T is for Trust

A few weeks ago I popped into a nail salon on my way home from work. I was over my dry, brittle natural nails, so I was in the market to buy some new ones. LOL… sounds so funny, but it’s true. I wanted a brand new full set of nails – pink and white solar they call them. Sucker is probably what they called me. Another way to get my money is what I call them, so we all had names for each other.

I didn’t have an appointment, so the first available technician scurried over to perform my requested service. After 2 or 3 hours of sanding and shaping, painting and drying, I was finally set free. Sadly, I wasn’t super impressed with the results. They were nice, but I’ve seen nicer. I’ve HAD nicer. To me (even after all of my coaching) they were still too wide, too thick, too square-ish (not square the way I like them), not to mention too darn expensive.

Here’s the kicker… I walked away with TWO fingers wounded in the line of duty – one on each hand. The technician looked at me with pity. I believe I even smelled the scent of disdain, as if I was somewhat of a wuss whose fingers were too fragile for her abrasive (and carelessly wielded, I might add), emery board.

Fast forward a few weeks, and my new nails are in desperate need of some time, love and tenderness (especially tenderness). With my ring finger on my left hand and my poor little pinky on my right hand still protesting from their last salon visit, I knew there was no way I could take them to the same place. I decided to take my digits and my dollars elsewhere. But where?

One of my girlfriends had already patronized one of the neighborhood salons, so I thought I’d give them a try. A male tech, possibly the owner, greeted me as I took a deep breath and crossed the threshold into the salon. I told him what I wanted, took a seat, we were off to the races.

About halfway through the process, my adversary – the dreaded emery board – made its first appearance. I know he was working on my fingers, but I promise you I think my toes and the rest of my body would have cut out of there if they could have left my little hands behind. Every muscle in my body seemed to contract in unison; my poor little fingers braced for what was expected to be more abuse.

I couldn’t take it. I politely stopped the man and told him, “Hey, I have not had a good experience with those, and I have the scars to prove it.” Like a little kid, I proceeded to point out my boo boos while sharing the sordid details of my last nail salon/technician experience. The gentleman listened patiently, still armed with emery board in hand and eager to complete the task at hand. After I finished pleading my case he looked at me and simply said, “Not me. That’s not me.” He quietly put his head down and continued to work.


This really made me think. How many times have I repeated the stories of wounds created and scars left by people from my past? How many times have I opted not to trust someone in my present because of a past experience? I can tell you. Plenty! Sure there’s a place for sharing your story, and past experiences do offer wisdom for future encounters. However, when those experiences prevent me from trusting others, building relationships can get a little tricky.

I have not one scar from my visit to the salon, and the price didn’t pinch either.  Were my nails perfect? No. Can I see flaws? Sure, but nothing I can’t live with and probably things only visible to me. Still more nuggets of wisdom from my visit… That day I walked out with a two for one from the nail salon – my nails looked great, and I received a little life lesson on trust.

Completely ME,

P.S. Hey, don’t miss this post just because it didn’t show up in your newsfeed on your Facebook page. Click the “sign me up” button to receive each post delivered right to your email inbox. Be among the first to know when I move into my new home at Completely You!. Also, if you enjoyed the post you just read and you know other women who may enjoy it too, please share it with them. Click the “share” button below to send the post via email, post it on your facebook page or send it out in a tweet. A tweet would sure be sweet! :-) Invite your girlfriends to join Full Circle Women’s Fellowship on Facebook and to subscribe to the Wisdom Virtue and Rubies (soon to be Completely You!) blog. I would love to meet them!

M is for Marriage

I believe in marriage.

There! I said it! I believe in marriage as God originally designed – one man, one woman, till death. I believe that healthy families are built on the foundation of healthy marriages. These healthy families then become the pillars of healthy communities. The payoff is great and potentially endless. Healthy marriages, healthy families, healthy communities – this must mean that there are some healthy individuals in the mix somewhere. Wouldn’t you agree?

As an unmarried woman in my latEST (and I do mean as late as they can get) thirties, I used to be afraid to talk about my reverence for matrimony outside my circle of close friends, family, or people who knew a little more about me than just my name. Why? Well, let’s face it. Unfortunately, the first assumption people have when they hear a single woman talk too much about marriage is certainly not that she’s an advocate or supporter who may see a bigger picture. Instead the label applied to her is something closer to, oh let’s say, DESPERATE. You’re laughing because if you’re an unmarried woman (especially if you’re in your latER or latEST thirties, yourself), you KNOW I’m telling the truth.

Well, at Completely You, I plan to do a lot of talking about marriage, because it’s my blog and I can talk about marriage if I want to (That doesn’t sing quite as well as the “It’s my party…” song, but you get the idea).

There are a gazillion reasons why a woman may want to be married. Sure, there are some women whose starry eyes can’t see beyond some bling to blind their girlfriends and their dream of a wedding of Kardashian caliber. Others are simply afraid to be alone. Most people – men and women – would prefer not to travel life’s journey alone. I, too, am one of the, but marriage always meant a little something extra to me.

These days my heart grieves as I watch one marriage after another disintegrate; for I know that it’s only by God’s grace that I am not included in that number. I’ve personally spoken to a number of women who have walked the path of a broken marriage. As they adjust their rear view mirrors to take a look back, they each can see and admit they had no idea who they were (their identity, who God created them to be) before they said “I do”. No one told them it was important.

I can’t say that anyone told me either, and trials and errors led to a trail of unhealthy relationships. So, I began to wonder. If you don’t know who you are, how will you know you’re saying “yes” to the right person, to God’s best for you? As I reviewed my relational track record it all became clear. The mistakes I made were evidence that there was no way I could know who was good for me until I had a clear understanding of who I was created to be. Until then, the power and influence of the healthy marriage I so reverenced would continue to elude me and another potential relational disaster would be on the prowl.

I must stop here, even though I know this post is incomplete. I guess that means there will be more to come on this subject. In the meantime, here are a few questions for my unmarried girlfriends out there:

What do you believe about marriage? You don’t have to tell me, but think about it.

Do you know enough about the woman God created you to be to recognize the man He created for you?

What kind of relationship (if any) are you in now?  Is it one that reflects a complete you or an incomplete you?

Completely ME,


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