blogging · grace · life

for real this time…

…not that it’s “regularly scheduled” but you get it. I’m removing some distractions that I create for myself so I can tend to the one thing that won’t leave me alone. This book. I have some serious fears about it all. It’s scary. It’s exciting. It’s more exciting than scary…but it’s still scary.

Please hold me to it. You can even text me anytime between 8-5 everyday and if I respond you can say, “Why are you answering my text? Go write.”

Perhaps you have a book inside you, too? You know you’re the only one that can tell YOUR story…maybe you should.

I’m not on Facebook either…I sell real estate and need to nurse my business page but I gave that to Jesus. I’m going all 1997 and finding and helping buyers and sellers without the aid of social media. We shall see how it goes…

I always have a blog up my sleeve. Something to ramble about…words I think you might enjoy or find interesting, odd or funny. It will be hard for me not to jump back on here and scribble one for you. Like I tried doing today…I wanted to talk about Hannah’s wedding…and I will. I’ll tell you about my experience with shopping and finding a mother of the bride dress. I might confess some self image issues I had to battle and how I overcame them. I’ll most certainly rattle on and on about how Hannah was a most graceful, gorgeous and together bride…and how Jordan is a welcome addition to our tribe. He already was, but now we have the papers to prove it.

I will be back when the final chapter is complete. Good grief. Why am I crying? Why is this freaking me out?!

grace · life · marriage · wisdom

…the date night post

Okay. So here we go…

It’s Saturday…one week from the date that ended a lot worse than it began.

Date night is customary and welcomed in our house. It was an unspoken clause in our marital agreement to be friends and date and spend time together. We both savor time spent together…it’s our dual love language. We dated 14 months long distance prior to me moving to Baton Rouge, so once we found ourselves in the same zip code it was on! We are intentional about it…documenting unapologetically with selfies on the gram like a couple of teenagers. We keep it simple. A dinner somewhere new…we love good weather and a patio…perhaps a movie. Nothing fancy, and if you raise chickens you can bet those chickens on us being home and in bed by 10:00.

You think we’re boring?

We are NOT boring and we are also FAR from perfect. We fight sometimes. Say what?! Yep. Sorry to burst your Kurt and Gina bubble, but The Millers squabble. We are crazy in love and the best of friends, but we brought to the Marriage Table 40 plus years of living, a combination of 3 failed marriages, and a few too many stupid relationships gone wrong. We have context. We have precedence. We have some crap.

We were not squabbling last Saturday when I received a text around 11:00 AM, asking me to please be ready by 7:40. He made reservations at a restaurant I’d been wanting to try and I was truly looking forward to it! We both got fancied up a tad bit more than usual and headed out. The place was not what we expected thus generating a lot of inside jokes and laughter between a couple of friends. We were feeling super 50…We could not hear one another or our waiter over the ratio of noise inside the joint. We could not read the menu. We left our readers at the house so the 6 point font on the menus left us to trust our server’s suggestions. Our expectations fell a little flat but the biggest surprise of the night came five minutes before we left…

Kurt asked for the check and our waiter said I needed to go to the Ladies Room and get a selfie before we leave…he went on to explain that the words Hello Gorgeous were inverted on the wall and of course once you selfie they show up correctly and I can hashtag the restaurant and blah blah blah…I needed to wash my hands anyway so I take Kurt’s phone and head that way. I wash my hands. I take a selfie. I look down to critique the photo and a text pops up:

Hey! It’s Jen. I’m in town on Sunday and I’d love to see you! I know you’re missing me too.

What? Unfortunately, I can see this font. I read it again. Same thing I saw the first time.

I sit down on the bench provided in the bathroom, supposing it’s positioned for everyone that falls prey to shock and horror. My relationship flashes before my eyes. I’m not exaggerating. Every fuss and fight magnified and I immediately thought…I deserve this. I was crazy to think I could trust anyone…Satan destroyed my first marriage and now he was coming for this one in the opposite direction. I was shaking. I exit the bathroom and see Kurt’s face smiling back at me…so handsome…sitting there clueless as to what has just happened. I’m already hurting and dreading the inevitable conversation that awaits us both.

Flash forward 3 whole minutes. We are now in the truck. I’m asking who Jen is. He is saying he does not know who this is and it has to be the wrong number. I’m feeling sick. My heart is already hurting…physically hurting.

Another text comes through.

And another….

Then a photo of a girl lifting her shirt to reveal her bra and breasts…then another…

If you love us, you are now hurting for us. And thank you for loving us. But stay with me…the story ends well and it was a story I knew in my heart I had to tell…

Turns out. It was a scam. An attempt to get you to click on a link that follows the messages and images. Being the CIA agent I am, I research the number to find an article using the same exact images and information that if sent this text you should delete because it’s a mix between a scam and marketing scheme derived to get users to click on a link leading to a camming site. Which of course costs money and asks for payment information and so on…

I don’t want to put the link in my article but you can search “texting scams, Pennsylvania Jen” and read it for yourself.

Here’s the deal. I went to bed disheartened….even after I knew the truth. I woke on Sunday and knew I had to write. I thought about how many other couples might get hit with this nasty porn peddler as Kurt called him, and not recover. Couples hanging on by a very thin thread and this could be the one stupid thing that calls one or both of them to throw in the towel and call it quits. The accusations that will get tossed back and forth and the perfectly good evenings that will be hijacked by the devil himself. I think about the young children already struggling with the images being flung in their faces and now this *?&!{ is coming through their phones as spam. I am disgusted with all things disgusting.

Jesus…you can come on now. We ready for ya.

AND. I want to find that girl in the picture and bring her home with me and tell her she is worth more than she could ever possibly know and pray and pray and pray she comes to believe it. Damn anyone who subjects a child to lewd acts for profit.

I don’t know who this is for, or why I have to write and share the ugly parts… but I do. It’s my job. I thanked God for allowing that message to come through Kurt’s phone so I could hopefully stop some madness in your family before it starts by sharing our story. It took me a week to write it out…I could chase some rabbits on this topic and there is definitely more I could say…but for now.

I love you. I’m praying for you. Stay Faithful. Stay Alert. Be Kind.

1 Peter 5:8-11 MSG: Keep a cool head. Stay alert. The Devil is poised to pounce, and would like nothing better than to catch you napping. Keep your guard up. You’re not the only ones plunged into these hard times. It’s the same with Christians all over the world. So keep a firm grip on the faith. The suffering won’t last forever. It won’t be long before this generous God who has great plans for us in Christ—eternal and glorious plans they are!—will have you put together and on your feet for good. He gets the last word; yes, he does.

faith · grace · life

about God…

It’s not easy believing in God. In fact…it’s easier to shirk the whole idea, bring all my dependency and possible outcomes back to myself and take things as they come. Keeping it all in house removes any dependency on an outside source and when things don’t go like I want…my fault. No one else to blame. I totally get why people are not into it…

I’ve had many versions of God in my one life. The God I first heard about talked in a deep, loud voice and would show up in burning bushes, a donkey and rumble the sky with his commands for earthlings. I took it all literally and never recall fearing this first version any more than I feared waking up on Christmas morning to find a fat, jolly, old bearded man standing in my living room trying to sneak a baby doll under the tree.

Then my amygdala engaged…that portion of my brain that activates fear was actively engaged in my conception of God #2. God #2 was even more mean, loud, fiercely disappointed and wanted nothing more than to catch me doing something wrong so he could smite me. I didn’t like him as much as I knew I didn’t have a choice but to love him…or else. He was all knowing AND all seeing. I imagined him looking down from the sky and watching through the roof of my glass ceiling house…he could see my every move and read my every thought. I was petrified. I watched movies about The End Times and lived a large percentage of my preteen years fearing the return of Christ. No matter how hard I tried or how many times I asked him to save me, I would be left behind to either get the mark of the beast or declare allegiance to the one who left me and stand in line for the guillotine. I’d enter Heaven’s Gates beheaded but at least I wouldn’t spend eternity in Hell.

It didn’t take long to set that God aside…trying to please him at the same time I was trying to please everyone else that claimed to follow him was every bit of exhausting. Conveniently, at this same moment in time the world seemed to nurture my lack of confidence and self-worth. I found my acceptance from individuals that questioned or denied God’s existence, so I made a home there…there in the world, with things that helped me stay out of my busy, questioning head and thoughts. I still went to church, prayed, asked for forgiveness and would contest the non-existence of a creator, but God #3 was there only if needed or called upon while collecting dust on a shelf. I was tired of his unobtainable demands. The last thing I wanted was to die and go to hell, but I concluded that I didn’t have a say so in the matter. I’d just have to hope for the best.

The best thing happened…

The God of Motherhood. After I had Paige, at the baby age of 21, I needed a different god. I needed a god that could once again see through my roof and stay up all night in case I fall asleep and fail to hear her cry. Say hello to God #4. He was welcome in my home. I didn’t want to do this parental gig alone. I would ask him to be my eyes when I could not see, and my ears when I could not hear. Help me be a good mom. Help me do what she needs me to do…be what she needs me to be. Give me supernatural energy because I am spent. I don’t want my baby to go to hell either. What will I teach her so she can stay out of the fire? I want her to know you God and I want to tell her about Jesus…Jesus. What if I begin by teaching her more about Your Son and less about your requirements…What if I gently lead her into an understanding of what it means to believe in an unseen God…what if at the same time I’m teaching her I open up the door for you to reteach me? Two more kids later and God #4 began to soften and I kinda liked him. We talked…a lot. Like I think I talked to God more than I talked to anyone. I had to pray about so many things once I had children. I could talk all day and not cover all the bases. I developed an understanding that God could hear me and I was not bothering him and that he actually wanted to participate in my life…even the messy parts.

God #4 was better than all the other Gods I’d known but I still had some issues with the program…I was still lumping him back into humanity as I tried to box up his existence within Christianity. As a single woman in her 40’s I needed God’s help on multiple levels, so I went to church. I spent my whole life looking for God in a church…I found God #5 far from a building with a steeple.

I took a break.

I was not living my best life even though it felt like it at the time. Things were going more my way than in the past…things I’d prayed for would receive the answers I wanted.

This time was shortly after my small town divorce…if I can leave you any good measure of advice to carry onto your children it is this…do not go to bed with gum in your mouth, treat half a tank like an empty tank and you’ll never run out of gas, AND don’t divorce in a small town. Just don’t do it.

A time of undeserved merit and favor from God #5. Like I said…he was kinder than all the ones before. So kind that he blessed me in spite of…Quick Story….I was driving around looking at houses and spotted one that I loved. It wasn’t for sale, but the one two doors down was so I went to take a look. It was $10,000 more than my approved loan amount and I’d need to lay sod…another $4,000. Not going to happen and honestly didn’t want it anyways…I prayed to God and asked him to help find me a house that I could make a home for Hannah and Laken. A day or two later, it was the end of one of my classes, and I had a student ask me to go to the attendance office with her. She was afraid she would get in trouble for one thing or another and so I agreed to ease her fears and walk with her…I was waiting on someone to help her when a substitute teacher was telling the office staff her and her husband were moving…I asked where she lived and if her house was for sale. The House. The house I loved…the one two doors down…the one I saw days earlier but was not for sale…that was her house. She said her husband was on his way to a real estate office and I said, Stop Him! Call Him! And that house became my house. That house was within my budget…with a beautiful landscaped lawn…and I made a home for my babies there. God heard. God answered…rather quickly. Was that all me? Was God in it? This God I wondered and still wonder about…was He in the details?

I spent the next few years under a covering of protection that was unmerited. My mouth could spew scripture and my playlist was heavy on Hillsong and Bethel Worship, but I was far from God. I kept those things around as security just in case things fell apart…

Things fell apart.

I am sitting here today with another God. This is the God of my 50’s. He’s super quiet…perhaps a little burnt out with all my wondering about him. I’m sitting here in my living room giving him full permission to show up…to speak…to rumble the clouds just for me…I’ve got nothing. I’m just as lost as I was 29 books on Purpose ago… I ask for direction. I ask for forgiveness…I ask for forgiveness for asking for forgiveness so much. I ask for a reason to still be here…a revelation. I wonder if it matters. It being prayer. I wonder if it’s all been planned out in advance and my participation is futile. And I wonder if He is real. Are you there God? It’s me, Gina. Am I just taking up space? Are we all just taking up space? What is it that you want for us? What are we missing? If you are real…and I say if, because none of us have seen you and yet we cling to the hope…then show me. Show me in a way only I will understand. I want to know you and when someone asks me why I believe in God I want to say something more than, “I just do.” I can think of dozens of times in my life that you were so real. Please be real again.

In doing so….I would like to request the omission of cancer and death and disease and drowning and fire and snakes and anything to do with heights and floods that destroy everything I have left, or tornadoes…and infidelity and missing children and nuclear war and mass shootings and poverty or a car crash. I might think of some other things after I finish writing this but I’ll just tell them to you.

friendship · grace · life · wisdom

…so this is 50.

I can’t explain the high I received the day I turned 50…but it was nice. Real nice.

I was like…here I am! I did it! I’m still here!

I didn’t take myself out doing something stupid and GOD ONLY KNOWS how many times I was miraculously kept out of harm’s way. I’ll get to Heaven one day and be met at the gate not by St. Peter, but by my guardian angel giving me the stink eye.

There is an anticipation that comes with turning 50. It comes with some pressure. Pressure perhaps we place upon ourselves, but pressure nonetheless. It’s a halfway point. We think of life in a span of a hundred years. I grew up watching Willard Scott make a big to-do about individuals living to see 100 on The Today Show every morning. It’s a hoopla and halfway to hoopla needed a party.

I decided to landmark this mid-century milestone with something to remember…something to make not only myself smile, but some other people smile, too. I knew it was a long shot but I wanted to gather with some precious girls I’d stayed in touch with on and off since high school and college and do some laughing and catching up for the heck of it. I wanted to hug some friends I’d known since fried perms, popped collars, Madonna and Maybelline.

Kurt was trying to create a fuss for me behind my back that involved Paige, Laken and Hannah…once he realized what I was drumming up we merged the two and congregated all the guests in downtown Austin for a good time! My daughters got to see and meet some of the women I’ve talked about for years and my friends got to meet my daughters. Now, that’s a party!

julie, lisa, me, karen, michelle p, stephanie, michelle c, not pictured: melodie
me and the baby loves…laken, paige, hannah

We had THE BEST time. In fact, we had so much fun I forgot to take enough pictures to really make this blog post pop. That’s when you REALLY know you had fun…

I soooo admire the women in my life. I am so proud to be surrounded, near and far, by beautiful, strong, confident gals! Are you? Do you have good women in your life? Do you have friends that love you in and through your mess and stick around for the message? Do you have those who love you enough to call you out of stupid human tricks instead of choosing to stop calling you? Do you have fans and cheerleaders on the sidelines of your life when it’s a victory moment?!

If 20 years ago I gave you my best sage advice about relationships and life you might think to yourself, Oh please…what does SHE know… But now. Now I’m 50. Now when I say, “Listen up, sugar…” You lean in and listen to my age old wisdom and tall tales of back when.

So gather ’round my proverbial rocking chair and listen up… My advice to you is to be selective in this process. In the process of circling up your tribe. I’ve preached this before and I’ll preach it again…you become what you allow in your life. You better get picky, sister. I didn’t learn this lesson soon enough and if I could go back I would do some things different. Hear me when I say…stay clear of anyone that feels the need to knock you down in order to feel picked up. Run without apology from anyone who incessantly talks about others and tends to use your ears as a sponge for their judgement and jealousy. Not nice. If she is belittling you, she needs to go. If you feel unheard and unappreciated, first kindly talk about your feelings… and if the behavior continues…well…needs to go. You get one life! Don’t spend it with those who exhaust you! LISTEN TO ME! It’s not worth it. And if you are the one acting up…you better stop it. You picked up on some nasty habits from someone you let stay around too long and now you need a revival. Be Kind. Period.

Thank you for listening . I only type that because I care.

So…Now that I’m 50…

  • I am okay with still being a big dreamer and considering going back to college and getting my Master’s degree. I still don’t know exactly what I want to be when I grow up. Be encouraged if you struggle here…you are not alone.
  • I will not ever apologize for wanting to lose another 5 pounds…for ordering a salad and skipping dessert. Why did I ever feel like my desire to be fit and say no to a brownie was offensive? Good Lord.
  • I will continue to value my health to a degree that comes across as obsessive. Have you been watching the news? Healthcare is a crisis! We all better take it into our own hands. If you’re depending on the government to take care of you if you eat one too many cheeseburgers and skip the gym…you’re in trouble. They don’t care if you die.
  • I will not apologize for not being a fan of stuff and needing simple and clean in order to function properly. Stuff makes me crazy. I need order and pretty and without it I’m searching for order and pretty when I could be doing something else.
  • I will not deny my fear of heights and I’ll wait while you ride the roller coasters, jump out of planes, leap off bridges and I will FOREVER think snow skiing is the biggest waste of money because it involves heights and cold and potential broken bones. I’m not paying anyone to make me scared, cold or hospitalized.

I’m just getting started, people. This whole 50 thing is just the beginning of me.

You’ll know I’m old and over it if you catch me doing any of the following:

  • There’s 2 to 3 good inches of gray roots on the top of my head and I make zero effort to conceal it under a cute ball cap.
  • I give away all my heels and stop getting pedicures.
  • I don’t wear a bra in public…and you know it.
  • I eat bags of potato chips with vanilla coke chasers from a recliner while watching reruns of Family Feud…every night.
  • My sheets have not been washed in over a week and I have coupons clipped and sitting in piles on my nightstand.
  • I talk about my most recent bowel movement as if I’m bragging on one of my kids.
  • I get a cat.
faith · grace · kids · life · wisdom

Mom! Look!

Let me set the scene for you…

I was walking every evening around our high school track in the blessed town of Andrews, Texas. If you’ve never witnessed a West Texas sunset, shame on you. Get in your car now and go. It’s life giving. Those sunset views as I walked, along with a good playlist on my iPod helped…some. I was going through a less than wonderful time in my life…some diagnosed it a midlife crisis behind my back…when in all actuality the midlife crisis didn’t set in for a couple more years. That’s a whole ‘nother blog post. Life was coming in strong and the walks were an attempt to clear my mind and talk to God. I was confused and my mind was a tangled mess that I myself could not unravel. Trust me…I tried. I needed more than wine and a Pinterest Board of motivation and positive quotes. I needed The One who saw fit to plant me on earth in the first place.

I circled that track and circled that track asking God to speak to me. SAY SOMETHING! I DARE YOU! I would tell Him He could totally talk to me and I would keep it just between the two of us. I was politely offering God a safe place to be vocal. Surely He was tired of us making messes and all He could do was remain silent and hope for the best from the free will He bestowed upon us humans. I felt for Him. Probably hard to watch at times…so I was totally there for Him. I just knew He had some things to say to me but feared I would tell “the others” and then “the others” would feel like God loved me more. I would stay hush-hush. If not, it could easily be an all out Joseph and the Coat of Many Colors Revisited…jealousy would commence and neither of us had time for that. 

Go ahead…speak. It’s cool…

The skies did not rumble. There wasn’t so much as a whisper in the wind. Night after night of mile walking and He never opened his mouth. He obviously didn’t trust me not to blog about it, so I offered Him the next best thing. Something less “Wow, God spoke to you?” and more “I thought He did that for me too one time!”  I told God He could sky write my next move in the clouds. I would ask Him a question and while trying to beat the time on my next mile, I would look up and await His response. I steadily watched the clouds, but the clouds remained just clouds. 

Over time my circumstances became heightened seeds of frustration and although I kept walking, I stopped looking up…stopped praying…stopped hoping…gave up.

I knew you could see it on my face. The apathy. The disdain. Those around me began asking with disturbing frequency how I was doing.

Great. Doing great. Thanks. 

My pessimism had me convinced and certain they were asking so they would have something to talk about in this one horse town. If I told them how I really was…the battles I was facing…they would offer me some theology and bible verses…the lyrics to a song they heard on K-Love that moved them and was sure to move me.

Don’t want it. Keep it. Save it.

I was teaching journalism during this time and yearbook deadlines were looming. I didn’t want to get out of bed…how am I supposed to show up for these students and make sure we have ample coverage of this school year with photos and stories and captions?!  Everything was meaningless. They don’t even care about this dumb book. I was so done and fought a daily battle with marching down to the principals office and telling him I quit. 

Show Off.

One evening Hannah and I made a trip to Dollar General…the shopping mecca of our small town…as we were leaving I could not help but notice the looming cloud above us. Wow. It was shaped like a big footprint. There were small clouds around it that looked as if they were participating in the sky painting, but happily played their smaller roles and allowed the much larger cloud to be the star.

There was no ignoring it’s grandeur, but like I said, I was not up for anything…I gave God plenty of opportunities to show up and He was silent…I was done.

Hannah was not done. 


Geez. She saw it, too?! She’s 10. I have to be excited…

Yes, Hannah! I see it!


She picked up on that…

I see that Hannah. What does that say to you?

The big foot is God’s and all the little ones are our footprints!

Ummm….yes. I can see that. Perhaps it means God goes before us and won’t take us anywhere He hasn’t already been.

Did I just say that? 

October 22, 2007. The Next Morning.

I get to work and turn on my computer. First thing before the students arrive I check emails. I have a message from a friend and fellow photographer that stood down on the field with me during football games to get shots of the game. 

Good Morning Gina. I hope you are doing well.

He signed his name and typed, Deuteronomy 31:8

Nothing else.

That was odd but okay…

I go home for lunch and as I’m sitting on the couch my bible…the bible that I had not opened in months…was all but screaming at me to open it. I wonder why he emailed me and I wonder what that verse says. It’s Old Testament. Probably something about God’s anger and how I’m doing everything to disappoint Him and vengeance is rising. I was well aware my life must be a poor reflection of what would honor God and I didn’t appreciate this guy sending me a reminder.  After arguing with myself, and unable to eat until I solve the mystery of the day,  I turn to the verse.

Amazing how life springs from the pages of this book. I recall the evening before and my words to Hannah, God goes before us and won’t take us anywhere He hasn’t already been. Hashtag affirmation. Hashtag heartsoftening.

Hello tears. There you are…

I had to gather myself to go back to work. Why did he send me that email? He never emailed me before? It made no sense? So random. And that verse?

I message him to ask why…

He tells me he was getting ready to leave town and didn’t have a minute to spare but sending that to me would not leave him alone…He said he wasn’t sure where the words were in the bible and had to take time to look it up, and then sent it rather quickly so he could scoot.

I am with you.

I will be with you.

I go before you.

I will not take you anywhere I have not already been.

Do not fear.

Stop being discouraged.

I’m not going anywhere…even when you ignore me…I’m here.

I’ve got you.

Y’all. This was 11 years ago! The life I’ve experienced since that day on that couch to now…NOT EASY. He knew. He saw it before I got there. He was already there. He has gone before me. He totally hears me. He is not silent. 

His voice is as loud and close as the nearest open page of His Word.

And He knows He totally has permission to get audible with me and sky write me all the things….

And He totally knows I won’t be quiet about it…

Hey. You. Yes, You. Life can feel like too much sometimes. Relationships are hard. Our children can break our hearts. We can break our children’s hearts. It seems like nothing will be the same…and nothing will change. I understand. 

He goes before you, too…

blogging · grace · life · wisdom

dear me.

A few months back I put this picture as the screensaver on my computer…

3 year old gina.jpg

When I open it up, the first thing I see is little Gina Lynn….little 3 year old me with a bad excuse for a haircut and a dogged determination not to smile. My dad was a preacher/barber and bless his heart…he could not pray or trim my hair into submission. From what he tells me, my hair grew straight up…weightless and wispy it gathered atop my head defining the effects of static electricity.  I had big features for a child and you and I both know that looks like a little boy in a dress. I doubt I cared much about my hair when this picture was taken. I was still too young to practice the dreaded art of comparison…but I didn’t stay too young forever.

I wonder at what exact point notions of what it means to be pretty invaded that innocent little mind and took over?

I think back and recall the first time I longed for longer hair. My very first best friend had the bestest, longest, thickest blonde hair in Kindergarten. I wanted her braids and ribbons and even her tangles. She had Johnson and Johnson No More Tangles spray and it took her mom a good portion of her one life to comb those suckers out…I wanted my mom to give up her one life for some tangles.

I remember going to Six Flags with our church youth group…somewhere around my late elementary years…I had some souvenir money burning a hole in my pocket.  You remember those colored pencil sketches of your tiny body with a big head?! That’s where my money went and I wanted my money back. My caricature had short, straight hair with a cowlick,  a big nose and big ears. Apparently he drew what we looked like instead of what we wished we looked like?! Bummer. I wanted him to see me differently.  I wanted to look differently.

These facts break my heart for every little girl. Every little girl that looks at herself and wishes something different was looking back at her.

While working on my memoir it has served me well to keep this picture in clear view. I like to think about where it all began and the years between this moment and now….

I talk to her…is that weird? Oh well…let’s say it’s weird and move on. I say things like…

Don’t look at me like that…

I’m sorry…you deserved better. Ugh. I’m really sorry. 

That hair…God love it.

You’re cute…

I wish I would have loved you instead of beating you up. 

I wish I could hug you.

I do. I wish I could scoop that little girl up in my arms and tell her everything that is going to happen and how to prepare for it. I want to tell her to love herself and not waste ANY energy on trying to get someone else to love her that doesn’t want to. I want to tell her where to spend her time and where not to…which door to open and which one to avoid like the plague. So yes…as crazy as it sounds I talk to little me…

What if she talked back?

Dear Bigger Gina,

It looks like my hair finally grew in. Now that you have some, maybe you should fix it sometimes instead of always pulling it up? You can do it. Fix your hair, Regina. 

Your love of books and knowledge has taught me a lot about people and life and random things about random things. I love how curious you are. Keep reading.

Thanks for taking care of us physically…for making time for exercise and being semi-psychotic about your food choices. Aging is a natural part of this gig and I think you’re doing your best to walk us into it with grace. Good girl. Keep it up.

Wow. Those are our daughters. They are remarkable. We did that?! And now they are having children of their own?! Look at those babies?! I think I’m going to cry. So if it wasn’t for ME being here THEY wouldn’t be here?! Thank you God for allowing me to be here.

You are a good mom.

Hey. I like our husband. He’s cute. And he really, really loves you.

You are a good wife.

I hope you’ll keep writing…we’ve got one heck of a story to tell. I know there are parts that you might want to skip over but I want you to remember that if not for THAT part we would not be in THIS part..and this part is pretty amazing. 

Can you honor me?  Honor me with the words you speak, the friends you choose, the way you spend your time and the way you use your gifts. Honor the fact that we are still here and have another day to keep trying. I see you trying. 

Hey. I think you’re pretty. I do. I know you love a good filter but the best filter you can use is the one that’s already inside us. Our heart. It’s too big for us. I know. You try and ignore it because you cry easily…but honestly, that’s the prettiest thing about you. Our big sappy heart. 

Just love me. I love when you look at me and like what you see because I like being you. I like where we are and how hard you’ve worked to get us here. You are really strong. When did we get so strong? Oh yeah. Now I remember.  

We’ve come a really long way…let’s keep going.


health · life · nutrition · wisdom

5 down…10 to go…


Okay. So I’m pretty excited here…now granted it was tortoise in nature and everything but an overnight success story, BUT I hit my first target and now I need to share it with someone…and if you’re reading this…congratulations…You are My Someone!


It’s taken 3 dang months of commitment to reverse the damage, but those 5 pounds are not from water weight or starvation, they are real live, behavioral changing, gone for good pounds.  I just have to do this 2 more times to reach my fighting weight! Just 2 more 3 month periods of making small yet consistent changes to drop the 15 that I don’t want to hold onto any longer. You know how it is…if I don’t jump in and stop the crazy train I will turn around and that unwanted 15 becomes an unwanted 20…then 25…then 35…NOOOOOOO.  I know what it feels like to feel good in my skin, and I know how ridiculous I must have sounded when I was at the weight I now desire and I said things like, “Am I fat?”… I now know not to condemn myself or play small when I’m working hard to be the best version of ME. Praise! God has walked me through some muck and stuff to get to this place and PRAISE and PRAISE…I’m thankful.

So…what am I doing?

I bought a scale.

I once burnt a scale. I once threw a scale out with the garbage. I once swore I’d never weigh again. I lied…to you if I told you that, and to myself. I bought a scale because I went to the doctor in January and they weighed me and I decided it might be best for me to know my numbers. I bought a “>Renpho scale off Amazon. It’s fancy and accurate. I downloaded the Renpho app on my phone along with MyFitnessPal and Fitbit. The trifecta of technological accountability at your fingertips. I set my macros and calories and record every morsel of food or drink that enters my body, I  wear my fitbit with a daily step goal that I aim to reach and I weigh on Mondays. Yesterday was Monday. After three months of trying, I look down and lo and behold I was FINALLY down 5 pounds.


I’ve taken bits and pieces of all the rules from different weight loss methods and formulated this plan…I call it…


It’s Keto/Macroholics/Mediterranean/Portion Control/Intermittent Fasting/Vegan/Paleo…

And it works.

For me.

The thing that works best for me might not work best for you but all of us know that making conscious, healthy decisions with your food choices added to an effort to move your body more works for EVERYBODY.

I see it this way…In 3 more months I’ll be down another 5 and I’ll high five myself and keep going…and if I keep going…in 6 months I’ll be down another 5 which will mean I’ve met my goal.  I’ll stop and see how I feel and maybe decide to put on a dress or some jeans and stand in front of the mirror and take a good look. I’ll have just turned 50. I’ll be 50 years old standing in front of a mirror wearing a dress or some jeans that I probably bought back when I was in my 40’s…I’ll think about how quickly the last 10 years flew by and with those thoughts will come the thoughts of the things I lost or left behind. I’ll think about Jana like I always do. I’ll say something like, I can’t believe you left me here to get old without you. We were going to be the funniest and most annoying old ladies ever…together. I’ll think about all the losses as well as the gains. I’ll think about the blessings of finding a true and lasting love with someone who makes me feel like I can do or be anything but doesn’t love me an ounce less for still wondering what I want to be when I grow up. I’ll think about being a grandmother and shake my head in disbelief that I was called to this incredible life. I’ll think about Jennifer Aniston.  Jennifer is 2 days older than me and I like to google her and see how she’s doing…I know that when Jennifer, who has access to all the age fighting weapons no matter the cost starts to crumble…we are all going down…I’ll wonder if I live another 50 years and get to be 100 if I’ll get to do and see all that is in my heart to do and see. I’ll probably think about my regrets…for like two seconds…then stop myself and remember that life is too short to think about regrets.

Don’t regret stuff. Just do the next best thing you can do with where you are and what you have…and love others. Yes. Do that.






health · life · marriage · parenting · podcast · wisdom

Podcast Episode 1. Macroholics with Trey & Burgandy Rinker

I did it. I’ve been talking about podcasting for many months now and finally went for it! Nothing fancy and with zero training, but I gotta say…Not Too Shabby For A Start! From the comfort of my closet with a mic clipped to my t-shirt I made a phone call to Trey and Burgandy Rinker to find out more about the program that has changed their world!  If you feel stuck in a rut and you’re looking for some tools to lose some unwanted pounds, tone up, gain muscle, make some lifelong friends and be SUPER encouraged while doing so…listen here


Are they not the cutest!? Lubbock is seriously full of amazing young families and I know Trey and Burgandy will blend in, as well as stand out!


family 2

burgandyHope you enjoyed this! Maybe one day I’ll figure out how to doll this thing up, load it onto iTunes and be a total girl boss about it…but for now…I’m just me…taking leaps and building my wings on the way down.

Show Notes:

To those of you who constantly encourage me in all my happy pursuits, I want to say THANK YOU. I love having you on my team. Us “Creatives” are funny people. We wake up with a new idea almost everyday! We try really hard to fit in the boxes that look safe and consistent but we just never seem to fit. We take risks that sometimes leave us looking a tad silly…then we move on to the next one with childlike enthusiasm. It’s a gamble. But I’ll never stop rolling the dice.




adoption · family · heritage · life · wisdom

turns out…

You can reference a post titled I Am Romanian if you have any questions about what you’re about to read. A dear dear friend who loves me and my heart read that blog post and sent me a DNA kit to solidify or nullify recent news of my ancestry.

Good friends want you to know what you want to know.

When I received my 23andMe kit, I quickly sent my saliva to the lab then patiently waited a good 5 or 6 weeks. Finally the results are in!

Shockingly, the report does not read, “Your wax technician was right on the money honey. You are indeed Romanian.” She wasn’t exactly right, but she wasn’t completely off. Same region just different stock.

Untitled design (2)

The report reads:

99.8% European. 62.9% of that being Irish and British.

16% French and German and 1.8% of Scandinavian.

I am not a smidge African or Native American. I am not Asian.

Here’s the really cool part!

Hannah and I decided to take a trip to celebrate her 21st birthday combined with the last year of my 40’s and her college graduation. Without knowing ANY of this we chose Ireland.

I’m going home to my people. My motherland. My roots. 


It all makes COMPLETE sense. My early 90’s aspiration to master the River Dance…my affections for Ed Sheeran, James Vincent McMorrow and Enya…how I hate beer but sometimes I try it anyways with perhaps a feeling deep within my bones that I should like beer?! I have BIG LOVE for potatoes in every form. Ask me my favorite childhood cereal. Go ahead. Ask me. Lucky Charms. Of course. Craic! All the signs were there! My freckles…my love of rainbows…and now the story about the red headed young man that showed up at our house when I was a baby asking to “see the baby” makes me wonder…was that him? Did you see me in my dark skin and dark hair and think to yourself…Oh no…that baby is Romanian. I’m Irish. Can’t be mine. See ya! 


The year was 1990. I was substitute teaching a 3rd grade class. I was 21 and 7 months pregnant with Paige. Two boys seated at the back of the class were causing quite a stir with their arguing…I disrupted them and asked what the problem might be.

We are fighting over whether or not you are White or Mexican.

I said I was white and the young hispanic boy looked really upset. Did he just bet his lunch money on my ethnicity? Should I tell them it’s a truce because I’m adopted and they could both be right? Was a Little Debbie oatmeal pie up for grabs under conditions that were not completely factual but speculative?

This was the beginning of me wondering on a deeper level about who I was and what I wanted to be…Right there at Devonian Elementary in Andrews, Texas in a classroom full of 8 and 9 year olds I erased the titles of White Baptist Republican and wanted real answers. I had a baby due in a few weeks. Who am I? What are we? Are we Mexican???

But seriously…

As many of you know I grew up in the church. Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesdays, Week long revivals…surely by now I’ve heard EVERY scripture at least once if not more?! Maybe so, but lately I’ve been craving something deeper…richer. Wanting something stronger than all past knowledge and a fresh start with Jesus, in January I made a decision to read through the entire Bible, cover to cover, with intention.

While waiting for my DNA results I read this verse…as if for the first time.

“Honor your father and your mother so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you.” Exodus 20:12

It stopped me. I read it again. Do you mean my biological parents, God?…. or Jim and Dorothy…my Mother and Daddy? Which one do I honor for this long life in the land?

I sat in my question and let it do what it wanted to do.

I waited on God to give me a heart answer…He did. Boy did He…and I got real with my feelings about my adoption…about my story.  I’ve had an unforgiveness in my heart that needed to be dealt with. Unforgiveness is sneaky people. You might need to dig deep to find it. It’s often buried…buried beneath sad and fear and busy and quests for perfection. Dig deep.

I’ve often been asked if I want to find my biological father. I’ve always said, no. Turns out…I do want to find him.

Not to see if we look alike. Not to ask about other family members or health related questions. Not to ask anything…

I want to find him so he can know he is forgiven.

Dear God, I forgive him. It was all he knew to do at that time and I pray he is well. I may never meet him this side of Heaven but I hope with all my hopes that more than the bloodline we share in our DNA, we share the precious Blood of Jesus. And I love him. Just as Christ does. Thank you for my life. Thank you for every cell that played a part in me being here. Thank you for every hand that cared for me, prayer that was prayed for me, both in and out of the womb. Bless them all. In Jesus Name. Amen.

love gina

Parents of Adopted Children.

If you have an adopted child do them the sweet favor of ordering them a DNA kit. Let them know as much as they can with an open heart and understanding.

Part of knowing your ancestry offers a huge sense of belonging…and a sense of belonging is a huge part of our basic human needs.

Oh…and I almost forgot this important detail…

Gina, based on your genetics, you have a slightly higher than average chance of hating the sound of others chewing.

It’s called misophonia. Hi my name is Gina. I am European and I have misophonia.

The only cure is drinking wine.