Love is a Verb

My inability to verbally express my emotions I inherited solely from mother. My mother isn't one to hug or kiss. She doesn't say good job, or you look pretty, no you have to pull those compliments out of her. My mother is not a woman of many words. But despite that know my mother loves me, how? Because love is a verb.
About 7 years ago my brother and I were in a terrible car accident which rendered me immobile for a month, but it looked as if my brother would never walk again. I was the one driving and even though it was the other driver’s fault, I still to some degree blamed myself. I kept thinking maybe if I would have turned faster, braked harder, waited to go to the gas station later, or even went to the gas station earlier that day, then my brother wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I kept thinking my brother may not walk again it was my entire fault. You see when you are the eldest; a big part of your character is that of protector. It doesn’t matter that my brother is well over six feet and weighs four bills, that’s STILL my baby brother, and I would kick someone’s teeth in if they messed with him. (Even though he is more than capable of taking care of himself and will be absolutely furious with me when he hears about this note.) And because of my inability to protect him, he might not walk again. No one blamed me for it. I remember when my mother told me the doctors didn’t think he was ever going to walk again, I broke down and cried. My mother immediately told me it was not my fault, and commanded me to stop crying. But I still blamed myself, and it was because of this I began to slowly drift into a state of depression, and consequently had stopped eating. I didn't think anyone had noticed really, because everyone was so concerned about my brother. But then one morning my mother walked into my room and told me breakfast was on the table. My mother had stopped making my breakfast many years ago, and I thought it odd that she made me breakfast. But I knew I better eat it, because if Isabelle goes through the trouble of cooking something, you better eat it. Then at lunch time, she called me again into the kitchen, and then again at dinner. She did that for about a week, until I got my appetite back. With my mom you don't say you love someone, you don’t say “I’m here for you” you prove it.
There are many Christians today that go around and say that they love the Lord, but they forget that love is a verb, love is a word the requires action. In the book of John 21st chapter, when Jesus asked Peter if he loved him, Peter said yes, and then Jesus' reply was "Feed my sheep". Three times Jesus asked Peter, three times Peter said yes, and three times Jesus told Peter that he had to do something that was going to require Peter to ACT upon that love which he said he had. So let me ask you this simple question, do you love the Lord? Then prove it.
(John 15:12-13 KJV) This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. {13} Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

Dressing Like a Slut

I always find it amusing when women say that they don't dress for men, they dress for themselves....... that is such crap. Yeah sure the married mom with four kids whose daily attire now consists of baggy t-shirts and jeans or sweats, yeah they are dressing for themselves. But wearing a low cut blouse and mini skirt? Yeah right. First of all the shorter the skirt the more self concious you are. A simple thing like picking up a penny can easily become as complicated as quantum physics. The exact bending of the knees to maximize leverage while at the same time balancing perfectly on 4 inch red stelettos, while trying not to show your "christmas" and "new years", if the skirt is snug your butt and hips feel like their in a vice grip, and your thinking "Oh dear God please don't rip". Or God forbid its one of those little cheerleader skirts on a windy day. That's fun, cuz now you have to pick up whatever in one hand (oh and your purse and shopping bags are on this arm), and try to hold the back of the skirt with the other hand. And you do this for yourself. No, you do it for the cute guy that was checking you out. The thing that I never understood was women getting mad when guys stared at their breast. (Maybe its cuz I was always small and my attitude was like "Yeah! You found them!") If you're showing cleavage you knew when you put the blouse on you were showing cleavage, and unless your a dyke, you wanted men to look. Now granted there are those cases where some women can't help it. One of my sisters literally grew overnight (curses) and every top that she owned now showed the "girls". Now since we are not rich, she couldn't replace the whole woredrobe, so some tops do show a little and some don't, and she is pretty self concious about it.But ladies guys pretty much can't help it, if they're there showing, they're going to look. It's in their genetic makeup. I'm not saying they can't catch themselves, but don't get pissed off if they have trouble looking you in the eye. I mean hey I almost drove off the road once from staring at a perfect set of abs on a Abrocombe and Finch billboard off of I-75 just past 12 mile rd. I have no idea what the guy looked like I just remember rounding that corner and thinking "God bless that man". Yeah you know they should put a warning sign up a mile or so before they throw a picture up like that. I don't know if I would have made it had not been for those groves on the shoulder of the highway to snap me out of it. (I am of course kidding and said all that to be funny. Can't have you church folk getting bent out of shape.)
If someone would ask me why I used to dress like that. the answer is very simple, I was insecure. Growing up I was a bit chunky and oddly shaped so when I lost weight I wanted guys to notice me, tell me I was pretty, blah, blah, blah. I wanted the guys to pay attention to me like they were paying attention to the other girls at school. Then as I got older I continued to dress like that for the same reasons but also because I was grown and didn't have to sneak anymore, and it iritated everyone. Then one day, a few years back, I just decided to stop dressing like that, and the Lord was dealing with me as well. My family was shocked and began to ask what changed, after all years of their rantings and ravings had no affect. I even started asking my father's opinion on outfits in catelogs. What changed? I got older. I became more confident about myself. I didn't feel this need to "rebel" anymore. But most importantly, I didn't want people thinking I was a slut. When you look like slut guys will treat you accordingly. Not fair? Bull crap. When guys look at girls with everything hanging out vs. a woman who is conservativly dressed its like comparing Motel 6 to the Hyatt. If your just driving through a Motel 6 is cheap and good enough to get you through the night, and you just pray to God it's clean enough to where their aren't any unwanted critters going home with you. The Hyatt on the other hand you have to behave in a certain manner. And if you're at a great resort you book an extended stay. Its classier, cleaner, and the people are act more respectable.Women are always lamemting about the fact that men are such dogs, well could it be that you're frightening all the good ones. You see a good man wants a wife and not a hoe. You can't turn a hoe into a housewife. (I have a friend who tried to do that and it was disasterious to say the least.) And even if you're not that way they will think you are. Remember, first impressions are always important, if you want people to think that you're classy and respectable and lady like, try dressing like a lady.