Would You Rather?

Would you rather…

Have no cellulite on your body…EVER, or have a shadow above your lip for the rest of your life?…And not one that you can only see in certain lights – One that is ALWAYS noticeable…

Never dye your roots again, or have chronically smelly underpits that no amount of deodorant or febreeze can correct?

Never have to shave ANY part of your body again, or carry around with you a fish-like odor that causes people around you to say to themselves, “What’s that smell?

Etc., etc., etc…

Sidenote: I think I have a slight fear of body odor.


This morning, as I was getting ready, I thought to myself, “I sure wish I never had to ________ again!” Then I thought about the I’d Rather game that Andy likes to play and decided I’d just keep that issue instead of trading it for another. Life seems to balance itself out for the most part – It seems that we can’t enjoy gain without experiencing loss. Thankfully, as a Christian…Loss and gain can be equivalent.

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. Phillipians 1:21

Most of the time my thought processes are quite trivial, but somehow the Holy Spirit finds a way to point my random brain activity in the direction of Christ. I am so thankful that To live is Christ Jesus and to die is gain…I don’t have to worry about a thing!

Love y’all:), Beck




I’ve been thinking about the idea of tolerance lately. Recently I was told that, as a Christian, I shouldn’t practice tolerance towards certain sin natures. “Stop the tolerance!” keeps being voiced in my direction. I just can not wrap my mind around not having tolerance for another human being’s ways…sinful or not.

Tolerance is defined as:
The ability or willingness to accept something, in particular the existence of opinions or behavior, that one does not necessarily agree with.


Recently I met a man that decided he should be a woman…

I had just finished singing the song Broken Hallelujah. I hadn’t planned to sing it that night, because I had sung it once already that morning. It just so happened that a woman asked me, just before I was about to go on stage, “Can you please sing Broken Hallelujah again?” And of course, I obliged. When the music was over…When the guitar was packed up…When the music sheets were tucked away, a tall woman made her way to the front of the church. A tall lady that looked like the world had been rough on her. She was trying to hold back her tears. She was trying to not be too noticed. She broke my heart before she even spoke a word. Her eyes made their way to mine and she said, “Thank you for singing that song.” Her arms wrapped around me and she just held me tightly. I silently prayed for her…she just held on. I thought about something I had read recently, “Never be the first to end the hug.” I just hugged. She eventually backed up and looked right into me…With her hands on my shoulders, she said, “Thank you.” All I could say was, “God bless you.” And I meant it. I really meant it. I couldn’t put my feelings into words for this broken person – For this person that just wanted to thank me for singing this song…This song that says:


When all that I can sing is a broken hallelujah,

When my only offering is shattered praise…

Still a song of adoration will rise up from these ruins,

I will worship You and give You praise…

Even when my only praise is a broken hallelujah.


She walked away and someone stated that she was a man. Not one time did that thought cross my mind. When I saw her, I saw brokeness. I saw a woman that needed to be loved. I saw God’s child.

I’ll never know exactly what compelled that individual to come and be so raw – be so real, with a complete stranger. My heart tells me that it was the Holy Spirit…Guiding that person to someone that would love – Someone that would see beyond the obvious – Someone that would tolerate. What I do know is that if I weren’t tolerant, I would not be able to love.

When I look at my own life, I see my filthy ways – my sinful motives – my sailor’s mouth – my selfishness – my judgmental nature. I can’t see all of that in the mirror and then turn to you with my finger pointed. I need to be tolerated. Every single day I struggle with my sinfulness…Every. Single. Day. Please choose to tolerate me…Please see the person that is beyond all of this ugliness…Please love me in spite of myself. Please tolerate me. I promise I’ll do the same for you.

Thank you for reading…This was an impactful moment in my life that I just had to share. All my love. All my heart.



Diarrhea in the work place.

“My kids haven’t been sick for a while…”

“I can’t remember the last time I threw up…”

“I can’t come in to work today. I have diarrhea.”


Even if you find some wood to knock on, you’re about to be IN the pediatric doctor’s office – Puking your grown-up guts into a trash can, which you can only HOPE is lined with a trash bag – While you park it on the toilet for a very, VERY long time. Hopefully your child is an infant/toddler…’Cause you will likely need to swipe some Desitin from the diaper bag. Yup. I don’t care if you’re the superstitious type…These are just the facts of life, folks.

I’ve experimented with a couple of these – Saying them out loud and not knocking on wood…My apologies, sweet children of mine. The only one I haven’t made a go of is the diarrhea cop-out. I’m sorry, but as surely as I utter that excuse to my boss, which happens to be my mother-in-law, I’ll have the runny-rear keeping me up all night…Sleeping in one of Miles’ diapers. You’ve never really had diarrhea if you haven’t had to use some sort of back-up system in order to get at least a couple hours of sleep in a row. So…Pretty much, I’ve had REAL dead-rear approximately three times in my life. REAL dead-rear…Not irritable bowels.

I have this theory about diarrhea in the work-place. Okay, if I call my concerned and loving boss and say, “I threw up this morning and I just don’t know if I can make it in to work today.” This will be her response…”How many times did you throw up? Maybe it was something you ate…What do you think?” Perhaps I call and tell her, “I’m running a fever, I just don’t know if I can make it in today and work.” She responds, “You should probably see a doctor if you’re running a fever, Beck.” Then I have to go to the doctor, when I’m just trying to stay home for a day. BUT – if I say, “Mrs. Monica, I’ve got diarrhea. I don’t think I’ll be able to work today.” She responds, “Oh, keep that home, Becky. Hope you feel better. Maybe you should open the windows of the house and air it out. Get you a can of orange juice.”

No one…I repeat – NO ONE questions diarrhea. When someone calls in sick to work on Monday morning for bathroom related issues, they simply don’t want their absence being questioned. I want to apologize to all of you honest workers – myself included – that really do have the bubble guts on Monday morning. I really am sorry…But it does not look good for us.

How do we stop this? How do we get around the employee/co-worker that has figured this gem of an excuse out? We start following the SAME guidelines as daycares all over the continental U.S. do…Three runny digs in a row equals diarrhea.


“I have diarrhea. I can’t work today.”

“Exactly how many times has your rear end thrown down today, Becky?”


“Exactly. See you at 8.”


Problem solved.

The work place shall no longer be controlled by diarrhea.