Video of the Week: Anita Renfroe, Sleepless

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If you came here looking for Anita’s newest video – In Tha Muthahood – please CLICK HERE. Thanks.

I got to spend a good part of yesterday bantering with several comics. What makes that kind of thing fun for me is it gets my creative juices flowing and it makes me stretch my abilities. I’m a story-teller. I’m very comfortable in that venue. Where I really need or want to grow though is in the 1,2 punch of straight stand up. Yesterday, I got to practice that by brainstorming with a few 1,2 punch stand up comics. I loved every minute of it.

One of the goals I’ve always had in this blog is to share resources and friends. Starting this week I’m going to keep my eye out for clips that I hope you guys will enjoy.

This clip by Anita is part of a series of bits she’s presently doing for Kraft Foods. While I’ve met Anita, we’re not friends. I always want to clarify that. Some of the clips I’ll show you are of friends, but most are not. Even so, I’ve really enjoyed watching her grow over the past several years in her talent, her confidence, and her humor. Seeing her challenge herself, step out on faith, and grow actually gives me hope that I can do the same.

And as always no goods or services are ever exchanged for these posts / personal endorsements. I’m just sharing things that I like in hopes that you will as well.

Enjoy.

Oh for the Love of Pete: Nicknames

Deana2 Comments

Lt. John Dunbar (played by the yummy Kevin Costner) is dubbed a hero after he accidentally leads Union troops to a victory during the Civil War. He requests a position on the western frontier, but finds it deserted. He soon finds out he is not alone, but meets a wolf he dubs “Two-socks” and a curious Indian tribe. (source http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0099348/plotsummary)

The Sioux Indians watch him from a distance and give him the nickname “Dances with Wolves.”

That’s the kind of name that can stick with you. Kinda like the time when I was newly married and wanted to plant a vegetable garden. We dug out the area in our back yard, went to the garden store and purchased what I thought was a flat of tomatoes. I was partially correct. There was one tomato plant in an entire flat of star flowers.I never did live that down and from that summer on, my new neighbors knew me as “Farmer Deana.”

I’ve had other nicknames in my life. My grandfather used to call me “pumpkin” and in college I was known as “meep meep” or road runner.  My boys have even had their share of nicknames from Chuckles to Dill Pickle. Nicknames can be a term of endearment and they can be a reminder of our less than graceful moments in life. My husband had a friend in high school whose girlfriend called him “snoogie-bear” in front of everyone. To this day I do not know the mans real name, they just call him Snoogie.

Which brings me to a very delicate issue.

We have a new home in a cove on Lake Hudson. We are the newest and youngest couple there and we have a beaver living under our dock. My neighbors told me to buy a 22 and just shoot the thing myself.

I’m going to be totally honest, while I’m sure I’m more than capable of hunting and killing this rodent – the only reason this beaver is still alive is because I’m surrounded by rednecks and I’m afraid of the nickname. I’m not intentionally trying to be crude here, but there really is no polite way around this – I really do not wish to spend the next 40 odd years of my life being known as The Beaver Shooter  because let’s face it, that’s the kind of name that can stick with a person, you know?

To Make It Real

Deana2 Comments

In order to better see where I’m going, I find it helpful to remember where I’ve been. January has been such a month of remembering for me. I’m always in awe at God’s merciful grace during a rather graceless season in my life; a season where I came THIS close to throwing it all in and calling it a day. –

I can remember feeling hopelessly alone and forsaken of God. I felt disillusioned, disgusted, and disappointed in everything – only to find out that my hope had been placed not on the one who tore the curtain (Matthew 27:51), but rather the ones who hide behind them. I had learned far too much, far to quickly and as disheartened as I was by that, I was even more heartbroken to realize that I myself am no better. I looked great on the outside, but inside hid the bones of dead men.

The bones were those of the church. They belonged to the men (pastors) who would not let me join their churches when I was a child. It was in their denial of my requests that I built my walls of protection and sought to prove them wrong. In my anger and hurt, I’d built an altar in my heart to their approval. Every time the bones screamed out for attention and healing, I poured on a salve of sweetness and honey hoping to silence them.

Those bones rattled with a deafening noise that manifested itself in physical shaking and panic attacks. I suffered for years with pastor-phobia – especially if they were dressed all in black. As time went on, rather than face the bones and seek God’s healing hand, I found myself becoming disgusted by the very men I was terrified of and yet I continued on with my painted on smile and false kindness. I erroneously believed that it was these men that held the life blood of my salvation and when discovering that those that had disapproved of me all those years ago, lived no better lives than I, the holes in my heart filled with rage and the bones began to shake.

I had become a liar. You can’t really love or serve people you are afraid of, no matter how hard you try. I wanted to believe I was a nice person, full of mercy, love, kindness and grace but I had grown to hate the very people I felt called to serve. The paradox was killing me. The day finally came when I could not contain my pent-up rage and rather than be honest in it, I blew up on a sweet bystander.

It was then that I knew that I needed help.

Up until that point, I thought my motives to be pure and of God. I was a little off on that perception. It was really heartbreaking for me to discover that I hadn’t jumped into ministry to serve God, I’d gotten into ministry out of my own selfish need. I needed to belong. I needed to prove “them” wrong. To me, the little girl no church would allow to join, being a paid staff member in a church was like winning the lottery. I’m in! — Take that you hypocrites.

Never once did it occur to me that this was an issue of my heart and never theirs. Live as they may, rightfully or wrongfully; full of Grace or full of bones themselves, they are neither my problem nor my cure.

God silenced me for two years after I blew up in that church office. In that silence, he gave me music. In that music he taught me how to pray. In those two years he also gave me new friends, and a new hope in Him. A hope that doesn’t rely on anyones approval but his.

While I am no longer a paid church worker, I am today pursuing His will for my life and his heart in my soul. Once I opened the door to my internal tombs for his healing touch, I’ve found that he’s opened doors I never dreamed possible.

I’ve held several funerals for those bones over the years, and I’m sure there will be more. In the meantime, I’d like to share one of the people and the songs that pulled me through. — While my breakdown occurred in 2004, I actually had discovered The Gaithers back in the 90’s and fell in love with Mark Lowry. I’ve never met him and yet when the time was right – God used his voice (among many others) to speak to my heart.

This particular song was actually written by one of Bill Gaither’s daughter’s. It say’s a lot. Enjoy.

“I’ve seen a lot of crazy things done in your name. I know the tricks behind the magic show.  I’ve almost thrown the towel in a time or two and walked away from everything I know….”

To Know More Than I should

Deana2 Comments

It is said that too much curiosity killed the cat.

That in search for truth,

perhaps we cannot handle it.

perhaps we were never created to.

I used to think it a blessing

to be in

rather than out.

If I knew

touched

tasted

digested

it all

I’d be full.

Full of answers

Full of knowing

Full of life.

Full of certainty.

And I am full.

But not of the right stuff.

I’m full to the brim

with the sad reality that lies are lies

Hype is hype

and all is not as it appears.

You can’t undo a knowing either.

It’s like giving your virginity to your boyfriend

in the back seat of his car in a moment of passion

only to want it back tomorrow.

It simply is impossible.

The wizard was right you know.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

He’ll fail you every time.

Come on Toto

This isn’t Kansas

I’m not Dorothy

and not everything is meant for our knowing.

Save some magic for tomorrow.

And Leave the curtain be.

 Written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart: Confessions of a Spiritual Bulimic. All Rights Reserved. 2/10/11

Sometimes it’s just not funny.

Deana2 Comments

Have you ever been through one of those times where things just don’t seem funny? You know what I mean. The normal things that used to make you laugh just make you raise an eyebrow instead. I’m kind of in that mood. It’s not hormones (got that fixed last year) I’ve just been in this funk for a couple of weeks now and I’m not sure how to pull out.

Please don’t go sending me your left over Prozac, I’m not depressed. A little snow blind maybe, but nothing more.

I was giddy just a few weeks ago. I mean I hired Taylor Mason to perform at our church. Jim Belushi told me to add him on my Facebook (Holy Cannolis Batman, Jim Belushi knows who I am — ) and I’ve lost 13 pounds. I should be stinking ecstatic. And those are all really cool wonderful things — and I am happy about them.

What I haven’t figured out though is how to handle the unhappiness that surrounds us. One friend is having painful family issues, a friend has a child who is sick, others (plural) are going through divorce friends unfairly fired, another friend fell pretty painfully, and now I’ve learned about someone dealing with aggressive breast cancer and my poor heart just couldn’t take it anymore. Her’s was the last bad news I could stand before bursting into tears – on the spot- in church in front of God, my pastor and the whole congregation. It’s like the whole world has gone mad.

I know it hasn’t, but wow it can feel that way some times.

So, what do you guys do when the news of the world seems to press in on all sides? How do we keep our hearts open, and receptive to others without drowning?

Thoughts?

Have you ever stopped to think?

Deana5 Comments

I can’t sleep. It seems my mind is in a race for the Nobel Prize for Fictional (What if scenarios) Writing. If I’m not careful those racing thoughts lead to tight chests and more sleepless nights. so… When that happens, I come down stairs, spend time talking to God, search for Oreos,  fire up my lap top and write out the craziest of scenarios my brain can conjure until I laugh myself stupid – and then if I still can’t sleep, I go through my silly thought file.

Some silly thoughts, I thought I’d share:

  • Have you ever stopped to think…..and forgot to start again?
  • If you arrest a mime does he have the right to remain silent?
  • How do you know when it’s time to tune your bagpipes?
  • What happens when you get scared half to death a second time?
  • Why is it called lipstick if you can still move your lips?
  • If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to see it, do the other trees make fun of it?

 

  • ‘“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?” “What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?”
    “I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.
    Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said.’
    -A.A. Milne

It is the Silliest Things Really.

Deana5 Comments

Have you ever had days where you just feel touched by God? I don’t have them often, but when the creator of the universe wants to touch me – he does it with such flourish that I cannot help but know he see me. I’ll give you an example. I like to spend time in my gardens, watching butterflies and birds make their way. I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of Oklahoma since moving here 18 years ago. The sky just goes on forever and most days I can see a hawk or an eagle if I’m lucky. The clouds are large and white and look like cotton candy just waiting for me to reach out and touch them.

I feel closest to God when I’m in my gardens. It’s there that I spend most of my time talking to him. I was having a particularly rough go at it one day and was spending a large amount of time just pouring my heart out. Feeling that I was being sucked down into a negative state of mind, I decided to start thanking him for the blessings in my life. I rattled off my family, my friends, the birds and wildlife in my yard. As I looked up to comment on the beauty of the sky I talked about how much I love the expanse, and the clouds. Except that one cloud God, that one looks like a monster’s head, I said and I shivered.

Without warning, the clouds began to shift and the monster head disappeared and became something that looked like a lamb. In a state of total shock I asked out loud, “Is that you God?” and again the clouds shifted and revealed a hand.

Show off.

I giggled for days.

When the creator of the universe wants to dazzle me, he makes it intimate, and he does it with subtle flourish. Why not? He is an artist after all.

I have times and seasons where I really do wonder if I’m doing the right thing, on the right path, or if I’m even seen. I’m really not one of those women who is content to stay behind the scenes and work unnoticed all of the time. Not that every day should be my own private Oscar celebration, but still – sometimes I need to see small snippets; some kind of reassurance that I’m heading in the right direction. Don’t we all?

If you cannot relate to that statement, please let me come check your pulse. Everyone needs those small moments of acknowledgment or thanks at least once in a while and if you don’t – well then I believe you might be lying to me or even to yourself. That or you’ve bought into the lie that not needing affirmation is a sign of strength. It isn’t. It’s a sign of self-reliance and tells me you’ve isolated yourself to such a point that your relationships are dried out. And maybe your own spirit as well. No one is an island. Whether we are capable of admitting it or not, we need each other.

I’ve been second guessing myself lately. This whole going back on stage, learning stand up and improv, auditioning for movies and plays and commercials, and interviewing agents is a scary deal. I’m not a kid anymore. I find the irony of officially joining SAG at 46 years of age both funny and frightening. I’m a mother now, shouldn’t I be doing something more respectable? I caught myself making a plan B. Well if this doesn’t work out, I could always go back to school and become a nurse.

Where does that thought come from? Is it fear? Self Reliance?  The desire or need to hang on to an assured ending?  That’s why I remembered Second City not that long ago. I did the same thing to myself when I was 22. Remember? I chose the safety of a data room and guaranteed income over my dreams. I did the same thing when Ringling Brothers came to town. I had a chance to audtion and I chickened out.

Not that I was wrong to do that, after all I met my husband that year, but still Plan B doesn’t get me where I want. Plan B is always about safety, lack of risk and is loaded with fear based choices. Plan B doesn’t come close to leading me into being the woman I always wanted to be; Fearless, strong, interdependent, and full of purpose.

I did what I’ve learned to do which is pray and ask God for direction or okay a sign maybe. I can’t tell you what he did, I’d be a little embarrassed actually if you knew. But he did something so closely tied to SC that I cannot help but know that I’m seen and yes, I’m on the right path.

You might say he moved the clouds that were distorting my vision and revealed again the endless sky of possibility.

And you guessed it, I’ve been giggling for days.

 2011 is a new year, ripe with possibility for all of us.

While we have the gift of life, it seems to me the only tragedy is to allow part of us to die – whether it is our spirit, our creativity or our glorious uniqueness. Gilda Radner

Let’s Talk About it: Things that Make our Hair Stand on End.

Deana7 Comments

My brain, and heart have been running circles around my need to have it all planned out center since New Year’s Eve and I’m really not sure what I think about it much less how I feel. Someone created a stir in me that took a few days to settle into.  The question is simple – Can you remain a stay home wife even after the kids are gone – do comedy sure, but still be a home maker? The thought had never crossed my mind.

To be fair I’ve learned that I am also gifted at creating stirs among women. It’s easy to do, just say things like:

  • “It’s a lie to believe you must have a career outside of your home to feel fulfilled.” – (Lies Women Believe and the Truth that Sets them Free. – Nancy Leigh DeMoss.) I stepped into a nest that night without meaning to.
  • “If you knew the truth about submission you’d see that submitting to your husband isn’t a curse, it’s liberating.” (Liberated Through Submission – P. Bunny Wilson) – I call this the no competition clause. He competes at work all day long, and he really doesn’t want to come home and compete with us. Now, under no circumstances does this mean if he want’s to burn the house down and claim the insurance money we blindly go along – there are limits. _ this subject is wildly misunderstood and goes far deeper than I am going to today.

And my most recent stir:

  • “I live in my husband’s house. I like the safety in that. You have to be married to a good man in order to say that, and thankfully I am. I have also learned that if you are a woman married to a good man and you still say ‘this is my house and he’s lucky to live here.’ what you are really communicating is that you are afraid to allow yourself to be fully loved.”  – Deana O’Hara

The men all clicked “like.” Several women responded to ask if I’d been drinking. And when I stated that I was working on a series of article regarding “Whose house is it anyway?”, my husband jokingly asked if I was writing fiction. I can still remember the time a friend of mine taught a women’s study at church on The Submitted Wife and the Committed Husband – That created a stir; not among the younger women but by the older. What a hoot. Still, they said the same thing I am — you must have a GOOD man in order for this to work. Without that? It’s a moot point.

There was a time when I would have laughed out loud at all of those statements myself. And that’s why I avoid writing or speaking about this kind of stuff. I’ve dated emotionally void and abusive men and it was horrible.  I don’t know what kind of man anyone is married to, and I don’t ever want to lead someone down the wrong path. Time and again, I hear stories of women married to abusers, alcoholics, addicts and who hear this type of advice and think they are called to submit to that – and no they aren’t. 

Those women aside, where does that leave the rest of us? Let’s face it – there is a reason all of these things create stirs. They get under our skin and it feels like someone is trying to take one more thing away from us. Sometimes I believe that is true. Personally, I disagree with Concordia College’s stand that a women shall not be president. Not only does it violate Ephesians 22, in its fullest context, I believe in equality in the workplace and if you are going to employ women then they should have the same career opportunities as men. That’s actually federal law – unless you are a private university, which Concordia is. They are welcome to have those rules so long as they understand that as a woman, I am welcome to spend my money elsewhere.

Mostly though I don’t believe society is out to take anything away from women even if some individuals might try.  I don’t believe that women are as historically victimized as we’d like to believe either. We’re empowered in many ways today. Ask any man who has ever tried to win an argument with us, it can’t be done.

The feminist movement did great things for women I’m not denying that. One of the things it did do is give women choices. We can choose to pursue careers and be successful, and we can choose to stay home and manage the house and family and be just as successful.

I shared with a friend on New Years that I was planning on going back to work as a nurse once my youngest graduates. She looked at me very shocked and asked “why on earth do you want to do something like that?”  I told her it was because I was bored out of my mind. Which I can be. She then went on to paint a picture that I had temporarily forgotten. I get to stay home and raise my family, play in my gardens, travel, see friends, cook real meals that aren’t hurry up and go, make a difference in the community, do stand up, and be loved. I’m blessed beyond measure when I remember that. Not a bad choice.

I was not raised to be a stay home wife. I was raised to have a career and support myself and trust no man to take care of me. Making different choices was hard and fearful. Even so, I’m glad I followed my heart. What I haven’t figured out is how to write about these things that I’ve learned without sounding pious, or smug and without being codependant and sexist because these things – when properly thought through are none of those.

So, that is where my mind has been at since New Years. Is it okay to say I live in my husband’s house and I’m happy with that for me? Can I even begin to write about this and adequately cover all of the facets involved, because there are many to consider.

I’m curious – what statements have you heard over your life time that made your hair stand up? Did you change your mind about them? Let’s Talk About it.

Putting Kindness to the Test

Deana2 Comments

one day you finally knew what you had to do,

and began.

though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice,

though the whole house began to tremble

and you felt the old tug at your ankles,

 “mend my life!” – each voice cried,

but you didn’t stop you knew what you had to do.

though the wind pried with its stiff finger at the very foundations,

though their melancholy was terrible,

it was already late enough and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen branches & stones.

 but little by little as you left their voices behind

the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds.

 and there was a new voice which you suddenly recognized as your own

and that kept you company as you strode deeper into the world,

determined to do the only thing you could do,

determined to save the only life you could save. – mary oliver

I love Mary Oliver, her voice is expectant and hopeful.

Where 2010 brought sickness, rest, and healing, 2011 is bringing many new things into light. I cannot mend another’s life, I can only tend to my own. Knowing that has been far more healing these past few days than I expected.

One of the things I am tending to is rather than leave you with half-finished stories and incomplete thoughts, I’ve decided to cut back on how often I post. I didn’t give you my best last year, and I’ve decided that 2011 is no year for table scraps for anyone.

A funny thing happened today while I was sitting here writing. I opened my eyes to look at the piled up things of stuff surrounding me. The Christmas tree boxes, decorations, scraps of paper, and empty boxes waiting to be filled. I’m surrounded in the chaos that comes with having two homes and not fully letting go of a holiday. Everything is in transition, either waiting to be taken to the lake house or to be put away or thrown out and I’m smack in the middle of unfinished business.

I was considering leaving it all for another day while I continue to find ways to mend that which isn’t my own and a voice whispered in my spirit – “Is this really how you treat my home?”

You would have thought my husband said that, but he didn’t. He’s kindly and gently side-stepped this now visual image of how cluttered I’ve allowed my insides to become. Most men would be apoplectic by now.  I had to stop and really think – is this how I treat someone I love? He’s even-tempered, kind to a point that I don’t always understand – and trust me when I tell you he is the nicer of the two of us. I’m putting that kindness to the test, taking it for granted when he really doesn’t deserve that.

So, having said that – I have two homes to put in order and won’t be here as often as I was. I hope you understand.

Ministering to the Victim (The first listening matters)- fixed

Deana2 Comments

Sorry about yesterdays faux pas with this post – my technical knowledge hit the internet wall of doom.

Madeleine L’Engle writes – “I look back at my mother’s life and I see suffering deepening and strengthening it. In some people I have also seen it destroy. Pain is not always creative; received wrongly, it can lead to alcoholism and madness and suicide. Nevertheless, without it we do not grow.” – Walking on Water.

I’ve been pondering a question lately. Well several questions if you really must know, but one more than another these days. I’ve pondered this so much in fact, that I’ve lost sense of the original thought.

Have you ever done that. Thought about something for so long and so hard that you forgot what you were really thinking about? If not – lucky you – if so, welcome to my world.

The question began simple enough – Why is it easier for us to forgive the victim than it is to believe something less than desirable about a friend or a peer.

That question led to another

If no one believes the victim, and rather than being protected she is discounted and then forgiven, have we compounded her pain? Are we victimizing her yet again?

If we come across such a woman who has been doubly wounded – and we will if we are paying attention and really listening – how can we as women or as ministry hands, bring her back to a place of creative strength.

Pain received wrongly can lead to madness, I know because I’ve been there – fortunately for me – the trip was short-lived – I found my “gumption” as my grandmother used to call it. That get-upness that comes from either my Irish genes or remembering my heritage and hearing my grandmother’s voice in my ears telling me to get up. My grandmother had gumption coming out her ears – while she did go down from time to time, she never stayed there.

Small town living is different from our busy lives today. Back then women surrounded each other and spoke healing and truth until we got our gumption back. Today? We walk as lonely travelers more often than not. schizophrenic voices crying from street corners, desperate to be heard – every time someone walks past – deaf to the cry – the madness grows deeper.

Knowing the mirror I used to look into, I now see other faces who seem almost on the verge of madness themselves – pain received wrongly. Someone has to stop and listen.

I read blogs like Flowerdust, Randy Elrod and Carlos Whittaker, who dare ask those painful questions – where have you been wounded. You should see the responses – it’ll break your heart. They are the listeners – the stopping point. A place where madness meets grace, and healing begins.

What gives them the courage to ask? They’ve tasted the same double edge sword of being victimized, discounted and forgiven – someone listened to them.

Which circles back now to my first thought – why is it easier to forgive a victim than believe a less than desirable truth about a friend or colleague? – I don’t know – but it is. False accusations abound and we have to be discerning and sometimes we blow it, pure and simple.

And more personally – even if we do blow it from time to time – how can we as ministry leaders be listeners to another person’s truth?

For me I see three points – you may see others.

Ask: Where have you been wounded?

Listen to their answer without discounting their reality however it’s perceived.

Affirm: I’m sorry that happened to you. – this first listening is not the place to say “are you sure that happened to you?”

One of my favorite quotes from Group is “thank you for sharing, next.” – Being heard matters more than you know. Those three simple steps do more to calm the voices screaming to be heard than you can possibly imagine.

Being heard – is a wonderful step in ministering to victims.

Can we begin by asking that same question? Where have you been wounded? and then shut up and let them talk. When they are finished, can we tell them “I’m sorry that happened to you.” – Can we be an affirming voice first and foremost.  

The rest will come – the healing, finding a place to forgive, remembering to get back up – We can’t be the only person to listen to them – for some people they’ll need more help than we can give, and we can refer as needed. There is much work to be done that we cannot do on their behalf, in order for pain to be fully served – we at least however, give them a launching pad to try therr wings.

Thoughts?