the bigger no-no of the two after-September characteristics.

Without missing a beat, my next thought was: “Jesus has freed me from all the silly human-made rules”.

So today, I’m wearing what is comfortable to me and what I think looks great with my white and gray sweater. And now these white shoes will be a reminder to me all day of the freedom I have in Jesus. It’s a struggle when the day’s chaos smacks you in the face first thing every morning to keep Jesus at the front and center of thought, so I’m recognizing Him from the get-go today as I strap on these rule-breaking shoes. ❤

__________

So I looked up “wearing white after September” in the all-knowing Google box, and this is what I found:

Why don’t you wear white after September?

Since Labor Day typically represents the end of summer, a ‘rule’ was established that you shouldn’t wear white after Labor Day if you didn’t have the money to take fall and winter vacations. It was also used as a way to identify those who needed to work and those who didn’t.

Wow! Now what I’m doing is even funnier, because I’m wearing my no-no shoes to work.

Another “established”, man-issued rule busted. Thank you, Jesus!!

A friend stopped by the office today.
Friendly chit chat was had.
Catching up is always a nice reprieve from the daily.
I noticed a wedding band.
He was all smiles when he shared the story
of his fall destination matrimony week
and gorgeous pictures
of a gorgeous young couple
before a gorgeous backdrop of sunsets and ocean waves.
The title of husband suits him as if he always was.
We talked briefly about business,
the thing that introduced us to one another.
He asked about my kids.
About how life was going.
And then we dwelled a few minutes in greens
and rice
and blueberries with almond butter
and foods that make you feel good
and bad.
It reminded me of how when I was a little girl,
barely a child old enough to voice my likes and disdains,
I knew there were just certain foods
I didn’t want to eat.
Like ice cream.
And cheese.
And watermelon.
And bananas.
I couldn’t have explained to you why not at the time.
I just knew they were not good for me.
Fast forward to my adulthood when I paid good money to find out that I
(me, myself personally)
should not eat
dairy
nor melons
and surely not bananas
and a whole list of other things that since my childhood
I just knew I shouldn’t eat
because they were not good for me
(myself, personally).
I just knew.
Growing up, my nurse-by-trade mother said there was no way I was allergic to any of those things.  That it was all in my mind.
But I knew when I was younger what I should and should not do
(as pertains to eating certain things)
but somehow when I was older
the busyness of the world made me forget how much I knew,
all by myself,
what was good for me
and what was not.

Enter:  Lightbulb.

My friend and I were still engaged in conversation,
though quietly I questioned in my own skin
and in my mind
and more so in my heart:
Is this what is meant by a child-like faith?
Just knowing, and not questioning?
Believing
just because it’s something I
(me, myself personally)
know to be true
and so?

I used to know stuff.
But as I’ve aged, I am not so certain about many things.
I listen to the opinions of others.
I watch the news.
I peruse the internet.
I read (too many) magazines.
I let life’s chatter exhaust me
and confuse me
and leave me unsure of
the smart person
I used to be
when I
was a
child.

Childlike.

Somewhere between 2010 and 2012 I stumbled upon a new-to-me road.  It was named Transparency, and it seemed to be THE place to be.  Everyone began talking about it.  Bible study groups and Sunday school classes often provided a front row seat from which to gaze upon a traveler of this road, hanging on every exposing word.   And slowly, more and more people began to share their experiences through storytelling they safely called “being transparent”.  At lightning speed, actually, this thing became a modern-day buzz word in Christian roadway mapping.

This road seemed safe, as more and more people got on board.  Initially, I was envious of those who were brave enough to set foot on that pathway.  I wondered, “does it hurt to tread along a  trail made up of brokenness and discord?”  But then I imagined, “it must be awfully freeing to let it all hang out whilst cruising Transparency Road at a moderate speed with the windows down”.   Just years before this, it would have been unheard of to take a trip down Transparency Road.  It would have been a road avoided by all.

I jumped on the bandwagon at some point, believing that if I shared the raw details of my experiences from Transparency Road, somehow someone who heard may be encouraged, or helped.  I wondered if sharing out loud would somehow justify things that had happened and bring salve to wounds that had yet to completely heal, all while sparing someone else from going through a similar experience.

I realized soon, though, that the more and more people talked about themselves from a safe-to-them vehicle traveling down this road – the more I shared from my own Transparency Road car – the less satisfying and intriguing the position from this highway.  Stories from Transparency Road are initially captivating, leaving spectators hanging on the experiences, wanting more.  It’s almost like socially acceptable rubbernecking.  Who doesn’t love a good story that makes you go, “Wow, that happened” or “I can’t believe you did that” and so on?  We like the shock value of hearing raw details.  Why is that?

But here’s the thing:  Transparency Road is not a final destination.  It does not stand on its own.  It is not a cul-de-sac.  The Transparency Road is literally a self-serving route when the traveler never leaves its pathway.  That’s why stories that start and end on Transparency Road seem unfinished.  That’s why often a weird, haunting feeling of emptiness lingers.  Transparency is simply a road to journey on to get somewhere else.  It’s not a place to waller.  Is waller really a word even?

I can tell you all day long about things I did that I wish I didn’t do.
About things I said that I wish I didn’t.
Things I ate that I wish I didn’t.
People I hurt.
Scars I have.
Sins I’ve committed.
All day long, I can tell you this stuff that I wish I didn’t do.
I can share with you the dirty, ugly stuff that is who I have been – who I am – as I speak to you from a rolled-down window in my car as I travel Transparency Road.
But until I turn the corner onto Transformation Way, I am doing you a disservice in sharing my unfinished tales.

Transformation Way.

You know, if I ever for some reason go into development of neighborhoods, I will definitely have some good name ideas for streets.  Who wouldn’t love to live on Transformation Way?!  Or how about Transformed Place.

Transparency is great – WONDERFUL – if it leads you to be a TRANSFORMED PERSON who can share the story of His wonderful work of transformation through our journeys.  Our trials.  Our dirty, self-promoting, sinful missteps and off-road ventures.

Transparency is talk and transformation is action.

Transparency can make us feel “okay” and “excused”, or that our sins are less than tawdry, if we shove our weak, sinful moments into the light of inner and outer circles for all to gaze upon.  It puts the focus on the hands of the stone-throwers, and somehow makes our sins more palatable.  If care is not taken, being transparent can become a safe deflection.

At some point, Transparency Road needs to be abandoned for a smoother route along Transformation Way.

Think of Paul.  Lord knows, he traveled Transparency Road boldly.  In the face of those whom he had persecuted, Paul didn’t linger on Transparency Road long, but instead, shared of making that turn onto Transformation Way.  That is what makes sharing travels along these two pathways a Kingdom Builder.

There was this paramour.
And I hated her.
Loathed her.
Didn’t know her, only the act that gave her the paramour title.
Everything in me said, “Stone her”.
And Jesus said, “You who is without sin cast the first stone.”
And I knew instantly that I was guilty.
Dead in the dust.
The stones fell from my hands.

Now, in telling you this, I’m being transparent.  I hated.  I wanted to cause pain.  I did cause pain.  Name-calling.  Finger-pointing.  Ugly, ugly, ugly.

If my story ends there, I’ve shared nothing good, and made myself feel better for telling you how awful I am.  If I stop there, my story-telling ends with selfish motive.  I’m helping no one.  There may be other people who can relate, or may feel a connection to me and say “I did that, too!”, but if I don’t follow through by sharing with you how this very instant transformed me, I am not doing you any favors and worse, I’m not giving glory to the Father for His great transformation in me.

The rest of the story is this:

Though it took me years, I finally dropped the stones.
In doing so, I allowed the Holy Spirit to direct me.
I reached out to the woman, whom I previously identified with an accusatory name.
Gracefully, she reached back.
And ONLY because of My Savior’s great forgiveness, mercy and grace, I am filled with genuine love for this woman I now call my friend.  Family, even.

Only God can do that.  That is transformation.  And it doesn’t stop there.  Because of this experience, I am slower to judge.  And I’m more quickly to notice when my backpack becomes heavy with a stone or two.  I’m not saying I don’t judge.  And I’m not saying I don’t pick up stones.  Both things I am not proud of.  But they are things that I notice and rid myself of much quicker than I did years ago.

Transparency to Transformation.

The road that is Transparency leads to the way that is Transformation.

Thank you, Jesus, for being The Light and The Way.