Once upon a time, many years ago, I taught a Sunday School class of four-year olds. Our lesson one particular Sunday was about creation. To set the stage, I turned off all the lights in the room, closed the curtains, and had the kids close their eyes. We then sat in darkness and imagined what it was like before God created anything.
After ten seconds, we all opened our eyes and I asked, "What was it like before God made anything.?" One little guy raised his hand and piped up, "There was nothing there but LOVE."
WOW! What an answer. I will never know if his reply was divinely inspired or if he got that concept from home. Either way, I was extremely touched by his response. It is one I remind myself of every once in awhile--especially several years ago when chaos seemed to raising its ugly head, when my world seemed without form, and void.
It was during those time I would close my eyes, take a deep breath, and know that "In the beginning, God---."
In the beginning, Love.
In the manger, Love.
On the cross, Love.
On Easter morning, Love.
In the trials of right now, Love.
In the peace of right now, Love.
Aaah, Love, may we each experience Him today.
Jan
Friday, December 28, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
Two Mothers
"Once upon a time." That is how fairy tales tend to start--"Once upon a time..." This is not a fairy tale, it's not folk lore, its a somewhat fictionalized true story about two mothers who each gave birth to precious baby boys.
Once upon a time two mothers had sons whose births are celebrated in December, but one infant was born in a stable and the other in a hospital.
One birth was attended by only the parents (and maybe an animal or two). The other birth had not only the parents there, but also a doctor, nurses, and a mother-in-law.
Angels announced one child's birth with heavenly singing and rejoicing while shepherds in the field watched their flocks.
Excited phone calls to family members announced the other child's birth.
Smelly shepherds were the first visitors to the infant in the manger.
Freshly washed aunts and uncles were the first visitors to the hospital.
These two sons were born in completely different situations, but imagine with me the similarities of the scenes. As each mother finally has her first moments alone with her son, she gazes at him in amazement. She counts his fingers and toes. examines his little ears and rosebud mouth, caresses his downy, dark hair, and kisses him gently on his cheek. He turns his head toward the touch, seeking food.
As each mom marvels at this beautiful, new life in her arms, she also wonders whose nose and eyes he has. Does he look like mom or dad? Will he be tall and strong? Will he be kind and gentle? Will he love to laugh and sing? Will he be a might man of God? Will he? Who will this tiny child grow up to be? And she imagines what the future holds.
Each child in this story grew into a man. Each was strong, kind and gentle. I'd like to think they both loved to laugh and sing. I know they both became mighty men of God. Well, one was God, and the other was my grandson.
Although there are so many similarities in these two stories as well as differences, here is one difference, at least to me. My grandson brings joy to my life. Jesus brings life to my joy, eternal life.
=================================================================
Our family Christmas celebration and progressive dinner is tomorrow through the weekend, so I might not be writing for a few days.
Have a very Merry, Blessed Christmas, Jan
Once upon a time two mothers had sons whose births are celebrated in December, but one infant was born in a stable and the other in a hospital.
One birth was attended by only the parents (and maybe an animal or two). The other birth had not only the parents there, but also a doctor, nurses, and a mother-in-law.
Angels announced one child's birth with heavenly singing and rejoicing while shepherds in the field watched their flocks.
Excited phone calls to family members announced the other child's birth.
Smelly shepherds were the first visitors to the infant in the manger.
Freshly washed aunts and uncles were the first visitors to the hospital.
These two sons were born in completely different situations, but imagine with me the similarities of the scenes. As each mother finally has her first moments alone with her son, she gazes at him in amazement. She counts his fingers and toes. examines his little ears and rosebud mouth, caresses his downy, dark hair, and kisses him gently on his cheek. He turns his head toward the touch, seeking food.
As each mom marvels at this beautiful, new life in her arms, she also wonders whose nose and eyes he has. Does he look like mom or dad? Will he be tall and strong? Will he be kind and gentle? Will he love to laugh and sing? Will he be a might man of God? Will he? Who will this tiny child grow up to be? And she imagines what the future holds.
Each child in this story grew into a man. Each was strong, kind and gentle. I'd like to think they both loved to laugh and sing. I know they both became mighty men of God. Well, one was God, and the other was my grandson.
Although there are so many similarities in these two stories as well as differences, here is one difference, at least to me. My grandson brings joy to my life. Jesus brings life to my joy, eternal life.
=================================================================
Our family Christmas celebration and progressive dinner is tomorrow through the weekend, so I might not be writing for a few days.
Have a very Merry, Blessed Christmas, Jan
Monday, December 17, 2012
Out of The Blue
"Out of the blue..." Where did that expression come from? Was someone hit by lightning on a clear day? Maybe.
Yesterday I was attending a Celebration of Life service, listening to the eulogy, when out of the blue came the thought, "What will be shared about your husband at his funeral-memorial-celebration-of-life service? Will anyone come? Will anyone even share? If asked directly, what would you say about him?"
After that lightning strike, I considered my husband's life b.c. (before crime). I had to force myself to acknowledge that he did have a good side. I made myself see the Lord's workings in the man I married. There was his love of family, love of the outdoors, generosity with time, talent, and assets, ability to develop consensus among people facing difficult group decisions, use of puns, sense of humor, and heart for lost souls. Those were just a few that I came up with. To be honest, I really didn't want to look past the sin that had caused so much pain and ripping apart in my life.
Today, as I was thinking about yesterday and trying to figure where to go with this blog, I had another out-of-the-blue thought. "Was God trying to speak directly to me?" Lightning strikes straight from the Holy Spirit, so to speak. If that is the case, and I think it is, I have to ask myself, "Jan, have you forgiven him?" I can honestly say I have, quite a few times in fact. BUT! There is that infernal word that puts a crimp on everything. But! But, have I forgiven him totally?
The answer to that question will have to be "no", not totally. If a child molester is who I see when looking at or thinking about my husband, instead of the man God had created, the man before the crime, the man God had used to touch lives, I still have lots of work to do in the forgiveness area. I think I have written before that when Jesus tells us to forgive 70x7 times*, I had never considered he might be talking about 490 times for the same hurt we had received. I needed that reminder.
So, I guess I'm not through with forgiveness yet. Just as healing takes place step by step, it looks like forgiveness does too.
HELP, Lord!
*Matthew 18:21-22
Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?”
Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy times seven times."
May you forgive, totally, those who have sinned against you. I'm working on it.
Jan
Lord, What Happened?
I wrote a rough draft of this on Saturday, but didn't finish it until today.
_____________________________________________________
Lord, what happened? I want to ignore the whole tragedy, pretend it didn't happen, understand it, fix it. I can't.
I hope it will go away. It won't
I don't want to think about it, but I still think. I don't want to talk about it, but I must talk. I want to cry, but tears don't come. I am numb with grief and disbelief that something as horrific as this could happen.
Lord, what happened?
My heart breaks for the victims' and the shooter's families. There is no way I can start to understand the pain of their broken hearts or their anger at the insanity that took their children's or family member's lives. Those families are forever changed. Lord, bring them healing, Let them forgive.
I have so many questions. You have all the answers. But this I know for sure, even though Satan would love to use this for evil, you can and will use this for good.*
What about Christmas! In a sense, Christmas is the only thing that makes sense to me right now.
It's because your baby boy, who was born in the manger, and brought light and hope into the world, that we may again see light and have hope. We need it, Lord.
It is because Jesus, who brought healing to hurting people, that hearts and minds can be mended. Please help us heal.
It's because of our Redeemer, who died on the Cross, that there is forgiveness. May we be able to forgive.
It IS about Christmas and the coming of your Son! Thank you, Lord.
Romans 8:28
New International Version (NIV)
*And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
Blessings, Jan
Friday, December 14, 2012
An Un-lost Poem-"Playing in The Leaves"
As I was tearing my hair out trying to find last year's Christmas cards and mailing list, I came across a poem I wrote last fall called "Playing in the Leaves". I was quite excited to find it because it was one of the items I lost when my computer crashed last summer. Then right under the poem was my list of people and the cards I received last Christmas. This is promising to be a great day.
So right now, I am going to type out this short poem that was so fun to write. The meter and rhyming pattern is the same as a poem called "Robinson Crusoe's Story" by Charles E. Carryl that I memorize in the fifth grade. I have always like the sound of it. Enjoy.
========================
Playing in The Leaves
The day was cool and breezy, and the kids were sort of sneezy
When they put on coats and went outside a while.
I heard them running, playing, and one loud voice was saying,
"Let's rake up leaves and put them in a pile."
Then all the kids did scurry, found the rakes in one big hurry,
Formed the leaves in mounds of yellows, browns, and reds.
Some they crawled right under. Others they kicked asunder.
And all the kids got leaves stuck to their heads.
At last their hands were so numb, the kids all said "We are done."
They came inside for hot cocoa to drink.
I pulled leaves out of their hair. They were much too tired to care.
Tomorrow brings more fun for them, I think.
=======================
It would be fun to do a few stanzas for each season of the year. I'll think about doing a Winter/Christmas part over the holidays.
This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Jan
So right now, I am going to type out this short poem that was so fun to write. The meter and rhyming pattern is the same as a poem called "Robinson Crusoe's Story" by Charles E. Carryl that I memorize in the fifth grade. I have always like the sound of it. Enjoy.
========================
Playing in The Leaves
The day was cool and breezy, and the kids were sort of sneezy
When they put on coats and went outside a while.
I heard them running, playing, and one loud voice was saying,
"Let's rake up leaves and put them in a pile."
Then all the kids did scurry, found the rakes in one big hurry,
Formed the leaves in mounds of yellows, browns, and reds.
Some they crawled right under. Others they kicked asunder.
And all the kids got leaves stuck to their heads.
At last their hands were so numb, the kids all said "We are done."
They came inside for hot cocoa to drink.
I pulled leaves out of their hair. They were much too tired to care.
Tomorrow brings more fun for them, I think.
=======================
It would be fun to do a few stanzas for each season of the year. I'll think about doing a Winter/Christmas part over the holidays.
This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Jan
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
My Unique Day
What a gorgeous morning! The sun shines through the trees making brilliant yellow-green shapes all over the lawn, as well as blinding white spots on the side of my garage. It's an absolutely beautiful, party-in-my-soul, kind of day. It's also a day people are talking about because this date, a three number repetition, 12/12/12, won't happen again for a century. Well, I don't get too excited about numbers. Dates will repeat themselves in some form or another, but today, this one I am living right now, will never recur. Every day is special, not because of its date on a calendar, but because of its place in God's heart. That is all there is to it.
So, on this unique, one-of-a-kind day, I will wash up my breakfast dishes (bowl, spoon, pan), fix my hair, and head into town to finish my Christmas shopping. I will have my Christmas letters printed, buy stamps, and come home. I will address my cards, fix dinner, and head off to a basketball game. I will cheer, visit, and enjoy the noise and excitement in the gym. I will come home, turn on the tree lights, and fill my hours before bed by reading, or knitting, or watching Castle, or playing a computer game, or... Then I'll go to bed knowing that this day might have seemed like every other day, but it wasn't. It was "Today".
I will enjoy and be thrilled by many more flickering-sun mornings, but not another "Today." I will enjoy many more bowls of oatmeal filled with craisins and walnuts, but none exactly like the one I just ate. I will write and mail other Christmas letters. I will buy different presents for different occasions. I will read different books, but today? Today is unique.
Today is God given. He has a plan for it. It is Spirit filled and led. He has a plan for it. But, here is the catch. Will it be Christ lived? I pray so. That part is up to me.
"Lord, as I go about my day, let my thoughts be your thoughts. Let my words be your words. Let me feel with your hands, see with your eyes and hear with your ears. May those I meet on this unique, one-of-a-kind day see and hear you. May this day be truly Christ lived. Amen."
So, on this unique, one-of-a-kind day, I will wash up my breakfast dishes (bowl, spoon, pan), fix my hair, and head into town to finish my Christmas shopping. I will have my Christmas letters printed, buy stamps, and come home. I will address my cards, fix dinner, and head off to a basketball game. I will cheer, visit, and enjoy the noise and excitement in the gym. I will come home, turn on the tree lights, and fill my hours before bed by reading, or knitting, or watching Castle, or playing a computer game, or... Then I'll go to bed knowing that this day might have seemed like every other day, but it wasn't. It was "Today".
I will enjoy and be thrilled by many more flickering-sun mornings, but not another "Today." I will enjoy many more bowls of oatmeal filled with craisins and walnuts, but none exactly like the one I just ate. I will write and mail other Christmas letters. I will buy different presents for different occasions. I will read different books, but today? Today is unique.
Today is God given. He has a plan for it. It is Spirit filled and led. He has a plan for it. But, here is the catch. Will it be Christ lived? I pray so. That part is up to me.
"Lord, as I go about my day, let my thoughts be your thoughts. Let my words be your words. Let me feel with your hands, see with your eyes and hear with your ears. May those I meet on this unique, one-of-a-kind day see and hear you. May this day be truly Christ lived. Amen."
Let's live our day to the fullest. It's the only one we have.
Jan
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
House Preparations
"Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat." Well, I guess they're getting fat. That's what the song says. I haven't seen any fat or thin ones around here lately. They must have all flown south for the winter. I do know for sure they will be back in the spring. I'll have to check out their girth when they return. That way I won't have to check mine.
"Over the river and through the woods, to Nana's house we go." Two of my granddaughters came over last evening to do some decorating. They have done this for many years now. They love putting the ornaments on the tree, and placing other sundry items around the house. There were a couple differences this year, though. First off, they drove themselves over. That's exciting for them and scary for the rest of us. Secondly and sadly, we didn't find some of the tubs of ornaments.
"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree." (Stand by for a fanfare. Drum roll, please. Now, sound the trumpet) MY TREE IS UP thanks to one granddaughter! Although sad looking, artificial, and without ornaments, it shines brightly there by the couch. At least that part of the room looks like Christmas is coming.
"Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still I see thee lie." My nativity scene is out of its box and arranged by the fireplace hearth. The shepherd is with the sheep, Mary and Joseph are with the Christ Child, the Magi and camels are making their way westward, but the buildings are all dark. I haven't tried finding an extension cord yet.
"Stocking were hung by the chimney with care." I started making cross-stitch stockings when my first grandchild was born. I have since made three more. They do hang by the chimney with care. The only problem is I have more than four grand-kids. Every year I tell myself I have to get busy and make stocking for the others, then by the time all the decorations have left the room in January, the thought has left my mind also.
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa la la la la, la la la la." Sorry, I hate to disappoint you, but my halls, tables, mantle, or other surfaces aren't decked with holly or anything else yet. My artificial garlands for the mantle and dining room archway are still stuffed into a black, plastic, garbage bag. The bag is in the bottom of a plastic tub along with several boxes of golden Christmas balls waiting to go into a large glass bowl. The tub is in the middle of my living room. The empty, falling-apart cardboard box that housed the tree is in the dining room, and a ladder is by the kitchen. I have no idea where the boxes of other decorations are. I will have to do some major box moving in the storage room to find them. Sigh.
"Silent night, holy night, all is calm. All is bright." In just a matter of days we will celebrate Christmas. I will have found the rest of my decorations. Part of my mess will be cleaned up, and the rest put away. The tree will be fully decorated, including a glass pickle. The garlands will be hung and decorated with poinsettias. The nativity scene will be brightly shining. Christmas music will be softly playing. My home will be ready to celebration of our dear Savior's birth. So will I.
Oh come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.
Jan
"Over the river and through the woods, to Nana's house we go." Two of my granddaughters came over last evening to do some decorating. They have done this for many years now. They love putting the ornaments on the tree, and placing other sundry items around the house. There were a couple differences this year, though. First off, they drove themselves over. That's exciting for them and scary for the rest of us. Secondly and sadly, we didn't find some of the tubs of ornaments.
"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree." (Stand by for a fanfare. Drum roll, please. Now, sound the trumpet) MY TREE IS UP thanks to one granddaughter! Although sad looking, artificial, and without ornaments, it shines brightly there by the couch. At least that part of the room looks like Christmas is coming.
"Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still I see thee lie." My nativity scene is out of its box and arranged by the fireplace hearth. The shepherd is with the sheep, Mary and Joseph are with the Christ Child, the Magi and camels are making their way westward, but the buildings are all dark. I haven't tried finding an extension cord yet.
"Stocking were hung by the chimney with care." I started making cross-stitch stockings when my first grandchild was born. I have since made three more. They do hang by the chimney with care. The only problem is I have more than four grand-kids. Every year I tell myself I have to get busy and make stocking for the others, then by the time all the decorations have left the room in January, the thought has left my mind also.
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa la la la la, la la la la." Sorry, I hate to disappoint you, but my halls, tables, mantle, or other surfaces aren't decked with holly or anything else yet. My artificial garlands for the mantle and dining room archway are still stuffed into a black, plastic, garbage bag. The bag is in the bottom of a plastic tub along with several boxes of golden Christmas balls waiting to go into a large glass bowl. The tub is in the middle of my living room. The empty, falling-apart cardboard box that housed the tree is in the dining room, and a ladder is by the kitchen. I have no idea where the boxes of other decorations are. I will have to do some major box moving in the storage room to find them. Sigh.
"Silent night, holy night, all is calm. All is bright." In just a matter of days we will celebrate Christmas. I will have found the rest of my decorations. Part of my mess will be cleaned up, and the rest put away. The tree will be fully decorated, including a glass pickle. The garlands will be hung and decorated with poinsettias. The nativity scene will be brightly shining. Christmas music will be softly playing. My home will be ready to celebration of our dear Savior's birth. So will I.
Oh come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.
Jan
Monday, December 10, 2012
Unforgettable Trip
It has been a year since I took a trip I will never forget. It was on a dark, rainy, typical Northwest night. The basketball game was over, my grand-kids had headed out to my car for a ride home, and I was searching for something in my purse as I stepped from the sidewalk into the parking lot. That was when the trip started.
My foot caught on the concrete tire block. Suddenly I found myself flying forward at breakneck speed. I knew immediately I would arrive at my destination in record time. I did--face first on the high school parking lot. I sat there for a moment, surprised and dazed, to assess the damage. It didn't take long to realize I had a scraped knee, skinned palms, bloodied lip, twisted glasses, and broken tooth sitting in the middle of my mouth. Cute. I finally sat myself upright, picked up my purse and my pride, then walked, trying not to limp, to my car and the awaiting kids.
Just before reaching the car I had to remove the tooth from my mouth so I could spit out the blood that was accumulating therein. Now, what to do? What to do? Well, with my tooth between my fingers, I drove the kids home without letting them know what had happened. Once they had hopped out of my car and gotten into their house, I drove home, looked at myself in the mirror, and called my daughter who took me to the emergency room for treatment. Thankfully I hadn't bitten through my lip, broken my jaw, my glasses, or my hip. I hadn't even torn my pants!
Over the next couple weeks I saw my dentist several times. First to have a temporary prosthetic tooth created, then to have a mold made, and finally to have the permanent tooth implanted.
You probably wonder why I told you all this. For one reason only. I had a dental check-up today. When the hygienist had finished the cleaning she said," I love seeing your health teeth and gum tissue. Keep up the good work". My dentist, after a quick check of my x-rays, said, "After last year, this was sure boring". Sorry Doctor, although I love exciting trips, I don't have any face-plants planned for the near future. You will have to be satisfied with "booorrring" for a very long time.
Have a God day, and good day, a blessed day,
Jan
My foot caught on the concrete tire block. Suddenly I found myself flying forward at breakneck speed. I knew immediately I would arrive at my destination in record time. I did--face first on the high school parking lot. I sat there for a moment, surprised and dazed, to assess the damage. It didn't take long to realize I had a scraped knee, skinned palms, bloodied lip, twisted glasses, and broken tooth sitting in the middle of my mouth. Cute. I finally sat myself upright, picked up my purse and my pride, then walked, trying not to limp, to my car and the awaiting kids.
Just before reaching the car I had to remove the tooth from my mouth so I could spit out the blood that was accumulating therein. Now, what to do? What to do? Well, with my tooth between my fingers, I drove the kids home without letting them know what had happened. Once they had hopped out of my car and gotten into their house, I drove home, looked at myself in the mirror, and called my daughter who took me to the emergency room for treatment. Thankfully I hadn't bitten through my lip, broken my jaw, my glasses, or my hip. I hadn't even torn my pants!
Over the next couple weeks I saw my dentist several times. First to have a temporary prosthetic tooth created, then to have a mold made, and finally to have the permanent tooth implanted.
You probably wonder why I told you all this. For one reason only. I had a dental check-up today. When the hygienist had finished the cleaning she said," I love seeing your health teeth and gum tissue. Keep up the good work". My dentist, after a quick check of my x-rays, said, "After last year, this was sure boring". Sorry Doctor, although I love exciting trips, I don't have any face-plants planned for the near future. You will have to be satisfied with "booorrring" for a very long time.
Have a God day, and good day, a blessed day,
Jan
Saturday, December 8, 2012
I Finally Attended a Funeral
I went to a funeral today. It is the first one I've attended in over four years. It isn't because I didn't have the opportunity, I did. It's because I haven't wanted to visit with old, as in previous, acquaintances. You see, I was still going through the phase of seeing myself with a WOF emblazoned on my clothing--sort of like a letterman's jacket. WOF! Wife of a Felon!
Everywhere I went I had the feeling people were talking about me, or pointing me out to others while saying, "see that older woman over there, well you won't believe this but..." I also was afraid that I would make others feel uncomfortable as soon as they saw me. They wouldn't know what to say or not say, what to do or not do. As a result I just knew I would be ignored, left alone, or rejected.
It took me a very long time to finally come to grips with the fact that many of my worries about other people's thoughts and comments were really my own thoughts about myself. I was putting my feelings onto others because I wouldn't admit I even had them. It also took some time to realize my fear of rejection and being ignored publicly stemmed from a fear I didn't realize I had--that of being left alone in my private life.
All those "paralyzing" feelings and fears are gone now. I've let myself search those dark areas to find my banished, locked up emotions, claim them as my own, and deal with them. And if some people are pointing and talking, I can't do anything about that.
So, the funeral I went to was for the husband of a friend of over 30 years. We first met when her daughter and my two younger children were in a church youth choir together. My family was fairly new to the community and she had recently lost her first husband. As our cherubs practiced inside, we sat outside in either her car or mine. Thus started our long friendship.
Today, as I walked into my former church for the first time since 2008, I immediately recognized so many people by merely looking at the backs of their heads. Lots of good memories flooded my mind. In spite of that, I told myself I was going to sit alone in an empty pew in the back, and leave immediately after the service. Sneak out you might say. I didn't do either one. I chose to sit next to a couple I've known for almost as long as I've lived here. Then, following the service, I stayed to visit with those I hadn't seen for so long. It was like old times.
It was like old times except for one thing. Several persons wondered when I was coming back to that church. Another wondered why I had left. Both questions were fair to ask, and needed an honest answer from me.
My answer to the first question was easy. "No, I'm not coming back. I love the congregation I am now involved with. I love the style of worship and music. I like to clap my hands and raise my arms in praise. I love the pastor. I'm growing in my faith..."
I don't believe there is a right or wrong style of worship, just different ones. I am worshiping in the style some people have told me might scare the little kids. I tell folks that is where the Lord has me now, and we have lots of little kids around.
The second question was harder. Why did I leave? Let me explain it like this: I needed to be in a "safe" place. For me, that place was somewhere few, if any, people knew me or my situation, a place no one would see WOF on my clothing. I needed to be in a place I wouldn't imagine people pointing me out and whispering "that woman over there", "I can't believe that her husband...", "did she have any idea?", "that poor family", "I don't know what I'd do". I wanted to be an unknown entity who could loose herself in loud, upbeat music, soul stirring sermons, and the freedom to raise her hands if she felt like it. I also wanted to be able to cry without being watched and observed by those who knew me. I wanted to be alone yet surrounded. I wanted to be in the midst of a different arm of God's family. Little did I realize I would soon call them my own.
Try to explain all that to someone who misses you and wants you to return. I don't remember exactly how I answered the question, but I started out something like, " I needed time to heal in a place where no one knew me." That wasn't the best way to start I guess. It resulted in a raised eyebrow and the words, "I'm sorry you feel that way". What exactly did that mean? I'm not sure. When I heard it, I felt she thought I was judging the congregation, and was sorry I did that. Now that I am writing all this, I might have been wrong. She might have really been sorry I felt what I felt. Who knows? Our conversation came to an end before we could talk more. I am sorry about that.
All in all, I'm glad I went. I'm glad I went for my friend. I'm glad I went because it was good for me to see all the folks I haven't seen for so many years. It was good to get caught up on our kids, grand-kids, and personal lives. It was just like old times and the coffee hour after church.
Oh, if you are wondering, I am still wear WOF on my clothing. All this time I thought it stood for Wife of a Felon, but I was so, so wrong. It really stands for Woman of Faith.
I hope you all had a God-filled, blessed day. I did.
Jan
Everywhere I went I had the feeling people were talking about me, or pointing me out to others while saying, "see that older woman over there, well you won't believe this but..." I also was afraid that I would make others feel uncomfortable as soon as they saw me. They wouldn't know what to say or not say, what to do or not do. As a result I just knew I would be ignored, left alone, or rejected.
It took me a very long time to finally come to grips with the fact that many of my worries about other people's thoughts and comments were really my own thoughts about myself. I was putting my feelings onto others because I wouldn't admit I even had them. It also took some time to realize my fear of rejection and being ignored publicly stemmed from a fear I didn't realize I had--that of being left alone in my private life.
All those "paralyzing" feelings and fears are gone now. I've let myself search those dark areas to find my banished, locked up emotions, claim them as my own, and deal with them. And if some people are pointing and talking, I can't do anything about that.
So, the funeral I went to was for the husband of a friend of over 30 years. We first met when her daughter and my two younger children were in a church youth choir together. My family was fairly new to the community and she had recently lost her first husband. As our cherubs practiced inside, we sat outside in either her car or mine. Thus started our long friendship.
Today, as I walked into my former church for the first time since 2008, I immediately recognized so many people by merely looking at the backs of their heads. Lots of good memories flooded my mind. In spite of that, I told myself I was going to sit alone in an empty pew in the back, and leave immediately after the service. Sneak out you might say. I didn't do either one. I chose to sit next to a couple I've known for almost as long as I've lived here. Then, following the service, I stayed to visit with those I hadn't seen for so long. It was like old times.
It was like old times except for one thing. Several persons wondered when I was coming back to that church. Another wondered why I had left. Both questions were fair to ask, and needed an honest answer from me.
My answer to the first question was easy. "No, I'm not coming back. I love the congregation I am now involved with. I love the style of worship and music. I like to clap my hands and raise my arms in praise. I love the pastor. I'm growing in my faith..."
I don't believe there is a right or wrong style of worship, just different ones. I am worshiping in the style some people have told me might scare the little kids. I tell folks that is where the Lord has me now, and we have lots of little kids around.
The second question was harder. Why did I leave? Let me explain it like this: I needed to be in a "safe" place. For me, that place was somewhere few, if any, people knew me or my situation, a place no one would see WOF on my clothing. I needed to be in a place I wouldn't imagine people pointing me out and whispering "that woman over there", "I can't believe that her husband...", "did she have any idea?", "that poor family", "I don't know what I'd do". I wanted to be an unknown entity who could loose herself in loud, upbeat music, soul stirring sermons, and the freedom to raise her hands if she felt like it. I also wanted to be able to cry without being watched and observed by those who knew me. I wanted to be alone yet surrounded. I wanted to be in the midst of a different arm of God's family. Little did I realize I would soon call them my own.
Try to explain all that to someone who misses you and wants you to return. I don't remember exactly how I answered the question, but I started out something like, " I needed time to heal in a place where no one knew me." That wasn't the best way to start I guess. It resulted in a raised eyebrow and the words, "I'm sorry you feel that way". What exactly did that mean? I'm not sure. When I heard it, I felt she thought I was judging the congregation, and was sorry I did that. Now that I am writing all this, I might have been wrong. She might have really been sorry I felt what I felt. Who knows? Our conversation came to an end before we could talk more. I am sorry about that.
All in all, I'm glad I went. I'm glad I went for my friend. I'm glad I went because it was good for me to see all the folks I haven't seen for so many years. It was good to get caught up on our kids, grand-kids, and personal lives. It was just like old times and the coffee hour after church.
Oh, if you are wondering, I am still wear WOF on my clothing. All this time I thought it stood for Wife of a Felon, but I was so, so wrong. It really stands for Woman of Faith.
I hope you all had a God-filled, blessed day. I did.
Jan
Friday, December 7, 2012
This Week--With Notes
Not much has been happening around here. But now......as I finished typing that first sentence.........I have thought of many events, other than routine daily life, that took place this week.
Monday I attended the luncheon meeting of a women's group I belong to. My grand-kids think I'm crazy belonging to a group that researches and writes papers on a given topic each year. Last year our topic was "The Middle East". This year our topic is, "Women of Importance". We are free to explore anything that fits into that category. Monday's presentation was on Madeleine Albright, the first woman U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations. My paper, to be presented in February, will be on Irena Sendler, a relatively unknown Polish woman who, according to documentation, rescued over 2,500 children from the Warsaw ghetto during WWII. The name and information of each child was recorded on paper and buried in a jar under a tree in a friend's yard. I have barely gotten started with my writing. I need to get a move on.
I thoroughly enjoy the ladies in this group. They are interesting, active, fun to be around, and good cooks. What more could one ask? And, I might add, most are women of faith.
I will make a note at this point. Right after I found out that my husband had been molesting our grand-daughters, I seriously contemplated dropping out of this group. Because of my husband's crime, I felt I was not worthy to be a member, that I would be a black spot on the membership roll of a 100-year-old organization. I would be a disgrace. As ridiculous as that sounds now, as irrational, that is where I was emotionally at that time. Obviously, I didn't quit. I am thankful for the support they have provided.
Right after my meeting I went to see my foot doctor. He would probably prefer being called a podiatrist, but to me he is my foot doctor. Anyway, he took one look at my foot and almost jumped up and down in excitement. In the previous 1 1/2 weeks the healing has been unbelievable. I almost jumped up and down too because I no longer have to use a gauze pad and roll of gauze to bandage my foot. I can just put a band-aid on it. Hooray.
I will make a note at this point. I had band-aids on my foot for a period of 36 hours and ended up with an itchy rash all around the area. I had forgotten about my latex allergy. I then changed back to a gauze pad, but used paper tape to hold it in place instead of a gauze roll. This morning my foot itched where the paper tape was. Maybe I'm allergic to the adhesive on it. So, guess what? I'm back where I started. Gauze it is for the next couple weeks anyway. Hopefully, by my next visit, I will no longer have to bandage it at all. Gauze or not, I am so thankful for the fantastic healing that is taking place.
I did go to my grandson's basketball game Monday night. I love watching him play. Although small in stature, he is big on the court. His defensive playing was awesome. That little guy was able to shut down the baseline from the opponents who were sneaking in the back door. We were all disappointed that the team lost, but it was a well played game. You can't ask for more than that.
Yes, I will make a note here also. Not only was the game fun to watch, but I had so much fun sitting next to a couple high-school girls who were really into the game. (My granddaughter and her friend) They were cracking me up with their comments and antics like yelling out, "Way to go number 28, 10, 24,..." They then proceeded to call out all the jersey numbers plus any others that came to mind. I sat on my pillow chuckling and wondering, "Was I ever like that?" I don't think so. Would I like to be like that? YEAH. NO! Maybe. It was too much to think about; and I don't want to fry my brain. I still have a paper to write.
Wednesday I helped in a second grade classroom. Some kids who were having trouble with math needed extra help the teacher couldn't provide in a timely manner. It didn't take long to discover one student knew the answers, but wrote them wrong--17 as 71. That makes perfect sense to an 8/9 year old. As he explained, "You say seventeen, write the seven, then the teen." Another would make an immediate wild guess at the answer because he wanted to impress me with his speed, but get the answer wrong. If I had him think about it while I counted to 10, he usually got the right answer. What I discovered about each student will help the teacher as the year goes on.
Are you ready for my note? Teachers have an unbelievably hard job. My hour working one-on-one with a few students was an hour the teacher didn't have for one-on-one time in a busy classroom full of active kids. They need all the prayer they can get. Who are they? Teachers for sure, but don't forget the students.
Thursday was lunch day with a friend/neighbor. We both had foot surgery a week apart. Once I could drive, I would go to her house for lunch and a visit. We both were getting cabin fever by this time. Anyway, I took lunch over yesterday. After we had talked about quilting and knitting for awhile, she got me started knitting a pair of wool socks. I haven't knitted for years, at least nothing more difficult than a couple scarves and a few winter caps for dolls. And knitting on three needles? That hasn't been done for over 30 years. Last night I got most of the top ribbing done. The stitches aren't very even. I am still having trouble keeping an even tension on the yarn, especially when I go from one needle to the other. Then there are the occasional dropped stitches. I do catch them in time, but it sure slows down the progress.
NOTE! What was I thinking. I must have lost my mind on this one. I will not give up, though. I will count this trial as pure joy. In the end, I will be more mature and complete. At least that is what I read in the beginning of James' New Testament letter.
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 NIV
So there you have it. Some of this week's events, notes on the same, and a reminder to rejoice in those trials that come along. It is mainly through trials that we grow, mature, and become more complete in our faith.
Have a good day, a God day, and a day of rejoicing.
Jan
Monday I attended the luncheon meeting of a women's group I belong to. My grand-kids think I'm crazy belonging to a group that researches and writes papers on a given topic each year. Last year our topic was "The Middle East". This year our topic is, "Women of Importance". We are free to explore anything that fits into that category. Monday's presentation was on Madeleine Albright, the first woman U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations. My paper, to be presented in February, will be on Irena Sendler, a relatively unknown Polish woman who, according to documentation, rescued over 2,500 children from the Warsaw ghetto during WWII. The name and information of each child was recorded on paper and buried in a jar under a tree in a friend's yard. I have barely gotten started with my writing. I need to get a move on.
I thoroughly enjoy the ladies in this group. They are interesting, active, fun to be around, and good cooks. What more could one ask? And, I might add, most are women of faith.
I will make a note at this point. Right after I found out that my husband had been molesting our grand-daughters, I seriously contemplated dropping out of this group. Because of my husband's crime, I felt I was not worthy to be a member, that I would be a black spot on the membership roll of a 100-year-old organization. I would be a disgrace. As ridiculous as that sounds now, as irrational, that is where I was emotionally at that time. Obviously, I didn't quit. I am thankful for the support they have provided.
Right after my meeting I went to see my foot doctor. He would probably prefer being called a podiatrist, but to me he is my foot doctor. Anyway, he took one look at my foot and almost jumped up and down in excitement. In the previous 1 1/2 weeks the healing has been unbelievable. I almost jumped up and down too because I no longer have to use a gauze pad and roll of gauze to bandage my foot. I can just put a band-aid on it. Hooray.
I will make a note at this point. I had band-aids on my foot for a period of 36 hours and ended up with an itchy rash all around the area. I had forgotten about my latex allergy. I then changed back to a gauze pad, but used paper tape to hold it in place instead of a gauze roll. This morning my foot itched where the paper tape was. Maybe I'm allergic to the adhesive on it. So, guess what? I'm back where I started. Gauze it is for the next couple weeks anyway. Hopefully, by my next visit, I will no longer have to bandage it at all. Gauze or not, I am so thankful for the fantastic healing that is taking place.
I did go to my grandson's basketball game Monday night. I love watching him play. Although small in stature, he is big on the court. His defensive playing was awesome. That little guy was able to shut down the baseline from the opponents who were sneaking in the back door. We were all disappointed that the team lost, but it was a well played game. You can't ask for more than that.
Yes, I will make a note here also. Not only was the game fun to watch, but I had so much fun sitting next to a couple high-school girls who were really into the game. (My granddaughter and her friend) They were cracking me up with their comments and antics like yelling out, "Way to go number 28, 10, 24,..." They then proceeded to call out all the jersey numbers plus any others that came to mind. I sat on my pillow chuckling and wondering, "Was I ever like that?" I don't think so. Would I like to be like that? YEAH. NO! Maybe. It was too much to think about; and I don't want to fry my brain. I still have a paper to write.
Wednesday I helped in a second grade classroom. Some kids who were having trouble with math needed extra help the teacher couldn't provide in a timely manner. It didn't take long to discover one student knew the answers, but wrote them wrong--17 as 71. That makes perfect sense to an 8/9 year old. As he explained, "You say seventeen, write the seven, then the teen." Another would make an immediate wild guess at the answer because he wanted to impress me with his speed, but get the answer wrong. If I had him think about it while I counted to 10, he usually got the right answer. What I discovered about each student will help the teacher as the year goes on.
Are you ready for my note? Teachers have an unbelievably hard job. My hour working one-on-one with a few students was an hour the teacher didn't have for one-on-one time in a busy classroom full of active kids. They need all the prayer they can get. Who are they? Teachers for sure, but don't forget the students.
Thursday was lunch day with a friend/neighbor. We both had foot surgery a week apart. Once I could drive, I would go to her house for lunch and a visit. We both were getting cabin fever by this time. Anyway, I took lunch over yesterday. After we had talked about quilting and knitting for awhile, she got me started knitting a pair of wool socks. I haven't knitted for years, at least nothing more difficult than a couple scarves and a few winter caps for dolls. And knitting on three needles? That hasn't been done for over 30 years. Last night I got most of the top ribbing done. The stitches aren't very even. I am still having trouble keeping an even tension on the yarn, especially when I go from one needle to the other. Then there are the occasional dropped stitches. I do catch them in time, but it sure slows down the progress.
NOTE! What was I thinking. I must have lost my mind on this one. I will not give up, though. I will count this trial as pure joy. In the end, I will be more mature and complete. At least that is what I read in the beginning of James' New Testament letter.
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 NIV
So there you have it. Some of this week's events, notes on the same, and a reminder to rejoice in those trials that come along. It is mainly through trials that we grow, mature, and become more complete in our faith.
Have a good day, a God day, and a day of rejoicing.
Jan
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
A Great Day Today
It is going to be a great day today. It started off with the garbage truck hauling off my can full of odoriferous November discards. (I have garbage pick-up once a month) I ate a bowl of delicious oatmeal with raisins and walnuts for breakfast, (old fashioned, steel cut oats--the best) My bed is made, foot bandaged, load of clothes drying, load of clothes washing, dishes washed, and cup of hot coffee sitting beside me waiting to be enjoyed. Oh yes, it is going to be a great day because it already is one.
I got everything accomplished up to this point without having to give myself a motivational pep talk. I just did what I saw needed to be done.
"Thank you, Lord. It feels good."
As I wait for the dryer to finish its hard work, I will write this blog. During the next load's tumbling sojourn, I will finish up December's budget and start a Christmas letter, then... I really don't know what I'll do.
"OK, Lord, what is on your agenda?"
Do I put away the Thanksgiving decorations and get out the Christmas stuff? Maybe. Do I do some "deep" cleaning? I don't think so. Do I organize my watercolor brushes, paints, etc., and get ready to paint? Well, that might be fun. Do I read the book I have slowly been working through? Eh.
"Lord, this will be a great day, no matter what I do. It will be a great day because you are in it with me."
I will finish December 4th off by watching my grandson play basketball on his home court. He wasn't able to practice the last few days or play last night because of an injured elbow. As you can imagine, he is anxious to get back on the court. Maybe tonight is the night. Go Team!! (Last night we won 66-65 in overtime. What an exciting game)
"Thank you, Lord, for all seven of my grand kids. They are awesome. They are blessings."
"So, Lord, as I go to remove a load of deliciously warm towels from the dryer, thank you for my morning. Thank you for my home with its warm towels. Thank you for the afternoon you will soon reveal. Thank you for the evening that is still many hours away for me, but here and now for you. You are so good to me. We will have a great day. I know it. Besides, the sun just burst through my windows. Yeah, God."
Have a great, God-filled day.
Jan
I got everything accomplished up to this point without having to give myself a motivational pep talk. I just did what I saw needed to be done.
"Thank you, Lord. It feels good."
As I wait for the dryer to finish its hard work, I will write this blog. During the next load's tumbling sojourn, I will finish up December's budget and start a Christmas letter, then... I really don't know what I'll do.
"OK, Lord, what is on your agenda?"
Do I put away the Thanksgiving decorations and get out the Christmas stuff? Maybe. Do I do some "deep" cleaning? I don't think so. Do I organize my watercolor brushes, paints, etc., and get ready to paint? Well, that might be fun. Do I read the book I have slowly been working through? Eh.
"Lord, this will be a great day, no matter what I do. It will be a great day because you are in it with me."
I will finish December 4th off by watching my grandson play basketball on his home court. He wasn't able to practice the last few days or play last night because of an injured elbow. As you can imagine, he is anxious to get back on the court. Maybe tonight is the night. Go Team!! (Last night we won 66-65 in overtime. What an exciting game)
"Thank you, Lord, for all seven of my grand kids. They are awesome. They are blessings."
"So, Lord, as I go to remove a load of deliciously warm towels from the dryer, thank you for my morning. Thank you for my home with its warm towels. Thank you for the afternoon you will soon reveal. Thank you for the evening that is still many hours away for me, but here and now for you. You are so good to me. We will have a great day. I know it. Besides, the sun just burst through my windows. Yeah, God."
Have a great, God-filled day.
Jan
Sunday, December 2, 2012
I Am Not A Shopper, or Am I?
If I ever had any doubts before, I have fewer now. After an entire day at a gianormous mall outside Portland, OR. I know I have never been, nor probably ever will be, a shopper! I suppose if I did more of it, I would be better at it. I might even start to enjoy the experience, but I doubt it. In reality, I rarely buy anything for myself. That means I seldom go shopping. As I think about it, I haven't been to our local mall since last Christmas season. I guess that is why yesterday's shopping adventure with my daughter and a bus load of excited women from my church was a culture shock for sure.
I had no idea that the "in" colors are eye-popping neons. Pinks, yellows, blues, greens and purples that will blind a person appeared in every kind of clothing imaginable. Tees, pants, exercise gear, socks, shoes, blouses, men's shirts, sweaters, slippers, and pajamas pulsated color from store windows. Life sized mannequins, smaller than life mannequins, torso only and leg only mannequins, each strategically positioned, assaulted me at every turn I made. I was overwhelmed with mind-boggling color. I needed sunglasses.
"Who needs mind-altering drugs when looking at a clothing display knocks you off your feet and into a psychedelic what-cha-ma-call-it?"
After seven plus hours of wandering the halls, avoiding shoppers, looking into windows, going into stores to find nothing, sitting on benches to rest tired feet and bodies, eating lunch, cinnabons, and pretzels, we dragged ourselves back onto the bus for the three hour return trip. All in all, it was an exhausting, but good day.
Here are some high lights.
People watching.
Shoes ranged from dirty sneakers to shiny neon-trimmed athletic shoes, from no-heel, short topped, suede boots to stiletto-heeled, knee-high, leather boots, from crazy two-inch soled, wedge heeled shoes to flip-flops. You name it, someone was wearing it.
I observed: zipped up, hooded, fur trimmed jackets; floor length gothic type coats; thin strapped whatevers; turtle necks; U of O tees and sweats; too tight, too low tops; social statement and advertising tees; and everything in between including neon.
There were baggy pants, skinny jeans, short shorts, long skirts and dresses, short skirts and dresses, skirts over jeans, skirts with leggings, sweat pants, workout pants, dockers, and suits. There were knit caps, baseball hats, felt hats, silly hats, and neon hats.
Long hair, short hair, curly hair, straight hair, blondes, brunettes, redheads, bald heads, and (wait for it) pulsating, neon hair. Pick me up from the floor again and buy me some sunglasses, please.
Laughing and crying babies, running and sleeping toddlers, excited schoolagers, texting teens, moms on missions, exhausted grandparents, and husbands waiting patiently on benches, I watched them all while they probably watched me.
Other than people, I enjoyed Christmas trees, Christmas decorations, Santa Clauses, and Christmas music. I also observed a group of dogs-in-training walking the mall with their handlers. They were beautiful animals.
But for me, there was one highlight. In a clothing accessory store, as I looked at earrings, necklaces, hair bands, etc, I noticed some money lying on the floor. There, by the hair bands, were two $20 bills folded in half. In an instant I knew they had fallen out of someone else's pocket. They weren't mine. I handed them to the cashier hoping the now-poorer shopper would return. When I checked in before leaving the mall, I was thrilled to hear that a mother-daughter due had return fairly soon after I had found it . The money had fallen out of the daughters pocket as she removed her cell phone. They were quite excited and relieved to recover the money.
Why was this a highlight? That one incident might be the reason I went to Portland. I truly believe the Lord used me to bless several people with that one simple act. I pray the clerk was blessed. She had never had anyone turn money or anything else in before, especially $40. I pray the mother and daughter were blessed. I pray their family members and friends who might hear of the lost being found and returned will be blessed. But, if none are, I was blessed by merely giving back something that was not mine to keep.
Now that I think about it, maybe I am a shopper after all.
Be blessed and be a blessing.
Jan
I had no idea that the "in" colors are eye-popping neons. Pinks, yellows, blues, greens and purples that will blind a person appeared in every kind of clothing imaginable. Tees, pants, exercise gear, socks, shoes, blouses, men's shirts, sweaters, slippers, and pajamas pulsated color from store windows. Life sized mannequins, smaller than life mannequins, torso only and leg only mannequins, each strategically positioned, assaulted me at every turn I made. I was overwhelmed with mind-boggling color. I needed sunglasses.
"Who needs mind-altering drugs when looking at a clothing display knocks you off your feet and into a psychedelic what-cha-ma-call-it?"
After seven plus hours of wandering the halls, avoiding shoppers, looking into windows, going into stores to find nothing, sitting on benches to rest tired feet and bodies, eating lunch, cinnabons, and pretzels, we dragged ourselves back onto the bus for the three hour return trip. All in all, it was an exhausting, but good day.
Here are some high lights.
People watching.
Shoes ranged from dirty sneakers to shiny neon-trimmed athletic shoes, from no-heel, short topped, suede boots to stiletto-heeled, knee-high, leather boots, from crazy two-inch soled, wedge heeled shoes to flip-flops. You name it, someone was wearing it.
I observed: zipped up, hooded, fur trimmed jackets; floor length gothic type coats; thin strapped whatevers; turtle necks; U of O tees and sweats; too tight, too low tops; social statement and advertising tees; and everything in between including neon.
There were baggy pants, skinny jeans, short shorts, long skirts and dresses, short skirts and dresses, skirts over jeans, skirts with leggings, sweat pants, workout pants, dockers, and suits. There were knit caps, baseball hats, felt hats, silly hats, and neon hats.
Long hair, short hair, curly hair, straight hair, blondes, brunettes, redheads, bald heads, and (wait for it) pulsating, neon hair. Pick me up from the floor again and buy me some sunglasses, please.
Laughing and crying babies, running and sleeping toddlers, excited schoolagers, texting teens, moms on missions, exhausted grandparents, and husbands waiting patiently on benches, I watched them all while they probably watched me.
Other than people, I enjoyed Christmas trees, Christmas decorations, Santa Clauses, and Christmas music. I also observed a group of dogs-in-training walking the mall with their handlers. They were beautiful animals.
But for me, there was one highlight. In a clothing accessory store, as I looked at earrings, necklaces, hair bands, etc, I noticed some money lying on the floor. There, by the hair bands, were two $20 bills folded in half. In an instant I knew they had fallen out of someone else's pocket. They weren't mine. I handed them to the cashier hoping the now-poorer shopper would return. When I checked in before leaving the mall, I was thrilled to hear that a mother-daughter due had return fairly soon after I had found it . The money had fallen out of the daughters pocket as she removed her cell phone. They were quite excited and relieved to recover the money.
Why was this a highlight? That one incident might be the reason I went to Portland. I truly believe the Lord used me to bless several people with that one simple act. I pray the clerk was blessed. She had never had anyone turn money or anything else in before, especially $40. I pray the mother and daughter were blessed. I pray their family members and friends who might hear of the lost being found and returned will be blessed. But, if none are, I was blessed by merely giving back something that was not mine to keep.
Now that I think about it, maybe I am a shopper after all.
Be blessed and be a blessing.
Jan
Friday, November 30, 2012
Lessons From The Everyday
I love watching wildlife in action. I am always amazed how God's creatures are given all they need to survive to the best of their abilities. What I watch these days are animals found on live, streaming internet feeds. From the comfort of my living room last week I watched mother vervet monkeys and their babies play at Pete's Pond in Botswana, Africa. One mother watched her baby play for awhile, then suddenly whisk it off to a different location. "Why?" I asked myself. "Why did she do that?"
I wondered how the impala, now standing belly deep in water, knew the jackals wouldn't follow him into that pond. I wondered how the yellow billed stork knew to use one foot to stir up the mud beneath his feet as he fished all night for his sustenance.
As I continue to watch the wildlife periodically each evening and ask myself questions, I marvel and think back to a series of events I observed a couple year ago while watching a pair of eagles care for their three offspring. Again, this was all on the internet.
Next to the live video feed of the nest was a comment area or chat room where watchers could comment and visit with each other. On this particular day, the viewers expressed concern about a strong wind storm predicted to blow through later in the day. That was to be followed by heavy rains. People worried that the nest wouldn't hold together. They wondered if the parents or the babies might be blown off the nest. "How will they stay dry?" they asked in unison.
Before our eyes, we watched the answers to those questions unfold. We watched mom and dad eagle rearrange the grass and small twigs in the middle of the nest. We watched it became deeper as the sides became higher. Then mom and dad worked over the entire nest. pushing and pulling the large branches that made up their nest and anchored it to the tree. When they were through, that nest wasn't going anywhere and neither were the kids.
Soon the wind raged, the tree swayed violently, but one parent, covering the eaglets and protecting them from the turmoil, remained steadfast on the nest. I wasn't happy when I had to leave for several hours. When I finally returned I was confused by what I saw. There on the nest was what looked like a piece of black plastic covering almost all the nest, but I saw no eagles. What had happened? If I was looking at a piece of plastic, why didn't it blow away? Why didn't it even flutter in the wind? I was not only confused, I was now also concerned.
Then came the amazing part. From out of the gray, stormy sky dropped dad with a small fish; and from one end of that "black plastic" appeared a white head. Then, in a blink of an eye, that black, wet, shiny object morphed into the mamma eagle. While she gracefully raised her beautiful head, folded her outstretched wings back against her sides, and pulled her legs back under her body, dad began pulling strips of flesh from the fish. Dinner was served.
In a matter of minutes the three eaglets had eaten their fill without getting very wet. Then mom and dad ate what they needed. Dinner was over, the fish was gone, but the storm wasn't. Mom flew off for her time of R & R and dad positioned himself over the nest. Slowly straddling the young'uns, he settled in. Once he was sure the kids were all comfy, he spread out his wings to cover as much of the nest as he could. He stretched out his neck and head to cover more. Then he finally fanned out his tail, covering even more. For the next few hours he remained in that position, protecting his offspring from the wind and rain while he, himself, soon looked like a piece of wet, black plastic.
As I watched this adventure unfold, I, like always, asked myself questions.
How did the eagles know a storm was coming?
How did they know to make the nest deeper?
How did they know to check the strength of the nest?
How did they know how to spread themselves out to keep the babies warm and dry?
How? How? How?
Then came the whys, the whats, and the what ifs.
This eagle incident took place during a time I felt like my life was being lived in a violent storm. Like the eagles, I was in a survival mode. I was beginning to ask myself my own questions--my own hows, whys, whats and what ifs.
In the midst of my awe and amazement at the eagles parenting instincts, in the midst of my own personal storm with my own personal questions, God spoke to me--not audibly, but in that still small voice of his. There were two things I slowly realized. One is this. With God as my father, I need never be fearful of the storms around me because he know the power of the storm. He knows my needs. He will do everything necessary to keep me safe. What must I do? Stay in the shelter of his wings.
The second is this. When mamma eagle went away for awhile, dad eagle took over, doing the very same thing the mother had done. She didn't leave them unprotected. She didn't have a hawk or sparrow babysit. She didn't send in the ranger to check out her nest. One just like her, one who had the very same heart for the babies, the same care and concern, was the one who took over for her. Isn't that what Jesus meant when he told the disciples he had to go away, but would send another in his place--one just like him?
And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; John 14:16
I wondered how the impala, now standing belly deep in water, knew the jackals wouldn't follow him into that pond. I wondered how the yellow billed stork knew to use one foot to stir up the mud beneath his feet as he fished all night for his sustenance.
As I continue to watch the wildlife periodically each evening and ask myself questions, I marvel and think back to a series of events I observed a couple year ago while watching a pair of eagles care for their three offspring. Again, this was all on the internet.
Next to the live video feed of the nest was a comment area or chat room where watchers could comment and visit with each other. On this particular day, the viewers expressed concern about a strong wind storm predicted to blow through later in the day. That was to be followed by heavy rains. People worried that the nest wouldn't hold together. They wondered if the parents or the babies might be blown off the nest. "How will they stay dry?" they asked in unison.
Before our eyes, we watched the answers to those questions unfold. We watched mom and dad eagle rearrange the grass and small twigs in the middle of the nest. We watched it became deeper as the sides became higher. Then mom and dad worked over the entire nest. pushing and pulling the large branches that made up their nest and anchored it to the tree. When they were through, that nest wasn't going anywhere and neither were the kids.
Soon the wind raged, the tree swayed violently, but one parent, covering the eaglets and protecting them from the turmoil, remained steadfast on the nest. I wasn't happy when I had to leave for several hours. When I finally returned I was confused by what I saw. There on the nest was what looked like a piece of black plastic covering almost all the nest, but I saw no eagles. What had happened? If I was looking at a piece of plastic, why didn't it blow away? Why didn't it even flutter in the wind? I was not only confused, I was now also concerned.
Then came the amazing part. From out of the gray, stormy sky dropped dad with a small fish; and from one end of that "black plastic" appeared a white head. Then, in a blink of an eye, that black, wet, shiny object morphed into the mamma eagle. While she gracefully raised her beautiful head, folded her outstretched wings back against her sides, and pulled her legs back under her body, dad began pulling strips of flesh from the fish. Dinner was served.
In a matter of minutes the three eaglets had eaten their fill without getting very wet. Then mom and dad ate what they needed. Dinner was over, the fish was gone, but the storm wasn't. Mom flew off for her time of R & R and dad positioned himself over the nest. Slowly straddling the young'uns, he settled in. Once he was sure the kids were all comfy, he spread out his wings to cover as much of the nest as he could. He stretched out his neck and head to cover more. Then he finally fanned out his tail, covering even more. For the next few hours he remained in that position, protecting his offspring from the wind and rain while he, himself, soon looked like a piece of wet, black plastic.
As I watched this adventure unfold, I, like always, asked myself questions.
How did the eagles know a storm was coming?
How did they know to make the nest deeper?
How did they know to check the strength of the nest?
How did they know how to spread themselves out to keep the babies warm and dry?
How? How? How?
Then came the whys, the whats, and the what ifs.
This eagle incident took place during a time I felt like my life was being lived in a violent storm. Like the eagles, I was in a survival mode. I was beginning to ask myself my own questions--my own hows, whys, whats and what ifs.
In the midst of my awe and amazement at the eagles parenting instincts, in the midst of my own personal storm with my own personal questions, God spoke to me--not audibly, but in that still small voice of his. There were two things I slowly realized. One is this. With God as my father, I need never be fearful of the storms around me because he know the power of the storm. He knows my needs. He will do everything necessary to keep me safe. What must I do? Stay in the shelter of his wings.
| |||
The second is this. When mamma eagle went away for awhile, dad eagle took over, doing the very same thing the mother had done. She didn't leave them unprotected. She didn't have a hawk or sparrow babysit. She didn't send in the ranger to check out her nest. One just like her, one who had the very same heart for the babies, the same care and concern, was the one who took over for her. Isn't that what Jesus meant when he told the disciples he had to go away, but would send another in his place--one just like him?
And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; John 14:16
There are several Greek words for "another", but the one Jesus used didn't mean another human, another male, another disciple, another Jew, it meant one exactly like himself, one who knows our fears, our needs, our desires, our heart. He sent a Comforter just like himself, part of himself, part of the Godhead. Wow!
I am so thankful for the lessons I learn from God's wonderful creation, and from this reminder he gave me today. Seek and find him in the everyday because what I may consider "everyday" is really God's special day.
May your day be a special God day.
Jan
Thursday, November 29, 2012
My Tulip Tree's Tales
I often wish my Tulip tree could talk. Oh the tales it could tell! It could tell nature stories of squirrels, deer, and woodpeckers. It could tell happy stories of laughing, shouting, climbing children. It could tell sad stories of tear-filled eyes and bloodied lips. It could tell of cats and dogs, slugs and scolding jays. Each story would be more wonderful than the last.
But let me first tell you about this wonderful tree. Whether you call it a Tulip tree or a Magnolia makes no difference. Whatever you call it doesn't change the fact that its first branches are just inches off the ground. These aren't puny, little, bendy branches. They are big, strong, mighty limbs that branch out into smaller limbs reaching ever skyward, limbs that bud out each spring. The resulting saucer-sized, rosy-pink blossoms are beautiful to behold. Then come the huge leaves that provide shade for my front porch all summer long. It is truly a wonderful, beautiful tree. I love it. I call her Maggie, as in Magnolia.
Anyway, if Maggie could talk, these are some of the stories she would love to tell you.She would be thrilled from the depths of her roots to the tip of her branches to tell you about a very special visitor, a little girl who couldn't walk. This delightful girl's wise parents let her sit on the ground at Maggie's base. From there the child gazed longingly at the uppermost branches, then slowly pulled herself onto the first available limb. There she sat, just inches off the ground, beaming from ear to ear. I don't think Maggie could see the huge smile on the child's face, but I know she could hear the excitement as the young one proclaimed, "This is the best day in my life. I climbed a tree!" I know Maggie would love to share that story.
Then there was the oldest grandson who often came to visit. He could climb into Maggie's arms like all the other cousins did. He, too, loved to play and swing and jump on her branches. But one day was very special for Maggie. This young lad, a lover of books, changed the junction of branches and trunk into a comfortable chair.This was not a ground-level chair. It was a greatly elevated throne. Then for a very long time he and Maggie just sat in solitude and silence, he, enthralled as he lived out the book's tale, she, lovingly providing shade on a sunny day for this grandson-child of mine. It was a moment in time that Maggie will always remember.
Then there was the sit-in, the protest, the demonstration by the grand-kids. You see, Maggie needed some pruning since some of her highest branches were resting on the roof of the garage and the house. Her branches also needed thinning to improve air circulation and light distribution. I'm sure Maggie understood what had to be done.
But then there was that one big limb, the one the kids loved to hang from before dropping to the ground, the one they all loved to sit on, side by side, and discuss the day's events, the one we adults were always bumping our heads on then declaring, "That limb has to go before it kills someone!" You know how adults talk.
So there they were, the macho guys with small chain saws and glasses of iced tea, standing on the porch discussing how to amputate the killer limb. Finally the decision was reached, and the men marched off to tackle the gruesome project. They were not prepared for what confronted them. There on that limb sat the children with arms crossed and defiant looks on their faces. "You can't cut off our favorite limb!" they exclaimed. "We will sit here all night!"
I know Maggie would love to share that story because she still laughs and rustles her leaves whenever someone bumps their head on her limb and declares, "That limb has to go before it kills someone!" I know she truly loves those children who loved her enough to stage a sit-in on her behalf.
Another story that makes Maggie laugh is about the dachshund that used to live at the house. He loved to chase the cat that also live there. He was an inside dog and she was an outside cat. Whenever the opportunity arose, that short little dog would take off after the speedy cat who always shot up Maggie's trunk, tickling her in the process. Kitty, from her perch on the roof, would look down at the mutt and grin. I know that is what she was doing.
That brown pup, now worked into a frenzy, always attempted to climb up Maggie's branches too. He had no trouble getting onto the first one, the one just inches off the ground, but always toppled off as he attempted to reach the next level. All who watched this comedy routine chuckled silently, but I know the sound of Maggie's rustling leaves was her way of joining in with our glee.
I have know Maggie for only fourteen years now. I know many of her stories during that time, but I have no idea of the years before I got here. I don't know about the other kids who played in her branches, the squirrels who ran up her trunk, the woodpeckers who drilled holes looking for bugs. I know none of those stories, but wish I did. Maybe someday she will tell them to me. In the meantime, I will enjoy her God-given beauty while watching new stories unfold.
Enjoy God's blessings this day.
Jan
But let me first tell you about this wonderful tree. Whether you call it a Tulip tree or a Magnolia makes no difference. Whatever you call it doesn't change the fact that its first branches are just inches off the ground. These aren't puny, little, bendy branches. They are big, strong, mighty limbs that branch out into smaller limbs reaching ever skyward, limbs that bud out each spring. The resulting saucer-sized, rosy-pink blossoms are beautiful to behold. Then come the huge leaves that provide shade for my front porch all summer long. It is truly a wonderful, beautiful tree. I love it. I call her Maggie, as in Magnolia.
Anyway, if Maggie could talk, these are some of the stories she would love to tell you.She would be thrilled from the depths of her roots to the tip of her branches to tell you about a very special visitor, a little girl who couldn't walk. This delightful girl's wise parents let her sit on the ground at Maggie's base. From there the child gazed longingly at the uppermost branches, then slowly pulled herself onto the first available limb. There she sat, just inches off the ground, beaming from ear to ear. I don't think Maggie could see the huge smile on the child's face, but I know she could hear the excitement as the young one proclaimed, "This is the best day in my life. I climbed a tree!" I know Maggie would love to share that story.
Then there was the oldest grandson who often came to visit. He could climb into Maggie's arms like all the other cousins did. He, too, loved to play and swing and jump on her branches. But one day was very special for Maggie. This young lad, a lover of books, changed the junction of branches and trunk into a comfortable chair.This was not a ground-level chair. It was a greatly elevated throne. Then for a very long time he and Maggie just sat in solitude and silence, he, enthralled as he lived out the book's tale, she, lovingly providing shade on a sunny day for this grandson-child of mine. It was a moment in time that Maggie will always remember.
Then there was the sit-in, the protest, the demonstration by the grand-kids. You see, Maggie needed some pruning since some of her highest branches were resting on the roof of the garage and the house. Her branches also needed thinning to improve air circulation and light distribution. I'm sure Maggie understood what had to be done.
But then there was that one big limb, the one the kids loved to hang from before dropping to the ground, the one they all loved to sit on, side by side, and discuss the day's events, the one we adults were always bumping our heads on then declaring, "That limb has to go before it kills someone!" You know how adults talk.
So there they were, the macho guys with small chain saws and glasses of iced tea, standing on the porch discussing how to amputate the killer limb. Finally the decision was reached, and the men marched off to tackle the gruesome project. They were not prepared for what confronted them. There on that limb sat the children with arms crossed and defiant looks on their faces. "You can't cut off our favorite limb!" they exclaimed. "We will sit here all night!"
I know Maggie would love to share that story because she still laughs and rustles her leaves whenever someone bumps their head on her limb and declares, "That limb has to go before it kills someone!" I know she truly loves those children who loved her enough to stage a sit-in on her behalf.
Another story that makes Maggie laugh is about the dachshund that used to live at the house. He loved to chase the cat that also live there. He was an inside dog and she was an outside cat. Whenever the opportunity arose, that short little dog would take off after the speedy cat who always shot up Maggie's trunk, tickling her in the process. Kitty, from her perch on the roof, would look down at the mutt and grin. I know that is what she was doing.
That brown pup, now worked into a frenzy, always attempted to climb up Maggie's branches too. He had no trouble getting onto the first one, the one just inches off the ground, but always toppled off as he attempted to reach the next level. All who watched this comedy routine chuckled silently, but I know the sound of Maggie's rustling leaves was her way of joining in with our glee.
I have know Maggie for only fourteen years now. I know many of her stories during that time, but I have no idea of the years before I got here. I don't know about the other kids who played in her branches, the squirrels who ran up her trunk, the woodpeckers who drilled holes looking for bugs. I know none of those stories, but wish I did. Maybe someday she will tell them to me. In the meantime, I will enjoy her God-given beauty while watching new stories unfold.
Enjoy God's blessings this day.
Jan
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
My History, His Story
I spent two hours this morning doing something I should have been doing every day, that is saving what I write. Everything is saved on the Blogspot site only. I have chosen not to save what I write onto my laptop because I am lazy. That is probably not the wisest way to do things.
Also not very wise is taking "lazy" a step further and not saving to an external device like a memory stick of some sort. This last Spring when my laptop crashed I lost everything on it. The hard-drive's memory could not be accessed at all. So long years of work! Well, as of noon today, every blog I have written on my new laptop is backed up on both my machine and a memory stick. Now I just need to save as I go.
BUT, is it necessary to save what I write? That is a question I began asking myself when my computer first crashed. I wondered if my thoughts, musings, questions, emotions, decisions, hopes, dreams, fears, confusions etc., etc., were worth saving for who-knows-what? I wondered if they were meant merely as a tool to help me deal with everything going on around me, but not for anything else. I wondered if maybe I needed to just write for the moment, for the new prospective, for the insight, or for my therapist, then delete it all. Well, I have come to believe that I need to save what I write for several reasons. Here they are.
1. My writing reveals what the Lord has done in me. It is only by reading what I wrote during the past years, months, and weeks that I can see how far I have come and the work He has done in me. I also see more and more clearly that I have not made this journey by myself. My family has played a major role as have my friends and church family. Whenever I reread my writings, I discover more to praise and thank him for.
2. My history is His Story. From time to time someone reminds me that my life (my history) is not being experienced in a vacuum. My family is watching and learning by observing the way I travel. So it seems reasonable that since my history is really His story (God's story in my life) I need to share it in my own words so others may see God in action as I have. I want my children, my grand-children, and my great-grandchildren to see what wonders my God can, and will do in the midst of unfathomable circumstances. I want them to see the challenges God met, the fears He removed, the confusion He clarified, the anger He removed, the depression He lifted, the hope and joy He poured out. I want them to see, feel, and experience my living Lord and Savior, my Jesus Christ. To do that I must write, and I must save what I write.
3. That others may be encouraged. It is not only family members who watch, wonder, and learn from seeing what I am doing and how I am doing it, but also friends and outsiders. My life is being shared whether I know it or not. I pray that not only my actions, but also my writing will shine light into darkness, boost strength during times of weakness, and encourage the discouraged.
4. That my joys, delights, and humor may be shared. Laughter is such an important part of my life although it is not obvious to many. By writing about those things that amuse me, cause me to laugh, or bring me joy, part of my very essence is shared with others. Who knows, it may bring a smile to someone else's face. If not, I still got a smile by sharing it.
5. That God may be glorified. Need I say more?
And there you have it--the reasons I must save my writings. They may not be earth shaking reasons, but I feel they are important reasons. Yes, they are important to me, but I think it is important that we each pass down our history, our God story, with those we love.
The Bible is full of stories like ours'. The Abrahams, Isaacs, and Jacobs of history had their times of unbelievable faith as well as times they fell flat on their faces. The same is true of the Sarahs, Rahabs, and Marthas. Each of us is no different from these men and women of old. We, like they, have our ups and our downs, our good times and bad, our faith and doubts. And, we also have an unchanging, forever loving, ever leading God. Let's proclaim it for all to hear.
Let our history be His story to be told.
I can't help but end with this: It doesn't really matter what I save. What really matter is JESUS SAVES.
Be blessed.
Jan
Also not very wise is taking "lazy" a step further and not saving to an external device like a memory stick of some sort. This last Spring when my laptop crashed I lost everything on it. The hard-drive's memory could not be accessed at all. So long years of work! Well, as of noon today, every blog I have written on my new laptop is backed up on both my machine and a memory stick. Now I just need to save as I go.
BUT, is it necessary to save what I write? That is a question I began asking myself when my computer first crashed. I wondered if my thoughts, musings, questions, emotions, decisions, hopes, dreams, fears, confusions etc., etc., were worth saving for who-knows-what? I wondered if they were meant merely as a tool to help me deal with everything going on around me, but not for anything else. I wondered if maybe I needed to just write for the moment, for the new prospective, for the insight, or for my therapist, then delete it all. Well, I have come to believe that I need to save what I write for several reasons. Here they are.
1. My writing reveals what the Lord has done in me. It is only by reading what I wrote during the past years, months, and weeks that I can see how far I have come and the work He has done in me. I also see more and more clearly that I have not made this journey by myself. My family has played a major role as have my friends and church family. Whenever I reread my writings, I discover more to praise and thank him for.
2. My history is His Story. From time to time someone reminds me that my life (my history) is not being experienced in a vacuum. My family is watching and learning by observing the way I travel. So it seems reasonable that since my history is really His story (God's story in my life) I need to share it in my own words so others may see God in action as I have. I want my children, my grand-children, and my great-grandchildren to see what wonders my God can, and will do in the midst of unfathomable circumstances. I want them to see the challenges God met, the fears He removed, the confusion He clarified, the anger He removed, the depression He lifted, the hope and joy He poured out. I want them to see, feel, and experience my living Lord and Savior, my Jesus Christ. To do that I must write, and I must save what I write.
3. That others may be encouraged. It is not only family members who watch, wonder, and learn from seeing what I am doing and how I am doing it, but also friends and outsiders. My life is being shared whether I know it or not. I pray that not only my actions, but also my writing will shine light into darkness, boost strength during times of weakness, and encourage the discouraged.
4. That my joys, delights, and humor may be shared. Laughter is such an important part of my life although it is not obvious to many. By writing about those things that amuse me, cause me to laugh, or bring me joy, part of my very essence is shared with others. Who knows, it may bring a smile to someone else's face. If not, I still got a smile by sharing it.
5. That God may be glorified. Need I say more?
And there you have it--the reasons I must save my writings. They may not be earth shaking reasons, but I feel they are important reasons. Yes, they are important to me, but I think it is important that we each pass down our history, our God story, with those we love.
The Bible is full of stories like ours'. The Abrahams, Isaacs, and Jacobs of history had their times of unbelievable faith as well as times they fell flat on their faces. The same is true of the Sarahs, Rahabs, and Marthas. Each of us is no different from these men and women of old. We, like they, have our ups and our downs, our good times and bad, our faith and doubts. And, we also have an unchanging, forever loving, ever leading God. Let's proclaim it for all to hear.
Let our history be His story to be told.
I can't help but end with this: It doesn't really matter what I save. What really matter is JESUS SAVES.
Be blessed.
Jan
Monday, November 19, 2012
Another Storm, But Oh So Different
What a wild, blustery, rainy day in the Pacific Northwest. Wowser. I woke up to gray clouds and drizzle. That's nothing new. Then, around ten a.m., right when I was changing my sheets and listening to the news on the radio, the radio became silent. The room darkened. Wouldn't you know it, the power had gone off. Oh well, I might as well take my shower now instead of later. Right. When the power goes out around here, we all lose our water supply too. If I had been aware of the storm's onset, I would have filled some containers with water. But no, I was caught off guard. That was not particularly good. So, what do I do now?
Well, last night I decided to get myself organized, so I made my to-do-list. I had already washed my bedding and gotten the bed remade. I was going to clean the bathrooms and mop the floors. I couldn't do that because I had no water available. I was going to scrub down my kitchen counters and mop that floor. No on that one too. I was going to clean out my fridge and freezer. Since I didn't know how long the power would be out, I certainly didn't want to keep the refrigerator doors open any longer than necessary. My last power outage lasted several days.
About the only thing I could do was read, or so I thought at first. I had a problem though. The sky was almost black. That meant it was too dark inside to read, so I got a blanket and some pillows, propped myself up in the corner of my couch, and watched the storm rage. At one point it was raining so hard that the water was pouring over the sides of the gutters making them look like Niagara Falls. I looked at the downspouts to see of they were clogged. They weren't. They looked like fire hoses opened full force. Water, water everywhere. I loved it.
The trees were going wild. The limbs of the spruce didn't know which way to go, so they went every direction at once. The magnolia tree which still had at least half its leaves last night, soon was stripped practically bare. I even had leaves on my porch that came from who-knows-where. They were from no tree in my yard.
As I watched the storm rage I kept wondering if I was sitting in a safe place. Some of my trees could decided to come toppling down. After all, we have had ten inches of rain so far this month. As I thought of my surrounding trees, I decided that each one could potentially hit the house. It all depended which direction any 50 mph gust was coming from. I had no control over any of that, so I kept enjoying the storm.
Finally, after almost two hours, it had become light enough to read. I fixed myself a plate of crackers as well as some craisins, grabbed myself a bottle of water, got my book, and settled in to read the afternoon away. Wouldn't you know it, I had finished my third page when the lights came on, the furnace started, and the radio began playing.
Did I clean the bathrooms? No. Did I clean my kitchen? No. Instead I spent most of the afternoon on my laptop checking out a local scanner website that has police and fire reports. Power was lost in most of the county. Trucks were blown over, roads, homes, and fields flooded, and culverts caved in. All in all, our area had three inches of water in a two hour period. It was pretty impressive.
A storm like this was hard to watch a couple years ago because the helplessness of the trees, the violence of the wind and rain, and the deafening noise all echoed my own feelings. But this storm, this time, was fun to watch. I felt safe. I felt warm and secure, I felt anchored. The difference? The Lord's healing. I can truly rejoice tonight about weathering an awesome storm without experiencing it at a gut-wrenching, pain inducing level. God is so good.
Have a God evening. I know I will.
Jan
Well, last night I decided to get myself organized, so I made my to-do-list. I had already washed my bedding and gotten the bed remade. I was going to clean the bathrooms and mop the floors. I couldn't do that because I had no water available. I was going to scrub down my kitchen counters and mop that floor. No on that one too. I was going to clean out my fridge and freezer. Since I didn't know how long the power would be out, I certainly didn't want to keep the refrigerator doors open any longer than necessary. My last power outage lasted several days.
About the only thing I could do was read, or so I thought at first. I had a problem though. The sky was almost black. That meant it was too dark inside to read, so I got a blanket and some pillows, propped myself up in the corner of my couch, and watched the storm rage. At one point it was raining so hard that the water was pouring over the sides of the gutters making them look like Niagara Falls. I looked at the downspouts to see of they were clogged. They weren't. They looked like fire hoses opened full force. Water, water everywhere. I loved it.
The trees were going wild. The limbs of the spruce didn't know which way to go, so they went every direction at once. The magnolia tree which still had at least half its leaves last night, soon was stripped practically bare. I even had leaves on my porch that came from who-knows-where. They were from no tree in my yard.
As I watched the storm rage I kept wondering if I was sitting in a safe place. Some of my trees could decided to come toppling down. After all, we have had ten inches of rain so far this month. As I thought of my surrounding trees, I decided that each one could potentially hit the house. It all depended which direction any 50 mph gust was coming from. I had no control over any of that, so I kept enjoying the storm.
Finally, after almost two hours, it had become light enough to read. I fixed myself a plate of crackers as well as some craisins, grabbed myself a bottle of water, got my book, and settled in to read the afternoon away. Wouldn't you know it, I had finished my third page when the lights came on, the furnace started, and the radio began playing.
Did I clean the bathrooms? No. Did I clean my kitchen? No. Instead I spent most of the afternoon on my laptop checking out a local scanner website that has police and fire reports. Power was lost in most of the county. Trucks were blown over, roads, homes, and fields flooded, and culverts caved in. All in all, our area had three inches of water in a two hour period. It was pretty impressive.
A storm like this was hard to watch a couple years ago because the helplessness of the trees, the violence of the wind and rain, and the deafening noise all echoed my own feelings. But this storm, this time, was fun to watch. I felt safe. I felt warm and secure, I felt anchored. The difference? The Lord's healing. I can truly rejoice tonight about weathering an awesome storm without experiencing it at a gut-wrenching, pain inducing level. God is so good.
Have a God evening. I know I will.
Jan
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Autumn Leaves
Do you want to hear something very sad? Probably not, but I will tell you anyway. I have two big piles of Magnolia leaves plus all the "whatever they are" leaves that haven't been raked yet, and no one can play in them because of the rain. Now, to me, that is sad.
I remember growing up in Nevada where our annual rainfall was 2-3 inches. Since our trees were primarily elm and poplar, which have smallish leaves, it took a lot of leaves to make a pile to brag about. That explains why we didn't make piles. We made floor plans on the lawn instead. We had a living room with a vacant spot which was the front door. We had a dining room and kitchen. We had hall ways and bedrooms and (giggle, giggle) bathrooms. We arranged leaves for furniture, fireplaces, and appliances. Quite often the leaves were merely side-by-side instead of piled up, but we had our house. AND (drum roll please) the leaves never got wet.
We had so much fun until the cheating began. You know how siblings are. Some of us would take leaves from someone else's bedroom to remodel our own. If we didn't increase our square footage, we enlarged our bed or added a dresser. After a couple hours of building, playing, rebuilding, and taking leaves that weren't ours, someone would finally get angry, kick leaves from one end of the yard to the other, and stomp off. That ended the play for the day. We could always play tomorrow, or the next day or the next year. And we did, until we out-grew our childhood.
Walking to school in autumn was my favorite thing to do. Yes, we did walk to school. It was a mile or so across town. Instead of walking on the sidewalks like we were supposed to, we would walk in the street beside the curbs because that is where all the yellow, crunchy leaves were congregated. What a wonderful sound they made as we shuffled our feet through them, kicked then into the air, or threw them at each other. The sound of leaves was accompanied by laughter of four little kids. Fun, fun, fun. What happy memories!
I guess that is why I feel like my leaves have gone to waste. They aren't very crunchy anymore. They aren't kick-able Well they are, but they just cling to your shoes in a big glob. And they certainly aren't pretty. They are black and brown and somewhat mushy all because of the rain. I'll have to admit, though, as much as soggy leaves sadden me, I do love the rain.
I was hoping the rain would be short lived, that the sun would return and the leaves dry out. Our Thanksgiving gathering would be a perfect time to re-scatter leaves. I'm sorry that won't happen this year. The rain is here to stay for at least a week. I guess I will have to be satisfied by looking at a photo album with pictures of the one autumn we had sunshine for days while the leave were in a huge pile. That is the year the kids and adults alike played all afternoon. They ran through the pile. They jumped into it. They hid under it. They threw the leaves at each other, and threw each other into it. No one had out-grown their childhood on that day.
Just like my brothers, sister and I had done sixty years ago, the current generations laughed, shouted, played, and made wonderful memories. Fun, fun, fun. I am so glad I have the photos of that wonderful day.
I hope you had a God day. I had a wonderful day that included a Holiday Brunch with women from my church. God is good.
Jan
I remember growing up in Nevada where our annual rainfall was 2-3 inches. Since our trees were primarily elm and poplar, which have smallish leaves, it took a lot of leaves to make a pile to brag about. That explains why we didn't make piles. We made floor plans on the lawn instead. We had a living room with a vacant spot which was the front door. We had a dining room and kitchen. We had hall ways and bedrooms and (giggle, giggle) bathrooms. We arranged leaves for furniture, fireplaces, and appliances. Quite often the leaves were merely side-by-side instead of piled up, but we had our house. AND (drum roll please) the leaves never got wet.
We had so much fun until the cheating began. You know how siblings are. Some of us would take leaves from someone else's bedroom to remodel our own. If we didn't increase our square footage, we enlarged our bed or added a dresser. After a couple hours of building, playing, rebuilding, and taking leaves that weren't ours, someone would finally get angry, kick leaves from one end of the yard to the other, and stomp off. That ended the play for the day. We could always play tomorrow, or the next day or the next year. And we did, until we out-grew our childhood.
Walking to school in autumn was my favorite thing to do. Yes, we did walk to school. It was a mile or so across town. Instead of walking on the sidewalks like we were supposed to, we would walk in the street beside the curbs because that is where all the yellow, crunchy leaves were congregated. What a wonderful sound they made as we shuffled our feet through them, kicked then into the air, or threw them at each other. The sound of leaves was accompanied by laughter of four little kids. Fun, fun, fun. What happy memories!
I guess that is why I feel like my leaves have gone to waste. They aren't very crunchy anymore. They aren't kick-able Well they are, but they just cling to your shoes in a big glob. And they certainly aren't pretty. They are black and brown and somewhat mushy all because of the rain. I'll have to admit, though, as much as soggy leaves sadden me, I do love the rain.
I was hoping the rain would be short lived, that the sun would return and the leaves dry out. Our Thanksgiving gathering would be a perfect time to re-scatter leaves. I'm sorry that won't happen this year. The rain is here to stay for at least a week. I guess I will have to be satisfied by looking at a photo album with pictures of the one autumn we had sunshine for days while the leave were in a huge pile. That is the year the kids and adults alike played all afternoon. They ran through the pile. They jumped into it. They hid under it. They threw the leaves at each other, and threw each other into it. No one had out-grown their childhood on that day.
Just like my brothers, sister and I had done sixty years ago, the current generations laughed, shouted, played, and made wonderful memories. Fun, fun, fun. I am so glad I have the photos of that wonderful day.
I hope you had a God day. I had a wonderful day that included a Holiday Brunch with women from my church. God is good.
Jan
Thursday, November 15, 2012
I'm A Rejoicing Ol' Grump
I'm a grump, I'm a grump. I'm a grouchy ol' grump.
I'm a grump in the guise of a Grandma.
I've a stuffed up, red nose, a wheezy old chest, a cough and a sneeze and a chill.
So now that I've ruled all my allergies out, the verdict is in, and I'm ill.
My eyes are both red, they want to close up, There's an ache across my whole noggin.
I lay on the couch, wrapped up to keep warm, thinking, "Why in the world am I bloggin'?".
And then there's my foot that is starting to hurt. It's telling me it is not happy.
I now have more feeling, not alot, but enough, to know that right now it feels cra***.
Yes, it is healing, and yes that is good. The blood vessels and nerves are a-growing.
But the Dr, he prodded, he scraped and he cut, then stopped when he had the blood flowing.
The more blood that's flows, the faster it heals, Doc's hoping it's all done by Christmas.
With nerves growing too, I should give a cheer, but pain is not on my wishlist.
While Dr. was scraping, and blood was appearing, I really could feel nothing,
But here on the couch, five hours later, it's throbbing, it's throbbing, it's throbbing.
Hold on to your hats, shout out a "Praise God," Guess what, no skin graft is needed.
I do so rejoice over everyone's prayers that certainly were not unheeded.
Now I'll blow my nose again, and cough and sneeze and wheeze.
Then trundle off to beddie-bye, praying, "Lord, heal quickly, please."
I hope you had a God day. Mine has ended up that way.
Jan
I'm a grump in the guise of a Grandma.
I've a stuffed up, red nose, a wheezy old chest, a cough and a sneeze and a chill.
So now that I've ruled all my allergies out, the verdict is in, and I'm ill.
My eyes are both red, they want to close up, There's an ache across my whole noggin.
I lay on the couch, wrapped up to keep warm, thinking, "Why in the world am I bloggin'?".
And then there's my foot that is starting to hurt. It's telling me it is not happy.
I now have more feeling, not alot, but enough, to know that right now it feels cra***.
Yes, it is healing, and yes that is good. The blood vessels and nerves are a-growing.
But the Dr, he prodded, he scraped and he cut, then stopped when he had the blood flowing.
The more blood that's flows, the faster it heals, Doc's hoping it's all done by Christmas.
With nerves growing too, I should give a cheer, but pain is not on my wishlist.
While Dr. was scraping, and blood was appearing, I really could feel nothing,
But here on the couch, five hours later, it's throbbing, it's throbbing, it's throbbing.
Hold on to your hats, shout out a "Praise God," Guess what, no skin graft is needed.
I do so rejoice over everyone's prayers that certainly were not unheeded.
Now I'll blow my nose again, and cough and sneeze and wheeze.
Then trundle off to beddie-bye, praying, "Lord, heal quickly, please."
I hope you had a God day. Mine has ended up that way.
Jan
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Rejoice
"This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." I love this scripture. Since my Bible is still in the car from Sunday, I will have to go get it to double check the reference. Wait a minute, I'll see what kind of help Google is. Psalm 118:24. That was easy, wasn't it?
This is a beautiful day. I awoke to a clear sky and thick ground fog. That gives such a mysterious feeling. I could barely see the rhodies outside my bedroom window, the apple trees from my kitchen window, or my neighbor's house across the street. What I could clearly see was the brightening sky and bright sun peeking through the towering hemlocks.
I could truly rejoice and be glad in it.
Now that I have eaten breakfast and showered, the fog is completely gone and everything is bathed in sunlight, glorious sun.
It is on days like this I am reminded that no matter how dark and unclear my world may seem and how uncertain my steps are when I can see only inches ahead, the heavens are ablaze in Glory, a glory that can dissipate the darkest gloom, a glory that has a name--Jesus, Adoni, Comforter.
"This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
Have a God day everyone. I sure plan to.
Jan
This is a beautiful day. I awoke to a clear sky and thick ground fog. That gives such a mysterious feeling. I could barely see the rhodies outside my bedroom window, the apple trees from my kitchen window, or my neighbor's house across the street. What I could clearly see was the brightening sky and bright sun peeking through the towering hemlocks.
I could truly rejoice and be glad in it.
Now that I have eaten breakfast and showered, the fog is completely gone and everything is bathed in sunlight, glorious sun.
It is on days like this I am reminded that no matter how dark and unclear my world may seem and how uncertain my steps are when I can see only inches ahead, the heavens are ablaze in Glory, a glory that can dissipate the darkest gloom, a glory that has a name--Jesus, Adoni, Comforter.
"This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
Have a God day everyone. I sure plan to.
Jan
Monday, November 12, 2012
They Grow Up So Fast.
Everything is ready I think. The table is set for four with flatware, plates, napkins, juice glasses, butter and syrup. The counter holds bowls, and cups of: melted butter, flour and other dry ingredients, soured milk substituted for buttermilk, and whipped egg whites. They just need to be combined into a wonderful, light batter. The griddle is ready to cook eggs and the waffle iron just needs to be plugged in. The fridge contains cold grape juice and four glass dishes of honey flavored Greek yogurt with mandarin oranges decorating the top. Everything is ready.
So why am I not cooking? I am waiting for some grand-kids to drive themselves over here. Yesterday was a big day for them. At least in my book it was a big day. Not only did they come home from church without their parents, who headed to the big city for their own couple days away, but spent the afternoon home alone, fixed their own lunch and dinner, drove themselves to youth group and back, stayed alone all night, and are heading over here for breakfast whenever the last one wakes up.
I checked in with them a couple times during the afternoon and evening. They knew they had the option of having me over for awhile or even staying overnight. They also had the option of coming to my house. They assured me they were fine. I had to keep reminding myself that two of the three were very responsible teenagers. They even called me when they headed out for the church, and again when they got home. How in the world did they get so old and so responsible?
Now, at 9:30 am, I just got a call that the boys are up and ready, but sister is still sleeping. They will wake her up soon with the option of sleeping longer or coming with them. They will take some food to her if she still wants to sleep. I can just picture those guys figuring out their options and coming to a solutions.
As I wait, it is nice to have this "down" time to write. I'm not sure what I will be doing after the kids leave today. In my mind there are so many possibilities--everything from raking leaves in the drizzle to vacuuming in the warm house. From working on a jigsaw puzzle a granddaughter started to cleaning toilets and mopping bathroom floors. From watching a video to washing the inside of some of my windows. Of course I can do some of each or none of any.
It is nice that I have no "want to" or "need to" items on my list today. Enjoying my grand-kids is what it is all about. Yesterday they were chattering, smiling toddlers. Today they are scholars, athletes, artists enjoying their teen and pre-teen years. Tomorrow they will be married with children of their own. As I said, today is all about enjoying them as they are this day. Tomorrow these delightful kids will be gone. It will be interesting to see who God is creating them to be tomorrow.
Have a God day, all. I know my grand-kids and I will.
(The boys left a few minutes ago. We sat here for over an hour playing MindTrap, a fun, brain teaser, mind boggling game. They left to check on their sister who chose to sleep some more. Then they will straighten up the house and get their homework done. Their parents will be proud of them. I know I am.)
Jan
So why am I not cooking? I am waiting for some grand-kids to drive themselves over here. Yesterday was a big day for them. At least in my book it was a big day. Not only did they come home from church without their parents, who headed to the big city for their own couple days away, but spent the afternoon home alone, fixed their own lunch and dinner, drove themselves to youth group and back, stayed alone all night, and are heading over here for breakfast whenever the last one wakes up.
I checked in with them a couple times during the afternoon and evening. They knew they had the option of having me over for awhile or even staying overnight. They also had the option of coming to my house. They assured me they were fine. I had to keep reminding myself that two of the three were very responsible teenagers. They even called me when they headed out for the church, and again when they got home. How in the world did they get so old and so responsible?
Now, at 9:30 am, I just got a call that the boys are up and ready, but sister is still sleeping. They will wake her up soon with the option of sleeping longer or coming with them. They will take some food to her if she still wants to sleep. I can just picture those guys figuring out their options and coming to a solutions.
As I wait, it is nice to have this "down" time to write. I'm not sure what I will be doing after the kids leave today. In my mind there are so many possibilities--everything from raking leaves in the drizzle to vacuuming in the warm house. From working on a jigsaw puzzle a granddaughter started to cleaning toilets and mopping bathroom floors. From watching a video to washing the inside of some of my windows. Of course I can do some of each or none of any.
It is nice that I have no "want to" or "need to" items on my list today. Enjoying my grand-kids is what it is all about. Yesterday they were chattering, smiling toddlers. Today they are scholars, athletes, artists enjoying their teen and pre-teen years. Tomorrow they will be married with children of their own. As I said, today is all about enjoying them as they are this day. Tomorrow these delightful kids will be gone. It will be interesting to see who God is creating them to be tomorrow.
Have a God day, all. I know my grand-kids and I will.
(The boys left a few minutes ago. We sat here for over an hour playing MindTrap, a fun, brain teaser, mind boggling game. They left to check on their sister who chose to sleep some more. Then they will straighten up the house and get their homework done. Their parents will be proud of them. I know I am.)
Jan
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Veterans' Day Thoughts
Veterans' Day is a day that is easy to take for granted; so are the men and women who have served and are serving our country. I have no idea what it cost in human lives and family sacrifice for me to get an education, vote, own property, drive a car, worship, or even express my ideas in writing on the internet. They are all part of my daily life, yet millions of men and women around the world(especially women) can do none of those things. My freedoms and privileges came at great cost. I must never forget that.
My grandfather served in the army during WWI, my dad in the navy during WWII as well as an uncle in the army and an uncle in the navy, my brother in the army in Viet Nam, a son in the air force and niece in the army during Desert Storm, and a grandson was just commissioned into the Air Force. They all serve/d however they could, where ever they were sent, and did what they were assigned to do. Thank you, family. I'm proud of you.
This Veterans' Day sermon at church was so good. We were reminded that no matter who is in office, what initiatives are passed, what storms rage and ravage our cities, what wars tear apart out world, what illnesses tear apart out lives, God is Supreme. He, and only He, is our source of Hope.
As God's sons and daughters, we will experience trials, tribulations, and persecution. That is a given, but so is God's desire for us to live our lives abundantly. That can't be done through politics, wars, fancy medicine, or more and more laws. It can only be done by El Elyon, Supreme God.
The Environmental Protection Agency will never be able to produce a perfect planet. Since the fall of man and our failure to dress, till and keep the earth, the world has been agonizing and longing to return to what it was when it was created. It will continue to act in ways we can never understand until the Creator restores it. Not man.
While we mope, despair, and cry out, "God, what is going on here? Why are you allowing this? Why aren't you doing something about this?" God continues working, fighting for his will to be done on earth as it is in heaven, drawing people closer to himself, people who will be obedient. El Elyon, Supreme God, is the only one in whom there is life abundant, in whom there is hope.
So, as I remember those who fought for our country, for what they believed in, my family members included, thank you for doing your part. Now I must fight for what I believe in, do my part with what I have to extend the kingdom. But I must never forget that God is in control of all things including governments. Fear and despair will accomplish nothing. The greatest thing I can do right now is pray for our elected leaders, fight diligently where I am stationed, and watch God work.
Thankful for our veterans,
Jan
My grandfather served in the army during WWI, my dad in the navy during WWII as well as an uncle in the army and an uncle in the navy, my brother in the army in Viet Nam, a son in the air force and niece in the army during Desert Storm, and a grandson was just commissioned into the Air Force. They all serve/d however they could, where ever they were sent, and did what they were assigned to do. Thank you, family. I'm proud of you.
This Veterans' Day sermon at church was so good. We were reminded that no matter who is in office, what initiatives are passed, what storms rage and ravage our cities, what wars tear apart out world, what illnesses tear apart out lives, God is Supreme. He, and only He, is our source of Hope.
As God's sons and daughters, we will experience trials, tribulations, and persecution. That is a given, but so is God's desire for us to live our lives abundantly. That can't be done through politics, wars, fancy medicine, or more and more laws. It can only be done by El Elyon, Supreme God.
The Environmental Protection Agency will never be able to produce a perfect planet. Since the fall of man and our failure to dress, till and keep the earth, the world has been agonizing and longing to return to what it was when it was created. It will continue to act in ways we can never understand until the Creator restores it. Not man.
While we mope, despair, and cry out, "God, what is going on here? Why are you allowing this? Why aren't you doing something about this?" God continues working, fighting for his will to be done on earth as it is in heaven, drawing people closer to himself, people who will be obedient. El Elyon, Supreme God, is the only one in whom there is life abundant, in whom there is hope.
So, as I remember those who fought for our country, for what they believed in, my family members included, thank you for doing your part. Now I must fight for what I believe in, do my part with what I have to extend the kingdom. But I must never forget that God is in control of all things including governments. Fear and despair will accomplish nothing. The greatest thing I can do right now is pray for our elected leaders, fight diligently where I am stationed, and watch God work.
Thankful for our veterans,
Jan
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Celebration Time
This posting will be short and sweet. At least for me it is sweet. It is so sweet that I am going to celebrate by eating left over pizza for dinner and taking a shower before bed. I already ate a Snickers bar when I got home from seeing the doctor. Here is the celebratory news. I don't have to wear that big, heavy, clumsy, protective boot on my foot a day longer. I don't have to keep my footsie out of the water anymore either. I don't even have to elevate it when and if it complains. Hooray, I'm free at last.
Free is a relative term though. I still have to change the dressing twice a day, and see the Dr. weekly, but that is nothin'. I'm so excited. Well maybe not as excited as I thought. I no longer can say the Dr wants me lying down most of the day. I have no excuses now.
This has been a long six weeks, but God has seen me through it. I'm so thankful for family and friends who helped with nursing care, meals, transportation, and encouraging phone calls. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you all.
This has been a God day, hasn't it.
Jan
Free is a relative term though. I still have to change the dressing twice a day, and see the Dr. weekly, but that is nothin'. I'm so excited. Well maybe not as excited as I thought. I no longer can say the Dr wants me lying down most of the day. I have no excuses now.
This has been a long six weeks, but God has seen me through it. I'm so thankful for family and friends who helped with nursing care, meals, transportation, and encouraging phone calls. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you all.
This has been a God day, hasn't it.
Jan
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Children's Prayers
The prayers of children are so simple, so sincere, so heartwarming, and sometimes (in our minds) so naive. When my younger son was just a little guy, this was his nightly prayer, "Dear Jesus, please help all the sick people to get well, help all the well people not to get sick, and keep me safe when I do dangerous things. Amen" That was it. It covered everything he considered important. And God answered.
I remember the day I looked out at the park that adjoined our yard. There was my little, skinny five-year-old being helpful as usual. As playmates watched and waited from below, he balanced fifteen above the ground on the cross bars of the swing. Slowly and steadily he unwound the swing seats that the high-schoolers had put up there the night before. How he had shimmied up the supports to the top I have no idea, but he had done it. He was now in the midst of doing a dangerous thing. As he unwound the chains one loop-de-loop at a time, I held my breath. I also bit my tongue to keep from screaming at him, then closed my eyes and thanked God for answering my little boy's prayers about safety.
I remember the day I again looked out at that very park to see what he was up to only to discover he wasn't there. Neither was his tricycle. Off I ran like a... Well, really fast. That was back in the days I could run really fast. So off I ran toward the river only two blocks away. And that is exactly where I found him doing exactly what you have probably guessed. He was doing dangerous things. His trike was parked on the shoulder of the street and he was over the embankment, standing inches from the water, doing what every little boy would do, throw rocks. I must add that this was not just any water. This was the river during springtime run off. It was moving fast, and it was running cold. I recall grabbing him by the arm, dragging him up that bank while paddling his little behind, plopping him down on his wheels, marching behind him all the way home and thanking God for answering my little boy's prayers about safety.
To be honest, I think God is still honoring my little boy's prayers about safety.
Then there is my daughter. Her prayers were different. There was the time I had to tell her we couldn't buy her what she wanted because we didn't have the $10 it cost. So that evening she prayed thus, "Dear God, please give my mommy and my daddy $10 because they don't have any money. Amen."
"Oh, the naivety of a child" I thought. Keeping my mouth shut was next to impossible, but I did. Thankfully I didn't explain to her that God doesn't go around giving people money. I would have made a liar out of myself because minutes later I got a phone call from a lady who had moved away the previous year without paying me some money she owed. I had forgotten all about it, and yes, it was $10. God had answered my little girl's prayers and shown me he does give people money. I was the naive one, not my child.
I'm thankful the Spirit continually reminds of these experiences with my children. It is in these times I am once again reminded that God still answers prayers--children's prayers, moms' and dads' prayers, grandparents' prayers, your prayers and my prayers. I know deep down inside that He answers. The answer may not be what I want or when I want it, but the answer is always what God wants, when he wants it.
Take my foot for example. I would love nothing better than to take the bandage off my foot tonight as I get ready to change the dressing, and find it perfectly healed. Can God do that? Of course he can. Will he chose to do so? I don't know. But each day it is better that it was the day before. So in that sense, he is healing it day by day, moment by moment. I thank him for that--for answering my prayer.
Have a God evening everyone. I plan to.
Dear Jesus, please help all the sick people to get well, help all the well people not to get sick, and keep us safe when I do dangerous things. Amen
Jan.
I remember the day I looked out at the park that adjoined our yard. There was my little, skinny five-year-old being helpful as usual. As playmates watched and waited from below, he balanced fifteen above the ground on the cross bars of the swing. Slowly and steadily he unwound the swing seats that the high-schoolers had put up there the night before. How he had shimmied up the supports to the top I have no idea, but he had done it. He was now in the midst of doing a dangerous thing. As he unwound the chains one loop-de-loop at a time, I held my breath. I also bit my tongue to keep from screaming at him, then closed my eyes and thanked God for answering my little boy's prayers about safety.
I remember the day I again looked out at that very park to see what he was up to only to discover he wasn't there. Neither was his tricycle. Off I ran like a... Well, really fast. That was back in the days I could run really fast. So off I ran toward the river only two blocks away. And that is exactly where I found him doing exactly what you have probably guessed. He was doing dangerous things. His trike was parked on the shoulder of the street and he was over the embankment, standing inches from the water, doing what every little boy would do, throw rocks. I must add that this was not just any water. This was the river during springtime run off. It was moving fast, and it was running cold. I recall grabbing him by the arm, dragging him up that bank while paddling his little behind, plopping him down on his wheels, marching behind him all the way home and thanking God for answering my little boy's prayers about safety.
To be honest, I think God is still honoring my little boy's prayers about safety.
Then there is my daughter. Her prayers were different. There was the time I had to tell her we couldn't buy her what she wanted because we didn't have the $10 it cost. So that evening she prayed thus, "Dear God, please give my mommy and my daddy $10 because they don't have any money. Amen."
"Oh, the naivety of a child" I thought. Keeping my mouth shut was next to impossible, but I did. Thankfully I didn't explain to her that God doesn't go around giving people money. I would have made a liar out of myself because minutes later I got a phone call from a lady who had moved away the previous year without paying me some money she owed. I had forgotten all about it, and yes, it was $10. God had answered my little girl's prayers and shown me he does give people money. I was the naive one, not my child.
I'm thankful the Spirit continually reminds of these experiences with my children. It is in these times I am once again reminded that God still answers prayers--children's prayers, moms' and dads' prayers, grandparents' prayers, your prayers and my prayers. I know deep down inside that He answers. The answer may not be what I want or when I want it, but the answer is always what God wants, when he wants it.
Take my foot for example. I would love nothing better than to take the bandage off my foot tonight as I get ready to change the dressing, and find it perfectly healed. Can God do that? Of course he can. Will he chose to do so? I don't know. But each day it is better that it was the day before. So in that sense, he is healing it day by day, moment by moment. I thank him for that--for answering my prayer.
Have a God evening everyone. I plan to.
Dear Jesus, please help all the sick people to get well, help all the well people not to get sick, and keep us safe when I do dangerous things. Amen
Jan.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Who's Elderly? Not I!
Age is such a funny thing. I have never had trouble getting older. I mean I have gotten older with no trouble at all. It was quite easy in fact. What I mean is it never bothered me to turn 30, 40, 50, 60, or... Well, I'll have to admit 70 was a little harder because I woke up one morning and there I was. I had arrived. Somewhat befuddle I sat up, rubbed my eyes and wondered how in the world I had ever gotten there. I didn't even remember buying tickets to 70. I felt like I was still 40, but that was impossible. I couldn't be the same age as my kids. Yet I still thought of my self as...well, as my kids' ages.
What gets me now are reports in the newspaper or on TV that go something like this, "An elderly woman was injured in a traffic accident this afternoon. The 65 year-old woman was transported to the local hospital where she is listed in satisfactory condition."
When I read "elderly" and 65 referring to the same person I blink in disbelief, re-adjust my triifocals, turn the light up a little brighter, and think about reaching for a magnifying glass to make sure I read the small print correctly. Yes, 65 is what it says. You have got to be kidding me. I certainly am not elderly at 70, therefore I couldn't have been elderly at 65, and neither is that lady in the paper.
I think that the whipper-snapper of a reporter must be 20 years old and considers his parents old at 40. In fact, he probably thinks they are turning elderly on their next birthdays. So be it.
Many years ago, when my mother was the age I am now, I went to watch her bowl (as in roll the ball and knock down pins, not as in ceramic, china, or stainless steel). On the way to the lanes, she told me about an old lady who bowled with her. As I sat behind the team bench, I tried to determine which bowler was the old lady. I didn't have a clue. They all had white hair on their heads, "character lines" on their faces, prominent veins on their hands, and looked to be at least as old as my mother. But what did I know? I was only 50 at the time. All the ladies looked old to me. They weren't elderly, just old(er).
Now, whenever I find myself referring to someone as an "older person", I stop, laugh a little, then add the comment, "about my age." I'm fairly certain none of us, no matter our age, will ever admit we have reached "elderly" because "elderly" exists only in the minds of reporters and newscasters, and should stay there.
Now, after I have spouted off about one of my pet peeves, I will remove myself from my mini soapbox, and hop, skip, and jump down the hall to bed. On second thought maybe I won't. I probably would fall flat on my face, have to call 911, and end up in the newspaper's Ambulance Report as an elderly lady who fell down and couldn't get up. That just won't do.
Have a God evening everyone. I have.
Jan
What gets me now are reports in the newspaper or on TV that go something like this, "An elderly woman was injured in a traffic accident this afternoon. The 65 year-old woman was transported to the local hospital where she is listed in satisfactory condition."
When I read "elderly" and 65 referring to the same person I blink in disbelief, re-adjust my triifocals, turn the light up a little brighter, and think about reaching for a magnifying glass to make sure I read the small print correctly. Yes, 65 is what it says. You have got to be kidding me. I certainly am not elderly at 70, therefore I couldn't have been elderly at 65, and neither is that lady in the paper.
I think that the whipper-snapper of a reporter must be 20 years old and considers his parents old at 40. In fact, he probably thinks they are turning elderly on their next birthdays. So be it.
Many years ago, when my mother was the age I am now, I went to watch her bowl (as in roll the ball and knock down pins, not as in ceramic, china, or stainless steel). On the way to the lanes, she told me about an old lady who bowled with her. As I sat behind the team bench, I tried to determine which bowler was the old lady. I didn't have a clue. They all had white hair on their heads, "character lines" on their faces, prominent veins on their hands, and looked to be at least as old as my mother. But what did I know? I was only 50 at the time. All the ladies looked old to me. They weren't elderly, just old(er).
Now, whenever I find myself referring to someone as an "older person", I stop, laugh a little, then add the comment, "about my age." I'm fairly certain none of us, no matter our age, will ever admit we have reached "elderly" because "elderly" exists only in the minds of reporters and newscasters, and should stay there.
Now, after I have spouted off about one of my pet peeves, I will remove myself from my mini soapbox, and hop, skip, and jump down the hall to bed. On second thought maybe I won't. I probably would fall flat on my face, have to call 911, and end up in the newspaper's Ambulance Report as an elderly lady who fell down and couldn't get up. That just won't do.
Have a God evening everyone. I have.
Jan
Sunday, November 4, 2012
I Could Write About...
For the third time today I have brought up this blank page on which to type a new post for the blog. Now I just sit here and look at it, wondering what to write about. The options are unlimited.
I could write something about my childhood, or my kids' childhoods, or my grandchildren's childhoods. I could do that.
I could write some sort of poem about dark, rainy days and the stillness I find indoors, or the wonderful colors and smell of autumn, or the different sounds of rain. I could do that.
I could write about sleep, which is what I really want to do (actually sleep, not write about it)--probably because I have had too much sugar today. At last count I had consumed 1 glass of cranberry juice (unsweetened but full of natural sugar nevertheless), 2 fig newtons, 4 homemade molasses-gingersnaps, and 2 gluten free cookies sprinkled with sea salt. Every single calorie was delicious. Don't worry, I did have some protein. I had two scrambled eggs for breakfast, and some chicken and cottage cheese for lunch. Dinner will include 1/2 an acorn squash without brown sugar, and some raw, sliced peppers. I'll have a yogurt smoothie (unsweetened) with frozen strawberries (unsweetened) and a banana later this evening. But I won't write anything more about that.
I could write about the perseverance of my son's cross country runners at the state championship meet yesterday. I could do that.
Or, I could write about the wonderful church service today which I watched from home on my laptop. Since I don't want anyone to know I dozed off for about five minutes during the sermon, I won't go there with my writing.
I could write about interesting encounters this week with people I haven't seen for years. Out the of blue or gray, or whatever color the sky is at the moment, they have appeared before my very eyes: a previous pastor waiting for his flu shot at the pharmacy, a member of my former church who was visiting the same office I was and invited me to join him and his wife at the Sr. Center for lunch, and the ex-wife of my good friend's son pushing her grocery cart. God ordained appointments? I think so.
I could write about preparing my testimony for Wednesday, but I already wrote a little about that a couple days ago. I have a dilemma though. Since the theme for Wednesday's Bible Study is "Excellence, Realizing Your Potential", I will share about the encouragement that I have received over the years, encouragement to write. While doing that, I probably should tell the ladies about my step into the World of Blog. Up to now it is mainly family, close friends, and my family's friends who read it. At least that is what I think.
So what is the dilemma? I still question whether or not my blog is for my own growth, or if it is touching others. I was even going to ask those who read this to write something in the comment box then click on "Publish" to let me know your feelings. But if I am going to seriously talk about using ones gifts, I really should give out the web address, explaining my inner turmoil and insecurities about my writing, but doing it out of obedience, though reluctantly at times. If God wants to use me and my writing, he can't if I don't let people know I am writing.
Now that I have written all this trivia and drivel, I guess I don't have to write anything else. I can save the above ideas future reference.
As I finish up here, I would like to report on the wonderful day I had yesterday. It was so good to see my grandson's and their new wives, my niece's son and his new wife, my new granddaughter's parents, brother, grandparents, friends, and friends of the soon-to-be-leaving couple. It was fun visiting and getting to know my "new" family a little better. In addition, the food was good. From nachos to fruit, from veggies to cookies (some of which I brought home) everyone grazed the afternoon and evening away while talking, laughing, and playing games. I am so glad I was able to go.
Today has been a God day, hasn't it!
Jan
I could write something about my childhood, or my kids' childhoods, or my grandchildren's childhoods. I could do that.
I could write some sort of poem about dark, rainy days and the stillness I find indoors, or the wonderful colors and smell of autumn, or the different sounds of rain. I could do that.
I could write about sleep, which is what I really want to do (actually sleep, not write about it)--probably because I have had too much sugar today. At last count I had consumed 1 glass of cranberry juice (unsweetened but full of natural sugar nevertheless), 2 fig newtons, 4 homemade molasses-gingersnaps, and 2 gluten free cookies sprinkled with sea salt. Every single calorie was delicious. Don't worry, I did have some protein. I had two scrambled eggs for breakfast, and some chicken and cottage cheese for lunch. Dinner will include 1/2 an acorn squash without brown sugar, and some raw, sliced peppers. I'll have a yogurt smoothie (unsweetened) with frozen strawberries (unsweetened) and a banana later this evening. But I won't write anything more about that.
I could write about the perseverance of my son's cross country runners at the state championship meet yesterday. I could do that.
Or, I could write about the wonderful church service today which I watched from home on my laptop. Since I don't want anyone to know I dozed off for about five minutes during the sermon, I won't go there with my writing.
I could write about interesting encounters this week with people I haven't seen for years. Out the of blue or gray, or whatever color the sky is at the moment, they have appeared before my very eyes: a previous pastor waiting for his flu shot at the pharmacy, a member of my former church who was visiting the same office I was and invited me to join him and his wife at the Sr. Center for lunch, and the ex-wife of my good friend's son pushing her grocery cart. God ordained appointments? I think so.
I could write about preparing my testimony for Wednesday, but I already wrote a little about that a couple days ago. I have a dilemma though. Since the theme for Wednesday's Bible Study is "Excellence, Realizing Your Potential", I will share about the encouragement that I have received over the years, encouragement to write. While doing that, I probably should tell the ladies about my step into the World of Blog. Up to now it is mainly family, close friends, and my family's friends who read it. At least that is what I think.
So what is the dilemma? I still question whether or not my blog is for my own growth, or if it is touching others. I was even going to ask those who read this to write something in the comment box then click on "Publish" to let me know your feelings. But if I am going to seriously talk about using ones gifts, I really should give out the web address, explaining my inner turmoil and insecurities about my writing, but doing it out of obedience, though reluctantly at times. If God wants to use me and my writing, he can't if I don't let people know I am writing.
Now that I have written all this trivia and drivel, I guess I don't have to write anything else. I can save the above ideas future reference.
As I finish up here, I would like to report on the wonderful day I had yesterday. It was so good to see my grandson's and their new wives, my niece's son and his new wife, my new granddaughter's parents, brother, grandparents, friends, and friends of the soon-to-be-leaving couple. It was fun visiting and getting to know my "new" family a little better. In addition, the food was good. From nachos to fruit, from veggies to cookies (some of which I brought home) everyone grazed the afternoon and evening away while talking, laughing, and playing games. I am so glad I was able to go.
Today has been a God day, hasn't it!
Jan
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Send Off
My favorite mornings are not those where I wake up at 4:30 and cannot go back to sleep. That is the way this morning started. So here it is, 6:54 a.m. and I'm dressed, fed, and have changed the dressing on my foot. My bed is made and a load of clothes folded and put away. Now all I have to do is wash up a couple dishes and I'll be ready for the day.
It should be a fun day. No, it will be a fun day. My ride (my daughter's mother-in-law) is picking me up at 9:30 for a trip to the big city. Two big cities actually. Well, it all depends on where one is from as to the definition of a big city. I guess if one is a Seattleite, I definitely am not going to big city. But in the eyes of those in my area, I'm heading to the cities.
Our ultimate destination is a going away party to my oldest grandson and his wife. However, a stop is planned for Costco. My driver will stock up on some much needed items as well as many more items not needed at all. I might buy some oatmeal and maybe some walnuts and raisins, but that will be all. At least I think that is all. You know how it goes. Oh yes, I will probably have to get a Polish dog or slice of pizza. Something fat-free and much needed of course.
Then off to the party we will go. I have the address written on a piece of paper. I've hand copied the driving directions from Google Maps (my printer must think it is on vacation). Will we get there OK? Absolutely.
Now for the scoop on my grandson. He was commissioned into the Air Force in June. He graduated from college in June. He got married in June. And, would be reporting to his base for schooling next June. After three life changing events all in a period of weeks, he and his wife were ready to settle down and use the coming year to adjust to married life.
That all changed a couple months ago when he received orders to report to Texas in November, not next November, this November. They had hardly settled into their apartment when their like-new household items were packed up and shipped off. The newlyweds will follow in a couple weeks.
Ever since my grandson's commissioning, their families' thoughts were, "This coming Thanksgiving will be the last Thanksgiving together for awhile. This coming Christmas will be the last one together for awhile." Well, as it turns out, last Thanksgiving and Christmas were the last ones for awhile and we didn't even know it.
Now, the only family event we have is this party. It will give us all the opportunity to visit with the assembled family and friends. It will be fun to meet new people and share food together. Of course, though bitter-sweet, it will be fun sending the kids off on their new adventure and life together.
So, as I say goodbye and farewell to my grandson and his wife today, I pray that they will be able to say goodbye with thanksgiving and praise for what they had here. I pray they can embrace today and give thanks for their family and friends who wish them well. And lastly, I pray they will celebrate the coming days full of blessings, the adventures that await them, the friends to be made, and the Lord's guidance that is always there for the asking.
Godspeed, Children of God. Live out the life God has chosen for you and do it well.
I plan to have a God day today. Please join me and have one too.
Jan
It should be a fun day. No, it will be a fun day. My ride (my daughter's mother-in-law) is picking me up at 9:30 for a trip to the big city. Two big cities actually. Well, it all depends on where one is from as to the definition of a big city. I guess if one is a Seattleite, I definitely am not going to big city. But in the eyes of those in my area, I'm heading to the cities.
Our ultimate destination is a going away party to my oldest grandson and his wife. However, a stop is planned for Costco. My driver will stock up on some much needed items as well as many more items not needed at all. I might buy some oatmeal and maybe some walnuts and raisins, but that will be all. At least I think that is all. You know how it goes. Oh yes, I will probably have to get a Polish dog or slice of pizza. Something fat-free and much needed of course.
Then off to the party we will go. I have the address written on a piece of paper. I've hand copied the driving directions from Google Maps (my printer must think it is on vacation). Will we get there OK? Absolutely.
Now for the scoop on my grandson. He was commissioned into the Air Force in June. He graduated from college in June. He got married in June. And, would be reporting to his base for schooling next June. After three life changing events all in a period of weeks, he and his wife were ready to settle down and use the coming year to adjust to married life.
That all changed a couple months ago when he received orders to report to Texas in November, not next November, this November. They had hardly settled into their apartment when their like-new household items were packed up and shipped off. The newlyweds will follow in a couple weeks.
Ever since my grandson's commissioning, their families' thoughts were, "This coming Thanksgiving will be the last Thanksgiving together for awhile. This coming Christmas will be the last one together for awhile." Well, as it turns out, last Thanksgiving and Christmas were the last ones for awhile and we didn't even know it.
Now, the only family event we have is this party. It will give us all the opportunity to visit with the assembled family and friends. It will be fun to meet new people and share food together. Of course, though bitter-sweet, it will be fun sending the kids off on their new adventure and life together.
So, as I say goodbye and farewell to my grandson and his wife today, I pray that they will be able to say goodbye with thanksgiving and praise for what they had here. I pray they can embrace today and give thanks for their family and friends who wish them well. And lastly, I pray they will celebrate the coming days full of blessings, the adventures that await them, the friends to be made, and the Lord's guidance that is always there for the asking.
Godspeed, Children of God. Live out the life God has chosen for you and do it well.
I plan to have a God day today. Please join me and have one too.
Jan
Friday, November 2, 2012
I Discovered Change in Me at McDonalds
Here I sit this morning at McDonalds. It is 8 o'clock and not very busy. My lap top is fired up, but more importantly, my sausage, egg McMuffin has disappeared into the depth of my once-empty stomach and is now being followed by a cup of coffee with hazelnut creamer which I brought from home. I am thoroughly savoring every single bite and sip despite the fat and calorie content.
I used to come here every week just to be around people. I knew isolating myself at home, which I could have easily done, was not the healthy way to go. McDonald's was a safe place to be, comfortable, interesting, and without any responsibility on my part. I knew I would not have to answer questions I thought people I knew would ask. I could smile at anyone who made eye contact. I could use my lap top to journal, or I could just watch and wonder.
I watched people eating breakfast alone and wondered why they were alone. What fears and dreads did they have. Did they wonder how they would get through the day? Had they been betrayed like I had?What was their story?
I watched couples, usually retirement age, and wondered what deep dark secrets they might be keeping from each other. I even wondered if any of the "papas" and "nanas" had molested or were secretly molesting their granddaughters/grandsons. I wondered if they, themselves had ever been molested. I wondered...
On those occasions when I saw children with adults I wondered who the adult was and what role they played in the children's lives. Sadly, the first question that always popped into my mind was, "Is that precious child being molested and afraid of telling anyone?"
A I sit here now I discover everything is so different. I guess that is because my reasons for being here are different. I came because I now have been cleared to drive. My five weeks of confinement to the couch/bed with my foot elevated is now over. I want out of the house. I want to celebrate.
I came because I like McMuffins. I haven't had one for several months. I want to treat myself. Besides, I had a few dollars in my purse that were just for me to spend as I wish. This is how I wish.
I came because I have an appointment at ten to get my hair trimmed. My straggly coif needs it. I reason that if I have to come in at ten, why not come in early and enjoy a change of scenery. So, here I am.
I came here to blog. I like writing while watching the traffic go by and the people coming in hungry and leaving with full tummies. I also like not having the distractions of household tasks staring me in the face.
Until I started writing this blog 30 minutes ago, I hadn't realized how far I have come over the past few years. Like before, I have still been watching and wondering. I watched a couple guys sitting alone, looking out the windows. I wondered what they were thinking. Were they contemplating the beauty of a rain drenched parking lot with reflected lights and shining puddles? Were they dreaming dreams and hoping hopes? Were they anticipating time with family or friends or just going to the library for awhile? My wonderings were all positive.
I used to come here every week just to be around people. I knew isolating myself at home, which I could have easily done, was not the healthy way to go. McDonald's was a safe place to be, comfortable, interesting, and without any responsibility on my part. I knew I would not have to answer questions I thought people I knew would ask. I could smile at anyone who made eye contact. I could use my lap top to journal, or I could just watch and wonder.
I watched people eating breakfast alone and wondered why they were alone. What fears and dreads did they have. Did they wonder how they would get through the day? Had they been betrayed like I had?What was their story?
I watched couples, usually retirement age, and wondered what deep dark secrets they might be keeping from each other. I even wondered if any of the "papas" and "nanas" had molested or were secretly molesting their granddaughters/grandsons. I wondered if they, themselves had ever been molested. I wondered...
On those occasions when I saw children with adults I wondered who the adult was and what role they played in the children's lives. Sadly, the first question that always popped into my mind was, "Is that precious child being molested and afraid of telling anyone?"
A I sit here now I discover everything is so different. I guess that is because my reasons for being here are different. I came because I now have been cleared to drive. My five weeks of confinement to the couch/bed with my foot elevated is now over. I want out of the house. I want to celebrate.
I came because I like McMuffins. I haven't had one for several months. I want to treat myself. Besides, I had a few dollars in my purse that were just for me to spend as I wish. This is how I wish.
I came because I have an appointment at ten to get my hair trimmed. My straggly coif needs it. I reason that if I have to come in at ten, why not come in early and enjoy a change of scenery. So, here I am.
I came here to blog. I like writing while watching the traffic go by and the people coming in hungry and leaving with full tummies. I also like not having the distractions of household tasks staring me in the face.
Until I started writing this blog 30 minutes ago, I hadn't realized how far I have come over the past few years. Like before, I have still been watching and wondering. I watched a couple guys sitting alone, looking out the windows. I wondered what they were thinking. Were they contemplating the beauty of a rain drenched parking lot with reflected lights and shining puddles? Were they dreaming dreams and hoping hopes? Were they anticipating time with family or friends or just going to the library for awhile? My wonderings were all positive.
I watched couples sharing breakfast together and quietly talking. I wondered not if they were keeping secrets from each other or if either had molested children. Rather, I wondered what joys they shared, what plans they had for the day, weekend, or rainy months ahead. I wondered if they appreciated what they had in each other.
I watched with interest the two men sitting at tables close to me. They were grandpa types (at least I thought they were grandfatherly looking). Each was in the company of a young boy who was all spiffed up. I couldn't see the boys' faces, but what I could tell from the backs of their heads and their neat shirts, they were spiffed up. I wondered what the big occasions were.
Maybe I couldn't see the boys' faces, I could see clearly the grandfathers'. I could see animated conversations. I could see smiles. I could see help cutting hotcakes. I could see instruction about leaving the table cleaned off, including crumbs brushed onto the napkin-filled tray. And I could hear laughter--deep, joy-filled laughter as well as high pitched, gleeful giggles. I had to suppress my own laughter until it became just a smile on my lips and a twinkle in my eyes.
So now I need to pack it up, put my lap top in its case, and empty my napkin-filled tray into the garbage can. It is time to go. What began as a morning out of the house, a chance to celebrate, to enjoy junk food, to watch and wonder, and to write has become a morning of awe and wonder of how far the Lord has brought me. I discovered that I am saying goodbye to my own sorrows, fears, anger and loneliness and am rediscovering the joys around me.
Thank you, Lord.
Have a God day. I certainly have and it's only 9:30 a.m.
Jan
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Ruminations on Rain
I know we need the rain, but enough already. Yesterday we had 2+ inches, and are at 1.8 inches so far today. So what can I do about it?
Well, I can complain, gripe, mumble, grouse, moan, and groan.
Or, I can think of it as reconstituted sunshine. Aaaah, liquid sun, coming down by the buckets full. I should be a nice rust color by Spring.
Or best of all, I can look at it as an example of God's blessings and love. They just keep coming, and coming, and coming. Even when I am filled to overflowing he continually gives me more and more. Oh, how my Father spoils me.
Do you ever feel like you're drowning in the outpouring of his love? I do.
Have a God day. I am.
Jan
Well, I can complain, gripe, mumble, grouse, moan, and groan.
Or, I can think of it as reconstituted sunshine. Aaaah, liquid sun, coming down by the buckets full. I should be a nice rust color by Spring.
Or best of all, I can look at it as an example of God's blessings and love. They just keep coming, and coming, and coming. Even when I am filled to overflowing he continually gives me more and more. Oh, how my Father spoils me.
Do you ever feel like you're drowning in the outpouring of his love? I do.
Have a God day. I am.
Jan
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