Butterball Hot-line

Today daughters everywhere are picking up the phone and calling their Mothers. Not just to say "Hello," mind you, but to ask questions about their Turkey Dinner. No matter how many times we have made a green bean casserole, there is a certain level of assurance that you just can't find on the back of a can of Campbell's Soup. I must have called my Mom five or six times to ask questions I most likely already knew the answer to. It just sounded better coming from her. Why, my husband even called his mom to find out how to make her delicious deviled eggs. Even though I was waving a bottle of Paprika in his face, he still wanted his Mama to tell him "what that red stuff is" you sprinkle on the top.
The precious moms that decorate the heavens are called upon via butter-soaked recipe cards and worn-thin cookbooks passed down for such a time as this. Sisters and Aunts step in to fill the gap when part of a recipe-puzzle goes missing. No matter how grown we are we still need that special voice to walk us through Turkey Dinner.
So thank you to all of the Operators on the Butterball Hot-line . . . . we couldn't have pulled off dinner without you.

STEALING SAVANNAH

The semi-permanent nature of my life is a press-on tattoo that stays with my body temporarily, just when I think it’s a welcome part of me it cracks and fades, peeling away layer by layer. The truth inside of me is written on a flimsy piece of onion skin paper that disintegrates under pressure of pen.

                                                                                        Stealing Savannah

                   Acknowledging our TRUTH shortens the journey
                                from the Pit to the Palace.

Saving San Diego

One of these days I’m going to have my own money to spend any way I like.

There has got to be a day coming where it doesn’t cost a pound of flesh to have my needs met.  I’m not always going to be like this you know.

Someday . . . my life is going to matter. I just hope someone remembers that it did.
                                                                          Saving Savannah

Last night I had the privilege of attending the volunteer training for GENERATE HOPE, San Diego's
 amazing program for women who have been involved in Human Trafficking and Sexual Exploitation.
So many women joined together, their hearts swollen with compassion and a desire to help our cities most vulnerable. I applaud the ladies in attendance who endured the sad, uncomfortable truth about the underbelly of this fine city.
It takes courage to get involved, to stand up for what's right; most find it easier to simply look away.
Seated at the large table of women, I worried they could see the word "Trafficked!" still stamped on my forehead. I have to be careful in settings like these, not to let shame creep back in and destroy all I have overcome. 
By meetings end I was able to hold my head up high, the faded brands of days-gone-by were forgotten.
I hope someone was able to see my new label "Victorious Survivor" as I walked away.