Guest blogging at Michael Hyatt.com today!

I love this article because it's not just about leadership and success - but about what a truly great man my dad was and what a huge impact he's had on my life.

12 Strategies for Leadership Success


My father, the late Dr. Claude H. Rhea, Jr., executed and exemplified lessons on leadership throughout his short life of sixty-two years. He was a strategic visionary, a 32-year colon cancer survivor, a member of the prestigious Royal Society of the Arts, an accomplished international lyric tenor who recorded five albums (one with the Concert Orchestra of London), a published author (including his autobiography, a cook book and two song books for children), a Dean of a Music School and a President of a College.



These are his life lessons for leadership:

1. Creed. Create a mission statement for your life and your job. Each professional and personal project you undertake should fall under the tenets of your creed and belief system. An important part of my dad’s creed was to make faith an action verb and to honor God in all that he did.

2. Heed. Surround yourself with people that can provide insight and wisdom, even if you disagree with them. You should always understand all sides of an issue before making key decisions. Connect with others and network.

READ THE REST HERE!

Following Christ in Righteousness

Pastor Mark Driscoll at the beginning of this year taught on 1 Peter 1:13-18 "(13)Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ." He remarked that we all must hope in something. When we stop hoping, we are dying. The first way we pursue hope is by being a wise learner, learning about following Christ in righteousness.

Take some time to ask yourself these questions:

What do I need to learn?

What clouds my judgement?

In what area am I not acting like God?

How am I like my heritage(flesh) instead of like Christ(new birth)?

What will my legacy be?

Hear God's Word, Read God's Word, Memorize God's Word, Study God's Word, Discuss God's Word!

Post-A-Pearl

If you're reading this you probably have a story of how God has worked good through a trial. Please let us be encouraged through your story by posting your own pearl girl story. Follow the link on the left side of the website where it says "post-a-pearl."

Guest Blogger ... Ashleigh Slater

Starve a Married Crush

It was two summers ago. The lazy mid-day warmth of Colorado June filled the window-framed room at our local library. The chilly air of Spring was behind us.

My two young daughters sat on daisy-shaped stools, enraptured in the branch's weekly toddler time. Contented smiles adorned their faces as their chubby hands clapped along to "If You're Happy and You Know It."

I sat in the back of the room, my hands deliberately folded in my lap. Motionless. I didn't feel so happy.

My thoughts gravitated to my marriage.

Emotionally, it had been a difficult Spring. The responsibilities of work, church, and parenting held a strong grasp on my husband Ted's attention. And whether reality agreed with me or not, I'd come to feel neglected, unnoticed, unloved.

That morning I was experiencing the pain more acutely.

My gaze wandered around the room, studying the other parents as they clapped along with their kids. It was then that I noticed a 30-something father with his two small sons.

Something about him caused my gaze to linger.

Later, as I buckled my daughters into their carseats in our minivan, my thoughts returned to this stranger.

That's when concern set in. I realized what was happening. The seeds of a crush were attempting to take root, and my fragile emotional state provided fertile ground. I felt my resolve to keep my heart steadfastly faithful to my husband wanting to waiver.

Snapping back to my senses, I made a decision. No more toddler time—at least for now. I was unwilling to return to a situation where a crush had the potential to develop.

Since that day, I’ve pondered: What's a married woman like me—who wants to guard against even the hint of a crush—to do? Here’s what I’ve found helpful:

Be Honest. Relationship experts point to infatuations as being more about the crusher than the crushee. This resonates with me. After that day at toddler time, I got honest with myself, asking deep questions. Why do I feel drawn to this man? Is there a need or desire I'm trying to fill in an inappropriate way through noticing this dad?

Turns out, I desired the attention I perceived as lacking at home. The problem was that a crush wasn't the appropriate answer to this legitimate need. Instead, a proper response was to talk directly to Ted and work through it with him.

Be Accountable. It was two years before I talked publicly about that day at the library. I was too ashamed to mention it. But it would have been helpful for me to tell a trusted, godly female friend about the incident.

While it's important to pick someone who won't condemn or ridicule, at the same time she needs to be an individual who's not afraid to discourage the crush from continuing. I know to choose a friend who won’t just dismiss the issues of my heart as "normal."

Be Willing to Run. That June day in my minivan, I ran away from a potential crush. I quickly fled. I believe applying Paul's instruction in 1 Corinthians 6:18 to "flee sexual immorality"—can be like water on the developing flames of a crush.

Because having a crush while married is considered harmless by some experts, I'm confident there are a good number of women who scoff at the concept of these infatuations as sexual immorality. But as hard as it may be to swallow, from a biblical perspective, they are.

The thing is, the relevant biblical principles are clearly laid out in Matthew 5:27-28. Here Jesus says, "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery.' But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart." Lust, defined as "to have a yearning or desire," isn't always sexual in nature. It can also be an emotional yearning for attention. And isn't that what a crush often is?

Committing to flee from lust, even in its most innocuous-looking forms, can safeguard my marriage against infidelity.

I learned a valuable lesson that day at our local library—I am not immune to developing a crush. But the good news is that through honesty, accountability, and the commitment to flee, crushes aren't inevitable.

A lot has changed since that June morning. Now when I reflect on my marriage, I no longer feel neglected, unnoticed, or unloved. While I do have the occasional day I long for more attention, it's not a defining characteristic of my relationship with Ted. We have successfully navigated through that difficult season.

And every once in a while, I think back to the dad at the library—thankful that he is nothing more than a reminder of my determination to always starve a crush.

____________________________

Ashleigh Slater (www.ashleighslater.com) is the editor of Ungrind (www.ungrind.org), a wezbine that churns out weekly encouragement for 20- and 30-something Christian women. Her writing has appeared in the book Chicken Soup for the Teenage Christian Soul, as well magazines and online publications including Focus on the Family Magazine, Radiant Magazine Online, Guideposts’ Angels on Earth Magazine, and Small Group Exchange. Ashleigh lives in Colorado with her best friend and husband, Ted, and their three daughters.

Article Credit
This article was adapted from “Starve a Crush Club” (http://www.ungrind.org/2009/07/starve-a-crush-club.html) by Ashleigh Slater. It originally appeared on Ungrind.org. Copyright Ó 2009 Ashleigh Slater.

Guest Blogger ... Jennifer Dunlap

Oh... I have been waiting and wanting to write this post for so long.

I've even started it several times, but the words seemed less-than-inspired, so I have backed off, waited, saved many "drafts".

Then two days ago, one of my wonderful friends waved me down in the preschool carline and handed me a book titled, "Pearl Girls: Encountering grit, experiencing grace" by Margaret McSweeney.

I haven't read the book yet (though it promises to be a great one), but the contents of the book weren't even the reason my friend passed it along. She knew that the title and subtitle alone were worth their weight in literary inspiration to me, and so here I am... finally ready to tell you about my little "pearl girl".

Several months ago, I wrote about choosing a name for this child. I told you that I wanted it to be something meaningful, something special, something that defined what God was up to in our lives as He chose to bless us with this addition to our family.

We (ok, I...) poured through baby name books and began making lists. And then I stumbled upon a name that meant, simply: PEARL.

My heartbeat quickened and I drew in a deep breath. Surely this was to be her name. I ran it by my husband, who happened to like the name anyway, so it was decided. We have called her by name ever since.

So, why PEARL? Besides conjuring up an image of someone's 85 year old grandma or high tea at some elite country club, what could possibly mean so much to me about a name that means PEARL?

The seed, as it were, was planted about eight years ago, when I began working for a very well known jewelry company. As my career grew, it became necessary for me to learn in greater detail about the products I was tasked to sell. Our company was known the world over for exquisite jewelry and gemstones... the best of the absolute best... and (besides diamonds) one of our greatest claims to gemstone fame was our offering of pearls.

Each morning, I would slip on pristine white gloves and carefully lay strand after strand of pearl ropes into showcases for the viewing pleasure of hundreds of clients who would be walking by each day to admire their beauty.

Some were "cultured" pearls - smooth, perfectly round, glistening in all shades of white. Some were "natural" pearls - each unique in shape and found in a variety of colors from blush pinks to steely grays.

I loved them all. I decided that while diamonds were typically a girl's best friend... I was going to become a PEARL GIRL. I took product courses, read books, and spent time just staring at and trying on my favorite gemstones.

I learned that pearls were formed when a small, unexpected grain of "something", usually sand or grit, found it's way into an oyster. The oyster, in an effort to shield itself from the uninvited guest, secreted a substance known as "nacre" (pronounced nay' ker). Depending upon the length of time the oyster was left to deal with it's grit, it would secrete layer upon layer upon layer of nacre. The more layers that were introduced, the larger and more irridescent the little ball, or pearl, would grow. Under the right circumstances, the pearl had the opportunity to grow larger and larger, and more and more beautiful, which, in the end, would result in determining it's value.

Now that you've completed Pearls: 101, let's flash forward a few years:

If you know our story,you may recall that my first pregnancy with Drew was an absolute fiasco. I was no good at pregnancy and decided quickly after his birth that one child was enough for us. We didn't want to be disobedient to God's plans for our family, but we absolutely COULD NOT imagine going through another nine months of pregnancy every again. After much prayer and discussion throughout the next four years, we rested in a place of contentment with our little family of three.

And then, we became swept up in the current of excitement created by my brother and his wife's desire to begin their family. It wasn't until weeks after we received the good news that we would be expecting a new niece or nephew that I began to become suspicious of some signs my body seemed to be shouting out at me. I took a pregnancy test and... SURPRISE... found out that we, too, would be adding to our little family.

This was not planned, and I was not excited. I was anxious...scared to death, in fact. I had feelings of guilt for selfishly taking anything away from my brother and sister-in-law's excitement.

So, along with a tiny little human, I was now dealing with a bit of grit in my spiritual life.

But this turn of events, while unexpected to me, was known by God from the beginning of time. And in His infinite grace, He had already set up a system of support and encouragement. He'd been preparing my heart. He'd been in the processing of opening my eyes for quite some time to His ways, which are higher than my ways, and His thoughts that are higher than my thoughts. And at the time, while I couldn't imagine any of the reasons "WHY", I was resting in the knowledge of "WHO". I knew that He was in charge and had something in this that was for His glory.

So, like layer upon layer of nacre, this little person inside me was coated with prayer. I withdrew to Scripture on my sickest days. Friends provided encouragement and accountability on my grumpiest ones. The bond of sharing in the pregnancy process together deepened my friendship with my sister-in-law. And somehow, a pregnancy that was intially met with surprise, fear, and anxiety, has been growing into the lovliest of treasures in my life.

We are less than a month away from her birth now. But unlike a pearl of the sea, my prayer for this little girl is that the nacre of God's grace continues to grow around her long after she's taken out of the warm, comfortable depths of her current home.

She, too, will face grit in her life. There will be times I long to protect her from hurt, from pain, from suffering. But I know if I entrust her now to the faithful love of the Father, He will continue the work of growing her into a beautiful, irridescent pearl. And when she radiates with the glory of God (Oh, I pray that His glory is so evident in her life always), then the world will see the value and treasure that began with the tiniest, most unexpected little seed.

And while I guarantee you I won't be slipping on white gloves any time soon, I cannot wait to study our newest gem... to finally hold this pearl in my own hands!

For Megan.
We love you, little pearl, and we can't wait to meet you soon!

_____________________________

Jenny Dunlap lives in Clearwater, FL with her husband of 11 yrs and their 4 yr old son, Andrew. She enjoys reading, writing, and hanging out with her boys. Jenny has been amazed by God's abundant grace during two difficult pregnancies and is spending most of her time lately preparing for God's newest little treasure, who will be joining their family any day now!

Guest Blogger ... Dena Dyer

Be sure to check out Dena's wonderful blog, Mother Inferior and sign up for her FaithLifts!


Ministry Out of Loss

Scripture: "Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart" (2 Corinthians 4:1, NIV).

A few months after I had a miscarriage, I felt compelled to write an article on how to help someone who has had a pregnancy loss. I included things to say (and especially things not to say) to a friend or family member who has suffered the death of an unborn child. It was therapeutic for me, and several people who read it said that it was helpful to them, as well.

Since then, I have had several opportunities to minister (through listening, sending an encouraging card or flowers, or simply just being there) to couples who have had miscarriages. It is not a ministry I would have chosen, but I do see God's hand in it.

Joni Erickson Tada and her husband run a ministry born out of suffering. In the October/November 1998 issue of Virtue, the quadriplegic recalled how she and Ken desired to have children but slowly realized it was impossible. One night as they lay in bed with Ken holding her hand, they redefined "family," praying for a spiritual outreach to young people -- and God answered.

Now, as a result of Ken's job as a teacher, annual family retreats through Joni's ministry to the disabled and quarterly barbecues in their backyard, they minister to hundreds of teens who long for a stable adult presence in their lives. "God corralled all these kids and brought them our way, so we look at them through different eyes -- not as the sons and daughters of other adults, but as our spiritual sons and daughters, in whom we can invest something eternally worthwhile. And that has been enormously fulfilling."

Is there a prayer God hasn't answered for you -- no matter how hard you pray? Do you feel hopeless, helpless, discouraged? Don't give up.

Search the scriptures, and pray to know God's heart. Maybe your Father has a unique ministry planned that will come from the fruits of your wilderness experience. Believe for that abundance, even in the middle of your desert.

Prayer: God, help me to trust you, however bleak my circumstances may seem. Give me the grace to accept whatever plan You have for my life.


Copyright © 2002, by Dena J. Dyer. Used by permission.

Dena Dyer is a busy wife, mom, and entertainer and she is constantly losing things—but she’s holding onto her sanity (barely). Her favorite forms of therapy? Cuddling with her two sons, date nights with her hubby, reading, and blogging.

Dena is thankful for her creative life, which is varied and full. In between driving carpools, helping her boys with homework, and shuttling kids to soccer practice, she writes, speaks to women’s groups, and performs part-time at a Christian-owned professional music theater, Rockbox Theater.
Her husband, Carey, works alongside her as a principal cast member at Rockbox Theater. The couple met in a post-college singing group and dated “on the road” before marrying in 1995. “Carey’s my best friend and my biggest fan, and I’m so thankful God has given us each other. I couldn’t pursue my dreams without him,” Dena says. “He even cooks!” (Sorry, ladies—he’s taken.)

Her publishing credits include the books Grace for the Race: Meditations for Busy Moms and Mothers of the Bible (both with Barbour), compilations such as Chicken Soup for the Sister’s Soul Woman’s World and HomeLife, and tips for Working Mother, Family Circle and Parenting.

Music from a Mother’s Heart

This past week, my dear friend Vicky Wauterlek, founder of Hands of Hope (one of the charities supported by Pearl Girls) asked me to write an article for the newsletter to share the story of Ariik, a Lost Boy of Sudan. First of all, I must say this was an incredible blessing in my life to actually have the opportunity to interview Ariik and hear firsthand his heartwarming and heart wrenching story. Mere words on a page can never accurately capture the life experiences of such a brave young man. However, I hope that my article can at least provide a peephole into what Ariik’s life was like as one of the Lost Boys of Sudan.

During dusk in 1987, Ariik’s peaceful life in his Sudanese village was shattered while he was taking care of the family cow. He was five years old. The enemy attacked, and a hurricane of fire soon ripped through his village. More than twenty years later, Ariik can still hear the screaming and crying in his mind. Everyone was running away from the soldiers who were burning the village. Ariik was separated from his mother who was running with his younger brother wrapped in her arms. Thousands of children fled toward the forest. The majority of them were boys. They became known as The Lost Boys of Sudan. He was one of the youngest. The oldest was only eleven years old.

Ariik’s life journey would be a heartbreaking one. These children spent two months on the road walking to Ethiopia from Sudan. They had no shoes, no clothes, no food and no adults. When they arrived in Ethiopia, there was no place for them to live. However, the United Nations arrived and arranged the children into twelve groups with 2,000 in each group. The U.N. workers provided clothes, food, and shelter. Ariik even started going to school to learn math and English. Life settled down until four years later a civil war erupted, and once again the Lost Boys of Sudan had to run away. One of the most heart wrenching memories Ariik has of that time was crossing the crocodile infested Gilo River between Sudan and Ethiopia. It took three days for everyone to cross, taking turns on a flat wooden raft. When the enemy tracked them down and started shooting, a lot of children jumped into the river. Ariik witnessed a lot of his friends drown or be eaten by the crocodiles. He flung himself on the ground behind a tree until the spray of bullets stopped.

The Lost Boys made their way to Pochalla where they stayed for six months to hide from the enemy. All the food was gone. Their only sustenance was to eat leaves from trees in the forest. The Red Cross found The Lost Boys and provided food. But once again, the enemy attacked. Helicopters flew overhead. The bombs and the booms of guns pursued these children, who fled by foot. Months later, when they were in Lokichokio, the U.N. arrived and squeezed over a hundred children in each truck to transport them to Kakuma Kenya. Ariik remembers the sensation of not being able to breathe on that truck sandwiched between so many others. That was August 1992. On June 20, 2001, Ariik at last was sent to the United States. He was one of the 150 Lost Boys of Sudan who ended up in the Chicago area. It was his first time on an airplane and his first time in a nice home. Yet he constantly thought about his own home in Sudan. Was his mother still alive? He was working two jobs and sent people money to find his mother. In March 2006, she called Ariik. He remembers the conversation.

“Is it you Ariik?”

“Yes. It’s me. Is it you, mom?”

“Yes.”

“But how do I know? How many children do you have?”

“Only two children. One is with me.”

But Arrik still wasn’t sure if he was really speaking with his mother. Over twenty years had passed. How could he know that this woman was truly the one who he had been searching for? Then he knew what he must ask. Only his mother would know the answer.

“Can you sing the song to me that you sang when I was a little boy?”

His mother sang his special lullaby, and the music from her heart wrapped around Ariik and held him close from across the miles and from his past in Sudan. He was no longer lost. She had made up this song just for him. Before Ariik, his mother had given birth to nine girls. All of them died as babies. Her song for Ariik says “This child I hold is like a cup of water.”

In June 2008, he returned to his village for a visit. His mother immediately knew who he was and rushed toward him. They both cried in each other’s arms. Ariik’s mother tried to lift him up as she cradled her adult child who she thought had died.

Ariik brought gifts with him from Hands of Hope for this remote village in the southern part of Sudan. Using money from Wildflower, the monthly donation club, Hands of Hope provided some support: $2000 for hoes for their village, $10,000 for two brick making machines to make bricks for a school they are building, and $2000 from the goat card fund. Ariik had joined several other Lost Boy of Sudan to start the non-profit Lost Boys Rebuild Southern Sudan. He believes that education is so important for the future of Sudan’s children.


Ariik expressed his sincere gratitude for the women of Hands of Hope. “Women are everything. I respect the women of Hands of Hope like my own mother. Thank you very much for everything.”

To find out how you can get involved with Hands of Hope and the Wildflower Society please visit the website!

© Margaret McSweeney

Guest Blogger ... Melissa Mashburn

Do Not Fear

You came near when I called you, and you said, "Do not fear.”

Lamentations 3:57 NIV

Cancer is a funny thing. You hear all the statistics, you know it is happening all around you, but until it hits close to home it’s hard to even imagine how you might deal with it. In March of this year my mom found a lump in her breast, but since she’s had several lumps over the years she wasn’t overly concerned when she went to the doctor to have it checked out.

I’ll never forget that day, I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, the sun was shining, the wind was blowing and it was if at that moment everything stopped when she told me that the doctor did a biopsy of the lump and it came back as Breast Cancer.

Shock, horror, tears, fear, and sadness smacked me in the face as I stood there in utter belief that this could be happening to “my” mom. She’s the rock of the family, the one who is always taking care of the rest of us, and now on this day the giver became the recipient. To say it has turned our family upside down is an understatement, but to say it has been a blessing is the biggest shock of it all.

She immediately went in for surgery and within a month of the diagnosis had started her first chemo treatment. My head was spinning and to make things even more hectic I had just started a ministry position at my church and was trying to get my bearings there and also prepare for Good Friday and Easter while trying to be there for her.

Mom went on to have seven more chemotherapy treatments after that first one and at her last chemo treatment we brought in pink balloons, a pink boa, and a pink ribbon cake to celebrate her “graduation” as they call it. She sat in those chairs every other week for hours and hours while she talked to the other ladies in treatment, encouraging their families, and even joked around with the doctors and nurses.

I am not any closer to knowing why this happened to my mom now then I was five months ago when this journey began, but what I do know is this; God is good all the time. Mom starts radiation this week and after she completes her thirty-three radiation treatments she will be finally finished with this part of the breast cancer journey. We’re not sure what God has in store next, but we are absolutely certain that He does and we are finding peace and rest in Him.

The journey hasn’t been exactly what I would have chosen for her or my family, but His grace and goodness continue to blanket our family even in the midst of the storm. So, here we go, one day at a time, choosing to listen to His words and do not fear but walk by faith.

Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see. ~ Hebrews 11:1 NLT

_________________________________________________

Melissa Mashburn is the Daughter of the King, Wife, Mom, Pastor's Wife, Writer, Speaker, and all around God Chick! She lives in Sunny South Florida with her best friend and husband, Matt, and their two teenage sons, Nick & Bailey. Melissa's passion is to encourage women to live their lives with an authentic faith by passionately pursuing God every day by being transparent,
renewed, and transformed (Romans 12:2). She leads Women's Bible and Book studies in South Florida as well as online through her ministry blog. You can visit her online in "Mel's World with Melissa Mashburn" or at www.MelissaMashburn.com for devotionals and inspiration on faith, family, and friends.

Guest Blogger ... Mary DeMuth

People are weeds.

Yes, sometimes.

Yesterday while running, the Lord reminded me of the Garden of Eden, how beautiful it must've been. And to think, no weeds!

I thought further about weeds and then reminded myself of the hard things God had been saying to me of late, how He's asking me to edit my life, say no. It's a lot like weeding, this saying no thing. Because when you do, you uproot something that takes over everything (if you're careful to pull out all the root structure.)

As I continued down the path of my local park, another thought came to mind. What if some people were weeds? What if there were folks who took over our lives (not just physically or with time, but emotionally too, where they take up space in our minds?) Ecclesiastes tells us there's a time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.

There are folks who are like weeds in my life. And in this juncture, thankfully, they're not deeply imbedded in my day-to-day activities. In that way, God has uprooted them from me. But I let these weedy folks (who have spoken destructive, painful words over my life) take up residence in my mind, mulling over their mean-spirited words, ruminating on what I could've done to possibly change their minds about me.

In that conundrum, I know there are three primary ways of weed removal:

I can simply pretend the weeds are pretty, tolerate them, even water them. Often, I've done this. I've tried to hope for the best with some painful relationships, doing my best to jump through hoops so all will be well. The result? Those weeds take over my heart, choking me.

I can spray toxic chemicals on them. This happens during direct confrontations with said weeds. If I allow someone to hurt me so much that I retaliate with words, then I've given in to sin. Better to take the pain to Jesus and ask Him to be my defender.

I can ask the Master Gardener to fully uproot the weeds, not only from my day-to-day life, but from my heart and mind. When He does this, healing begins. I simply can't be a beautiful, lush garden with weeds invading. The hard part? Sometimes weeds pose as flowers. And sometimes flowers look like weeds. Only the Master Gardener knows the difference and can order my life and relationships accordingly. The key to weed removal is close proximity to the Master Gardener.

In this endeavor to simplify my life, I've had to entrust every relationship to the Lord, particularly the ones that drain me or tear me down. I remember one time many years ago when my dear friend Stacey sat in her car with me and told me she'd been weeding out her friends. It had been a painful year for her. At its end, God told her to simplify her relationships, choosing the ones that best blessed her and challenged her.

"I choose you," she told me.

I'd invite you to evaluate your life right now. In what ways are you throwing your relational pearls before swine? Who are the weeds in your life? Who are you afraid to let go of? Who has acted like an enemy, speaking words of discouragement over you. Perhaps it's time to press into the Master Gardener, to trust Him to pull the weeds that need to be pulled, and plant the flowers that need to be planted.

______________________________

Mary is an aspiring gourmet cook, a sometimes tri-athlete (note emphasis on sometimes), and a passionate follower of Jesus. She's in love with her husband and kids and is zealous about writing and speaking.

Her deepest dream is to see stories—hers and others—change your life as they've changed hers.

Visit her on her website: http://www.marydemuth.com/index.php