You Are Worth More Than That

So, for the last two months, I've gotten a free magazine. 

I have no idea why.  I don't ever pay for magazines.

And this one should be right up my alley - it was all about being in style.

I grabbed it with glee and began to flip through it.

I should have known that this was not my kind of magazine when this was on the first page:

credit

Sure, it's just a purse...but it's a purse that cost more than my van.  $23,000 to be exact.

Can you imagine?  Even if I was a millionaire, I don't need a $20K purse.  That's just stupid.

Then, after pages and pages of Louis Vuitton, Marchesa, Oscar de la Renta, and DVF ads, I finally got to an actual article.

How to Dress for Less for Fall

Oh yay - here we go.  So excited.

The writer's budget - $1000 a month.

Say wha?

$1000 bucks a month?  On clothes?

Are you daft?  

Who in their right mind spends that on clothes?  I may spend that in an entire year - maybe.  But a month? 

I'll be the first to admit, I love shoes.  I love clothes.  But those price tags really got me thinking - who are these magazines geared towards and what are they doing to them????
  Most of us do not live in NYC or LA where fashion "really matters."  (Insert sarcastic comment here.) 

The UK is a year ahead of the US in style; and NYC is a year ahead of Virginia.  So we're not really "up" on fashion down here.  If it ain't at Gap or Old Navy - we ain't wearin' it.

These magazines are targeted towards the 20-something new career woman.  Last time I checked, college costs more than ever.  Last time I checked, unemployment was up.  (If you look at the raw data, not that garbage the Dept of Labor manipulates right before the election.)  Last time I checked, wages were down...across the board.

If I was Taylor Swift and making $15,000,000 a year, I might splurge.  But I'm not her.  I live on a budget.  And I have way more important things to worry about than what ex-boyfriend I'm going to bash in my next single. 

These poor girls have lived through Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus, and Justin Beiber/Bieber...(still don't know how to spell his name and I refuse to Google it.)  To call them impressionable is an understatement.  And now they're being told, from a magazine - mailed to their parent's house - where they still live, that they need to spend a $1000 a month on clothes?

But we have to give these girls a break! 

Teach them how to write a resume.  Teach them that what used to be reserved for a Friday night - is NOT ok to wear on Tuesday to the office.  Teach them how to take 10 basic simple pieces and make it last a month.  Teach them to show up on time and not hung over.  Teach them how to read a P & L Statement.  

Teach them something worthwhile!

Girls - Throw away those magazines! 

Invest in you.  Invest in your family.  Your community.  Your retirement.  Pay down your debt.  Help those in need. 

And since the magazines don't say it, I will.  Dresses, shoes, and bags can make someone look pretty.  But they can never make a beautiful person. 

I. Am. So. Blessed.

Wednesday night is my favorite TV night, but I'm foregoing my Ghost Hunters and Restaurant Impossible because I feel like I need to get on a boot box. (My version of a soapbox.)

This summer was trying, to say the least, for Mr. DDA & I. I'll never forget my lowest moment. I was in Target, hiding in the swimsuit section, trying to not run into someone (oh, come on! We all do it.) I was exhausted. Mentally and physically drained. I had this child in a cast. I was running on negative empty.  I couldn't remember the last time I had uninterrupted sleep.  And all I wanted was to run into Target and get one thing.  And I was forced to sit and hide.  And I just lost it.  I had a mini-pity party right there in the middle of the itsy bitsy, teeny weenie, polka dot bikinis.

As soon as I could, I ducked outside and was immediately faced with a young man in a wheelchair who's disability was permanent.  And he was more than gracious to Hannah. They had a special bond, I think.  And I felt "wee-big."

Ever done that, or am I the only one?

We have so much to be thankful for. If you're local, you know one of our Virginia State Troopers was killed in the line of duty last week.  His wife is sleeping alone tonight.

My husbands' best friend from high school lost her 10 month old little boy last month.  Can you even imagine how hard it is to even be in that house now?

Take a moment to stroll Facebook. Pray for Grey, Pray for Trey, Saving Baby Luc...  You could literally do this for hours.  And it doesn't take long to be reduced to tears and be absolutely ashamed at how ungrateful we can be I am. 

I call myself a Christian and yet day in and day out, I neglect to thank my God for breath, health for my children, safety for my husband, food in my pantry, that I have a job...even if I don't always love it. 

I look around and think, "How am I going to afford Christmas?" when there are children who have never and will never receive a single Christmas gift in their lives.  They'll be lucky if they have enough food to live until Christmas.

I look at my jeans, that are thankfully too big, and get frustrated because we don't have the extra spending money to buy new ones.  And there are moms in the Philippines who literally dig through the trash to get clothing for their kids.

I'm not thrilled with the current administration, but I live in America.  People die trying to just get here.  To be what I am.  To be called part of the Greatest Nation on Earth.  I can still go to any church I want.  Be whatever it is I want to be. 

I've seen this status on Facebook a lot:

credit

And most days, I just scroll through it and think, "Yeah, yeah."  But tonight, I sat in church and I just kept thinking about it.  And my heart became heavier and heavier.

All those people on Facebook, one day their life turned upside down and even if their loved one is healed, their lives will never be normal again. 

And yet, there I was, having a pity party over my child in a stupid cast.  I wish to goodness I could go back to that day.  And hug that person I avoided and bless the man in the wheelchair. 

I may never be a millionaire.  I plan on it, but it may never happen.  I may never be royalty, a senator, a independent business owner,...heck - even a boss. 

But I am me.  I am God's child.  I am blessed, protected, loved, cared for, cherished, and thought about.  The Bible says God thinks about us.  Funny thought, huh?  God thinking about me. 

I don't thank Him near enough. 

I. Am. So. Blessed.