Fluffy White Towels and my Failed Song-writing Attempt...

Fluffy white towels...Does anyone truly give them the space in their heart they truly deserve?

Whilst walking amongst the freshly fallen snow this morning, I attempted to put my own spin on the song "My Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music...so instead of "Raindrops on roses..." I cleverly began with "Fluffy white towels..."

Maybe I'm not much of a wordsmith because the only words that came to my mind that rhyme with towels don't really belong in a favorite things songs.

bowels, howls, owls... So I wisely gave up my song writer aspirations.

This is going somewhere, I promise.

I was on the phone with my parents the other day and they asked me what we learned at SALT. My response... "That God Loves me..."

"Well you already knew that," my dad replied...but I'm not fully sure I did or that any of us do all the time.

I think I know it logically, theologically, but when pitted against my failures, it loses its shine. At this moment, His love is shiny, powerful, indestructable, quite tangible.

Usually after a conference, I gift you with stories of students' lives being transformed, but this time I wanted to give you a glimpse into my soul's transformation.

So back to the fluffy white towels...The day after SALT ended, I found myself in a hotel room in Colorado Springs sans my favorite sidekick, Daran. I was basking in this shiny, powerful, indestructible love of God, and was in the shower. (l debated telling you that, but the story wouldn't make sense otherwise so if you are quite visual, imagine that I am in a very modest high-necked swimsuit from the early 1900s. Because I know what it is like to be visual, I know you guys are actually imagining this in a very G-rated version.)

I realized quite sadly that I had forgotten to grab a washcloth and immediately envisioned myself gingerly stepping out of the shower dripping all over the floor and speed-tiptoeing across the floor to grab a washcloth and then speed-tiptoeing back whilst leaving a trail of water on the floor (because scientifically speaking when you speed-tiptoe, less water is deposited on the floor, I believe), shivering along the way whilst performing this amazing death-defying feat.

Anywho, I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be lovely if there was a washcloth on a rack just outside this shower curtain." I know you already guessed the punch line, you smart readers, you. I pulled back the curtain and there on the rack was a wash cloth (which for those who care I just discovered is called a flannel in the UK although it is not checkered) neatly lined up beside a hand towel and a towel.

I said, "Thank you," not in my head as many of you sane people would do because no one can hear you. (Actually it might not be so sane if Daran was standing there because he would wonder what he was being thanked for).

So why did I say it out loud, other than the fact that I sometimes talk to myself. I said it out loud because it spilled out of my heart.

And at the end of said shower as I grabbed the fluffy white bath towel and enveloped my face in it, I said it again-because clean, (not by me, might I add) soft white fluffy towels that I did not have to speed-tiptoe to get in my dripping 1900s bathing suit are a gift from above.

Why? because it reminds me of His shiny, powerful, indestructible quite tangible love.