Summer Memories

While deep cleaning the other day I came across some writings from twenty-five years ago or more.  Since summer is just around the corner, I thought I would share this one about my early memories of lazy Nevadan summers.

"Mom, what do you remember about summers?"

I remember 100 degree heat, swamp-coolers in the windows, squeaking screen doors, and the city pool--30 swims for $1.

I remember blinding lightning, ear-splitting thunder, five-minute gully washers, and the wonderful smell of wet sage.

I remember 25cent Saturday matinees, newsreels, adventure serials, and popcorn.

I remember sleeping bags, burnt marshmallows, mosquito bites, Dad's hammock, campfire smoke and Mom always cooking over the Coleman stove.

I remember tumble weeds, picnics at the dam and in the desert, climbing hills, running through dust-devils, and riding bikes.

I remember playing cowboys and Indians, hide and seek, jacks, red rover, tether ball, Annie, Annie Over, paper dolls, and school.

I remember catching horned-toads, garter snakes, frogs, monarch caterpillars, and the mumps.

I remember the musty smell of the dark library and reading all the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books, Heidi, and Black Beauty.

I remember collecting tree frogs, stamps, old "dinosaur" bones, and butterflies.

I remember making mud pies, model airplanes, faces at the girl down the street, and cinnamon rolls.

I remember eating homemade ice cream, chocolate chip pancakes, navy-bean soup, and date bars.

I remember helping my dad mix mortar, lay bricks, ink architectural drawings, and balance checkbooks.

I remember seeing the dead body of our pet dog, the neighbor's chicken, a friend's rabbit, and my best friend.

I remember purple mountains, gorgeous sunsets, car rides in the cool evening air, and a Nevada sky full of stars.

That's what I remember about my wonderful summers.

What in the World?

Memorial Day Weekend was a busy time for me. I spent Friday and Saturday at the State Track Meet sitting on hard, cold, metal bleachers in the wind and the sun.  I did have a cushion which helped my sitter and a hooded sweatshirt that helped block the wind, so I was comfortable.  The days were well spent and exciting with good company, food and accomodations, but the travel time was long.

Sunday continued where Saturday left off--busy. Multigrain oatmeal with raisins and walnuts washed down with a great cup of coffee tasted especially good when shared with my son and his wife as we sat in the living room before getting ready for church.  I even had some left over for another day's breakfast. That is always a bonus. Morning and evening worship services were wonderful as usual. The entire family shared a delicious mid-afternoon meal of lasagna, green salad, french bread, and fresh rhubarb-strawberry.  Yummy. Then, everyone helped out with the clean up.

To cap off the weekend, a couple grand-kids stayed overnight Sunday to help me on a cleaning project for Monday.We accomplished much. The entire weekend was fun, but by Monday night I was very tired.

 In fact, by Monday evening I was so tired I ate some cold, left over lasagna, put on my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and settled into my bedroom chair for the evening.  My plan was to finish my book. That was all I was going to do. Ha, that was a laugh.  I kept dozing off between paragraphs. After checking out the clock and discovering it was only 5:30 pm and too early for bed, I decided to take a little nap then finish my book. So I put my head on my pillow, covered up with my comforter and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up I was completely refreshed and ready to start my day. I hadn't slept that well for ages. Checking out the grayness of sky I decided it would probably rain pretty soon.  Checking out the clock I was amazed I had slept until 8:00. I never sleep in that late. After getting dressed, I headed to the kitchen, heated up the left over oatmeal for my breakfast, but skipped the coffee. I was excited about starting my day.

With breakfast out of the way I decided to write my blog. I needed to turn on a light in the living room to see my keyboard better. That is a given on dark cloudy days like that. By the darkness of the sky I knew it would be raining soon. Then I settled in to write, rewrite, and write some more. Finally, after complete and total concentration, I was finished. The clock read 10:00. I posted what I had written and decided to see if the mail had arrived.

I had barely thought about getting the mail when I looked toward the window to see if I would need my hooded coat to go outside.  WHAT IN THE WORLD?  It was pitch black outside.  DUH! It wasn't 10:00 am as I thought.  It was 10:00 pm.  I cracked up laughing at myself. How crazy was this? My sleep hadn't been a wonderful 12+ hours. It had been only a few hours, but it was sure good.

What does one call an additional "day" that isn't an additional day at all?  Was it Monuesday or Tuemonday?  Whatever it was, it was good and a blessing. I got my blog written. That was a blessing.  I was able to read some more of my book. That was good. Then around 11 pm I went to bed and slept 6 more hours. That was great and a blessing. I must have really, really needed the sleep.

What I didn't need was the second breakfast of oatmeal.

Continued from 4/24 Lesson #1 Trust Enough to Tell

On April 24 I took a deep breath and tackled the daunting task of writing something I had previously told only my family, my therapist, and a few friends.  When I usually tell about this unexpected journey, I tell the entire account as if I were giving a book report or a movie review.  I have always been a “just the facts” kind of gal. That is what I saw and heard my dad do, so I carried that same sort of thinking from my childhood into adulthood. “Let’s not get caught up or sidetracked by feelings. They will just muddy the water, confuse the issues at hand, and waste time.” That explains in part why I handled my overloaded emotions the way I did. I put them on bed-rest in a locked room. Life was cleaner that way.

While writing on the 24th, some of my emotions jumped out with a whispered, "peek-a-boo". In the middle of “just the facts” came twinges of guilt, spasms of sorrow, and stirrings of new understandings.   I have to admit that my trip back to the year 2007 was a little emotional —not much, just a little. After all, I don’t want to get carried away do I? But a little emotion was huge progress for me.

Before I begin sharing today, I first want to make some things clear.  I am not an expert in psychology, neurology, sociology, or any other “ology” including “archi”.  What lessons I learned are what God wanted me to learn. What he revealed, not only about himself, but also about me, was what I needed to see at that particular moment in time. He knows how I think, how I feel, and how I process information.  He also knows I don't like to think about certain things and I don't let myself get emotional.  I am thankful He knows and understands all of me. 

It is my prayer that what I learned will encourage, bless, enlighten, and even move whomever reads this.  At the same time, I also pray that anyone going through similar circumstances does not expect God to work the same ways in their situation as he worked in mine.  For example, God parted the Red Sea for Moses, stopped the sun for Joshua, but shut the mouth of lions for Daniel.  Jesus healed a blind man by making mud with spittle and putting it on his sightless eyes.  He healed a paralyzed man by merely speaking. If that man expected Jesus to put spit-filled mud on his legs, he might never have picked up his pallet and walked.  In all these examples, the Almighty acted in whatever way he saw fit for the one(s) needing help.  That same God, our God, has not changed. 

Lesson  #1.          Trust Enough to Tell

In our close, personal relationships with others it is so important to be vulnerable and open about who  we are and what we need.  Trusting someone enough to expose our wounds and our scars, our fears and our hang-ups, although scary, can be the most freeing and healthy thing we can do.  I discovered that no matter how much we love someone or think we know them, dark secrets that fear discovery may lurk just under the surface of calm water or behind locked doors in their minds.  It doesn't really matter what the secret is or who keeps it because someday, in some place, and at some time, it will probably be discovered.  Not only will the secret keeper be wounded, but so also will most of the people in the surrounding circles of family and friends.  

When my husband was a little boy did he tell someone he trusted about being molested when it happened?  No, he was afraid he would get in trouble. He had been told not to tell..  Did he confide to me during "pillow talk" times? No, he was ashamed and embarrassed. Did he seek professional help at any point in his adult life?  No. As a result, his dark secret finally exploded out of hiding sixty years later, covering us all in its slime, its stench, and its deadly shrapnel. If only he had trusted someone enough to tell, serious injuries would have been prevented. In addition, there is a chance he wouldn't be behind bars today.

I would like to place the blame in so many areas and on so many people, including myself.  Why, why, why didn't he tell someone what had happened? His parents weren't ogres, at least not in my eyes as an adult.  Maybe to a little boy, they were. Now I ask myself  over and over again if I am an approachable, loving, trustworthy person or am I a super scary big-person?

Why didn't he ever tell me? Sure, he might have felt shame, but what danger was I to him? Was he afraid I would see him as less of a man? Even now, I still ask myself why he didn't trust his secret to me.  That question is immediately followed by, "If he had told me, what would I have done?"  I don't know.

Why didn't he seek professional help when he first started heading down the wrong road? In his line of work he knew mental health counselors he could seek out. On the other hand, they also knew him. Was there a trust issue that could have been his problem? Why didn't he go to our pastor or a Christian friend for help or did he even know he needed help? Was he afraid they would think less of him? I could drive myself crazy wondering about all these things including this question, "Was it such a slow process that he was blind to both the inappropriateness of his behavior and to the ultimate consequences of his actions?"  Was he completely duped by Satan, the father of lies and expert of deceit.  Why didn't he trust anyone enough to tell of his childhood molestation, his sinful urges as an adult, or his sin itself? Why, why, why didn't he trust?  

My granddaughters did tell what happened to them.  I will admit, though, they didn't tell until they were first asked, but they did tell.  The trust between the girls and their parents was strong enough that, even though they were a little scared, they too been told not to tell, they didn't lie. They told the truth to loving families who believed them. As a result, their whole nightmare ultimately stopped. Sadly, no one knows what lies ahead for them.

There is a part B to Lesson #1. That is LOVE.  We need to know that when the time comes, when our courage is built up, our pride is swallowed,  and our secret is on the tip of our tongues, that the person we have trusted to tell will not only love us enough to support, encouragement, comfort, and  pray with us.  They will point us to professional help if needed, but most importantly, will love us enough to not judge.  Conversely, we also need to know that when someone trusts us enough to open up that we will love them enough to honor them and to not judge.

The girls told once, twice, three times--somewhere around there.  They told their parents, the detectives, the medical examiners.  But, will they ever tell again or will it become their deep, dark secret?  I pray that as they grow, God will use their experience to help others. I also pray they will have learned to trust enough to not keep it from their husbands-to-be, or yet unknown families.  I pray that their unwanted, unasked for experience will never become their deep, dark, untold secret..

It is easy to wonder why my husband didn't trust enough to tell, but my lesson learned is not about him.  It applies to me. Do I have secrets locked away, secrets that can cause pain to either myself or to others? Do I trust enough to tell someone about my fears, my urges, my un-Godly desires or my secrets? At this point in my life, if I don't have anyone I can trust, do I trust God enough to tell Him? He already knows.  I have nothing to fear in acknowledging it.  Can I or do I pour out my heart to Him?

So, why tell?  Satan runs from the Light.  Once I am willing to bring what is hidden out into the open, it no longer will have any power over me. This lesson was learned from going through therapy.  As I was able to finally recognize and name my fears, my shame, my embarrassment, etc I began to see them as the lies they were.  They lost their power until I could once again meet old acquaintances face-to-face and not run the other way.  That happened only as I was able to trust enough to tell my therapist what was going on in my head--things I didn't want to acknowledge. Then I was finally able to confess it to God. Joy slowly returned to my life.

As James says at the end of his letter in the New Testament, "Is anyone of you troubled? He must pray.  Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise.  Is anyone sick?  Let him call for the Elders of the church to pray for him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayers offered in faith will heal him and the Lord will raise him up.  If he has sinned, the sins will be forgiven. Therefore, confess your sins one to another, pray for one another that you may be healed.  The prayers of a righteous man are powerful and effective." 

Alliteration in "L"

A couple of my grandchildren helped me with some cleaning this morning. In the midst of the project, I came across a carton lid with various papers thrown in it. One of the first papers was one I had written for therapy on July 10, 2010.  I was so excited to find it because I thought it was lost forever when my computer crashed a few weeks ago.

My therapist had asked me, "What have you lost as a result of your husbands actions?"  At this point in my life, I couldn't think of any specific losses.  All I knew was sadness, but it was not as bad as it had been.  Thinking about loss led to the word "larceny".  Because I love alliteration, I wrote the following.

Larceny or Love--Loss or Life.

At morning's light I stood listlessly by the open door looking and listening.

I longed to hear the lilting song of the lark and the laughter of little ones.

Alas, my hearing had left long ago.

I lifted my lidded eyes, longing to see the leafing larch, the lofty mountains, the lazy lane.

Lo, even life itself.

Alas, my sight had left also.

My looking, my listening became lost in the labyrinth of my loneliness.

The lilt, the laughter, the lavishness of life I longed for was laced with cries of "Larceny!"

I languished in my loss.

"Larceny and loss" cried the depth of my heart, but

"Life and love" whispered the desire of my soul.

At long last the day grew late, lantern's light lowered, last-light had come.

I longed for sleep, but as I lay abed, with eyelids closed 

the perfume of lavender lingered outside my louvered windows.

Morn's early light leaked through my windows as another day dawned.

Rain laden skies wept from above as I wept within.

I lifted my lashes with longing--longing for my lament of "larceny and loss" 

to change to a laughing, lilting, lusty cry of "life and love."

I looked and listened longingly for love and life to finally reappear.

"Listen, listen my love" my Lord said.

I listened. I heard little, but yes, at last I did hear something.

I heard the muted lilt of the lark, the muted laughter of little ones

YES, I HEARD SOMETHING! 

YES, I CAN HEAR! 

"Look, look my love" my Lord said.

I looked. I saw little, but at last I did see something.

I saw, though dimly, the leafing larch, the lofty mountains, the lazy lane.

YES, I SAW SOMETHING!

YES, I CAN SEE!

The fulfillment of my longings now looms on the horizon.

Loss will soon lose its allure.

The lock on my heart, my very life, will soon loosen.

A new, luxurious luster will soon light up not only the corners of my soul,

but also of my very heart as well.

I leap for joy as I celebrate a coming liberation.

So long, larceny and loss!

"Rejoice, my lady

Live and Love."

"Thank you, Lord."

Running the Race

A beautiful day sitting in a stadium watching a State High School Track competition is a wonderful thing.  Enjoying the day with family and hundreds of track enthusiasts is even greater.  Having a grandchild stand on the podium to receive a medal is the greatest. Today will be more of the same, only instead of a grandchild on the podium there will be other athletes.

There is something special about seeing young people run, jump, throw, vault, and hurdle themselves toward the finish line.  Each one desiring to finish well and hopefully finish a little better that the last time they competed.

To me, a track meet is a glimpse into life itself, and for me, the Christian life in particular. Each one of us has our own particular ability or gift that we can develop with a little coaching.  With strength training, technique development, confidence building, and good nutrition a young athlete with natural talent can go on to win races and break records.  But what I love about track is seeing athletes who might never place higher than last place still celebrate every event in which they show improvement--get a PR (personal record).  For most competitors, every 1/2 second faster or 1/2 inch further is a victory and another step toward becoming that athlete they want to become.

Isn't that what living for Christ is like?  We are continually changing into the likeness of Christ--degree by degree, inch by inch, victory by victory. Each time we refrain from getting angry adds to our PR for self-control.  Each time we control our tongue we are more Christlike and have achieved a victory.  Every time we fight off self-doubt we have affirmed our victory over our enemy.  We have won because we have persevered.

I won't go into the importance of the Bread of Life and Living Water, of listening to the coach and putting his wisdom into practice, but I will close with this.  There is a great cloud of witnesses in the stands cheering us on.  The importance isn't in coming in first or last, it is in finishing the race and doing it to the very best of our abilities.

Just Do It.

I recently did something I didn't think was possible.  I memorized the book of James.  Why?  Because it was a challenge we received in our women's Bible study. I really questioned whether my memory was good enough any more, but thought I would give it a try.  My motive was probably wrong since I wasn't desiring to plant the Word into the depths of my soul.  I just wanted to see if I could get very far.  It took six weeks to memorize all five chapters, but what a blessing it has been!

As I went over and over the verses, adding one onto another, chapter after chapter, I could see James' thoughts develop and feel his love and concern for his people. I heard his concern about fellow believers deceiving themselves, being careless in their speech, showing favoritism, being unwise, and ignoring God's leading. I heard his plea to pray earnestly, in faith, believing.  I heard his warnings to the rich and his concern for those who wandered away from the truth. I heard over and over again, "Persevere, persevere, persevere."  I also heard, "Do not merely hear the Word and deceive yourselves, but do what it says." James 1:22 NIV.

Those words are continually rattling around in my mind causing me to ask myself if I am merely hearing, or am I also doing.  Am I really praying with belief and not doubt?  Am I being tempted by my own desires? If so, am I  persevering in resisting the devils wiles?  Do I truly believe he will flee from me? James says "Draw near to God and he will draw near to you...Humble yourself before the Lord, and he will exalt you."  James 4:8, 10.

As all these thoughts came in and out of my mind, I remembered an incident that happened several years ago when my grandchildren were taking swim lessons.  There were around eight little first graders, including a granddaughter, lined up along the deep end of the pool ready to learn how to dive. They all listened intently as the instructor had them put their arms straight up in the air, over their ears, and palms touching above their heads. They were supposed to lean forward at the waist, hands pointed toward the water, and fall in. The instructor stressed the importance of keeping their heads down and their hands pointed at the water.  If they didn't, they would belly-flop, which wouldn't feel very good.

One by one the little tykes put their hands above their heads, bent at the waist, started to fall in and abruptly jerked their heads and hands up, completing perfect belly-flops. Finally it was my granddaughter's turn. I could see her concentrate on her instructions, "Put hands up, bend at waist, fall forward, keep head down." She completed her first dive. Hooray!

After class I asked her how she was able to do such a good dive when everyone else kept pulling their heads up.  Her reply was something like this, "It was scary keeping my head down, but the other kids said that belly-flops hurt. I didn't want to get hurt, so I followed my teacher's directions." She hadn't merely listened to the words, deceiving herself that she was now a diver, she did what the instructor said and avoided pain in the process.  She was also blessed with success.

I now go over the entire book at least twice a day--every morning and evening.  I don't want to forget it.  I want the words burned into my mind so that they will always come to the forefront in all I do.  I don't want it to be something I read and memorized, and so deceive myself.  I want to do what it says. Sometimes the doing is scary, but the not doing is scarier--it is sin. "So, whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin."  James 4:17 The doing is much better. "The man who peers intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, continues in it, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it, he will be blessed in all that he does." James 1:25

Why am I writing all this?  I have questioned myself whether to write it or not.  I don't want to sound boastful about the memory work, but I do want to encourage others to give it a try--to memorize more than a verse or two.  When entire sections are learned, such as an entire chapter, it is put into an entirely different context which touches us at an entirely differently level.  At least that has been my experience so far.

Now, I am trying to decide what to work on next.  Do I want to memorize another book or just a chapter?  I don't know, but am leaning toward Ephesians, one of my favorite books. Although, some Psalms might be a good change of pace.

Here is a question I would like to pose.  "Who would like to join me"

Note

I am sitting on my bed writing this blog.  As I have been writing, I rest my eyes and mind occasionally by looking out the french doors at the foot of my bed. I love the shades of green in the trees as well as the beauty of the pink rhododendrons that are presently blooming. I also have watched the rain come down in buckets, then drizzle, stop, and start again.  I have seen the sky darken.  I have also seen the sun shine. I love it all.  It is a constant reminder of God creative genius. Just when I thought I had experienced it all, a movement caught my eye.  Just outside my door, not more than 20 feet from where I sit, walked a deer, then a second, a third, and a fourth. Each one looked toward me, probably seeing only their own reflections in the glass, but I would like to think they saw me sitting here. Then each walked on. 

 God is so good.

.    

Acrid Smoke or Sweet Incense?

Weeks after my husband's picture hit the front page of the local newspaper along with the story of his crime, I changed churches. Over night I had gone from loving to talk to anyone and everyone on Sunday mornings into a fight or flight mode. I didn't want to see or be seen by anyone I knew. I didn't want to talk with anyone unless I chose to.  This meant having to watch my back so no one would sneak up on me, catching me by surprise. A new church was the answer.  There I could worship, listen and learn, and sit in silence with God. And I did. 

While I sat in church Sunday after Sunday and let myself be filled and nursed along, I knew I couldn't remain in my self imposed solitude forever.  Well, I could, but it would not be healthy for me, nor would it allow God to use me.  I needed to step out into unknown realms.  So I went to a Celebrate Recovery group for grief and loss.  I also attended a Beth Moore Bible study of Daniel.  What blessings both these ministries were.

From C.R. I learned that my need to talk would last longer that my family's and friends' desire to listen.  I found the importance of just listening and not commenting, giving advice, or sharing similar experiences--just listening to let the speaker give voice to her feelings, to give unspoken pain some sort of shape.

I won't forget C.R any time soon, but neither will I forget one part of the study of Daniel that really hit me.  The third chapter relates the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego being thrown into the fiery furnace because they refused to bow before Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king, and worship him. Nebuchadnezzar was amazed that the three Hebrew boys were untouched by the fire and heat.  Neither they nor their clothes were burned.  Then came the part that really spoke to me in the last part of verse  27, "and no smell of fire had come upon them."

If you have ever been around a bonfire or any other type of open fire, you know that whether there is a breeze or not, you will leave that fire smelling of smoke.  That is a given.  Your clothes will stink as will your hair.  The aroma you give off tells everyone that whatever you were doing, fire was involved. 

During this time I was feeling I had been thrown into a fiery furnace and had flames eating at my very being, trying to destroy me.  But I also know that, like Sadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, I wasn't alone in the furnace.  Christ himself was in there with me and would bring me through intact.

I realized after that one session I didn't want to come out of my furnace smelling of smoke. It would be easy to emerge a stinking mess. It would be easy to become bitter, forever angry, distrustful, cynical, jealous, and negative. I didn't want that to happen. Instead I wanted to emerge smelling like incense rising in praise to God.  It was a choice.

In fact, it is a choice we all have to make everyday whether we are in a fiery furnace or just in the heat of everyday living.. Each decision we make, each thought we think, each action we take, each word we speak can be either as acrid as smoke or  as sweet as incense and healing as balm. What will it be?

I pray that  as we tuck ourselves into bed each night we know we have given off a wonderful aroma of incense all day long and, like smoke,that aroma permeated all those we met. 

Molt or Bolt?

I now have my new laptop.  Actually, it is a notebook--small, compact, and lightweight.  I will have adjustments to make, but isn't that what we all do on a daily basis anyway?  You people who have been reading my blog know life has been one big adjustment for me over the past years.  Please humor me a little as I relate an experience I had about four years ago that caused me to ask a curious question regarding change.  Here goes.

My husband was in the county jail, and I was trying to deal with acres of an un-mowed yard and field that he usually dealt with.  That was no longer an option.  All the tall grass was mine to mow, so that is what I was doing on this particular sunny afternoon.  As I sat on the mower, riding around in circles, I kept telling myself that I just wanted to get on the train and go see my Dad and sister in another state.  I wanted to escape. I had the money for the fare.  I had the time.  I had the desire. But, I also felt I needed to stay for my kids.  They had no option but to stay on their jobs, in their homes, and with their families. 

Back and forth, round and round I went, both on the mower and in my mind.  On one of my trips across the field to empty the grass-filled bags I spied a beautiful, quite long, snake skin laying on a pile of last year's grass clippings. Since I am always fascinated by such things, I got off the mower, picked up the skin, put it in my lap and continued with my mowing.

On one of my final passes across the field I looked once again at that skin and was smacked along side the head with the question, "Do I molt or do I bolt?"  I had just spent the last couple hours contemplating bolting.  Molting wasn't an option I was even considering.

For a snake to continue growing, it must shed its old skin which splits and begins coming off.  From what I have read, the most dangerous time of molting is when the skin on the head comes off because there is a possibility that the snake's sight will be affected for a short time.  The snake could become quite vulnerable during that period. All this trivial information on snakes rolled around in my head as I considered that crazy question, "Do I molt or do I bolt."

If I wanted the Lord to take my situation and use it to shape me into whatever he had in mind, I needed to molt, to shed off the old me with my known and my yet-unknown fears, angers, and whatever else there was.  I needed to make room for a new me, whoever that was.  The hard part of that whole idea was realizing I would have to become vulnerable. I would have to open myself up to not only my family, but also the Holy Spirit.  I would not be able to change if I weren't willing to face myself as I truly am, instead of seeing myself as I wanted others to see me. I wanted to project a strong, invincible, unflappable image.  That was not who I was.  It was then I realized I couldn't bolt and keep all the pain, sorrow, grief, anger etc. inside me.  I had but one choice, so I chose to molt.

As I am slowly changing, growing, and becoming new, I realize more and more that the process is never done.  It is a process and a slow one at that.  Just when I think I am done molting, something new occurs and I must once again shed old skin, become vulnerable, and discover more about myself as a sin-prone human, but also a loved, cherished child of God.  But most of all I discover more about Abba, my heavenly father, whose greatest desire is to have a close, personal relationship with me, his daughter. Molting, though painful at times, is wonderful.  I am so thankful I chose it.

Not Just "Good Enough", but Perfectly

Now that I am leaving for an overnight stay at the beach for a banquet and an luncheon, my new computer will probably arrive and I won't be home to sign for it.  Oh well, God's timing is always perfect.. 

I was thinking along those very lines as I was driving over to my son's house to use his computer a few minutes ago.  While driving, I was going over my mental list of what I had to do to get ready as well as my list of what to bring. I wanted to be sure I didn't overlook anything. I packed the clothes I needed for both events.  I packed my curling iron and blow dryer, my makeup, my pills, and, oh yes, my comb and brush along with my hairspray.  I washed up my breakfast dishes, emptied the garbage, and cleaned out the car a little bit since a friend is riding with me. I straightened up my front porch because I had been planting my flower boxes and had made a mess.  I put everything into the car and went back into the house to get my coffee which was already cold.  It's a good thing I like cold coffee.  I was now good to go.

I must admit, though, that I didn't do everything the way I could have or should have.  Several things I did just "good enough" to get by.  I cleaned out the car a little.  I did not go to the trouble to find the extension cord for the shop vac so I could vacuum out the pine needles.  I did pick quite a few out of the carpet on the passenger side, but the driver side still resembles the forest floor. It was good enough.  I straightened up the porch, but I didn't put the bag of potting soil into the garage.  It is still on the porch--good enough until I get back. About the dishes, I did wash them, but they are sitting in a dish drainer on the counter.  I'll put them away when I get home tomorrow.  Who will know or care anyway?  It was good enough for me.

While mentally checking off my list, my mind started going strange places and landed on what God's check list must have looked like to get ready for Christ's birth. Can you imagine all the prophecy that had to be spoken, written and fulfilled?  That was no easy task, especially working with stiff necked people. Think of the fact that Greek had become the language of the people in the entire Mediterranean world.  The Good News could be written and spoken in a common tongue world wide.  How long did that take? What about the road system built by the Romans so their armies could travel quickly and so could those spreading the Good News.

And what was that census all about anyway--each to his own village of origin. This meant that Joseph and Mary had to go to Bethlehem at a very inconvenient time for Mary, oh well. They had to go to the City of David where a beloved shepherd boy came from so Mary could give birth to the Lord, who is our Shepherd. They had to go where the Lamb of God just "happened" to be born in a stable close to where the sacrificial temple  sheep were probably pastured. They had to go to the city of  beloved king David, the man after God's own heart, to deliver the Mighty King, who would in turn deliver all mankind. Talk about planning!

The list goes on and on including the cry of the people of Israel for a new king.  Herod's reign was horrendous. The people wanted him gone. It was time for the promised and long awaited Messiah to deliver them.

God's check list was long and complete. Nothing was overlooked.  Nothing was omitted, nothing was forgotten, and most importantly, nothing was done just "good enough".  All was done perfectly until it was finally the fullness of time, that perfect time--not a moment too late nor a moment too soon. God's time.   

I guess that is why it gets easier for me to wait for answered prayers.  I truly believe God is working on them all to bring about what is best for me. When I wonder what is taking so long, I have to remember that God is working out the details to perfection as well as the timing. That sometimes takes awhile.  It's always worth the wait, though. Aren't we glad?


    

Mothers Day--God Day

My new computer still hasn't come.  When I heard the UPS truck coming this morning I gave a shout to myself which quickly turned to a groan as it zipped on down the road.  "Maybe, just maybe it will stop on its way back."  Alas, no such luck.  No computer today. So sad, but at least I still can use my son's computer.

Mothers day has come and gone and I am still wondering about it all.  I was truly blessed by my family.  Friday and Saturday were spent on the coast with a daughter-in-law and her mother.  The weather was gorgeous, the town was jumping with families and their dogs, and my company was great.  We three women had fun walking, talking, shopping, eating, laughing, and enjoying ourselves while watching the rest of the people enjoy themselves.  If that was all I had for Mothers day, it would been more than enough.  But, there was more.

Bright and early Sunday morning I began receiving Mothers day wishes from out-of-town family members.   If that was all I had for Mothers day, it would been more than enough. But, there was more.

Sunday morning worship was very uplifting.  The Lord was definitely present.  If that was all I had for Mothers day, it would been more than enough. But, there was more.

 He was also present the rest of the day too.  I ate pizza and salad with my family while we sat in the sun and visited.  The kids played. We all marveled at the wonderful weather.  God is so good.  If that was all I had for Mothers day, it would have been more than enough. There was more.

It is so easy to celebrate the day with family, eat good food, receive presents, give hugs, and not even experience the Lord in it.  That has been my usual behavior anyway. Don't get me wrong, I am extremely thankful for my family and their thoughtfulness, but I usually see my days as mere passing hours, not as continual blessings from above. But this year I kept asking myself, "What is God doing right now?  Is he greatly pleased by what he is seeing and hearing?  Is he being honored and glorified?"

Soon after I arrived at the celebration I was told a wonderful story of God mysteriously working through one person to bless another. That was followed by a second story.  Part of my family had been touched and blessed as a result of doing what they felt was right to do. They had no idea at the time that God would use them in a mighy way to bless the lives of another family.  Was God pleased?  Was he honored and glorified?  Absolutely.  Both stories were about Him and His working, and not about the one relating the incidents.  Praise God.

I think God was also pleased as everyone worked together to get lunch ready, then gave Him thanks.

I think he celebrated with the kids as they ran, yelled, blew bubbles, sprayed water, laughed, and exclaimed, "I love this weather."

I think he pulled up a heavenly camp chair next to ours and enjoyed our conversations about school, sports, vacations, and life in general. It was good.

Yes, if I had only gone to the coast with my daughter-in-law and her mom, it would have been enough.  If I had only gone to church and been blessed by worship, it would have been enough.  If I had only spent the afternoon enjoying my family, it would have been enough.  But God wanted it to be more.  He wanted me to know that he, too, was blessed by the day. 

I often sign letters, "Have a God day."  That is what I did on Sunday.  I had a God day.  Today is truly a God day too. He encouraged me as I pulled weeds.  He steadied my ladder as I washed a couple windows, and He put his feet up on the coffee table with me as we ate lunch.  And, He is helping me write this blog.  I wish He would do the actual typing because I keep making typos.  Oh well, some things I have to do by myself with His encouragement.

May this be another God day for you too.

On Eagles Wings

The sun is shining, the fruit trees are in full bloom, the grass is no longer wet from the past weeks of rain, and the birds are joyously singing and nesting.  How I celebrate spring and new life.  Part of me wants to  take a walk, pull weeds or just be outside. Yet another part of me wants to finish the book I am reading, The Sixth Covenant by Brock and Bode Thoene. But ever since I started writing these blogs three weeks ago, I have been constantly drawn to the keyboard with an urge to write something even if I have no idea what it will be.  That's the part that has won out.  So here I sit at my son's computer with no actual idea of what I am to write.

Tuesday I wrote about the eagles I watched several years ago.  Today I could write about the owls and the lessons I learned there, or I could write about eagles again--not the previous ones, but the ones I saw yesterday. 

I had been into town in the morning and was driving home in the early afternoon when they caught my eye.  All I saw at first were two large birds high above the road.  They weren't flying. They were almost motionless, large crows perhaps or vultures.  At second glance I saw their white heads. There was no doubt in my mind now.  I was seeing a pair of bald eagles.

I wanted to stop in the middle of the road and get out.  Obviously that would not have been a very wise decision so I had to drive further down the road to find a place to pull over. After stopping, I jumped out of my car and started scanning the sky.  The birds were no where to be seen.  Where had they gone? I had no idea, but their disappearance saddened me.  They had been so beautiful up there just soaring wingtip to wingtip. 

Several times during the day I thought of those eagles.  I wondered whether they were building a nest somewhere, or were they a courting couple. The answer didn't really matter.  Whatever it was, they were beautiful together.

Well, early last evening I was once again driving home and, as usual, searching the sky for whatever birds I might spy, be they hawks, robins, crows, herons, or starlings. Imagine my joy and surprise when those two eagles appeared again.  This time I could pullover immediately and I did.  Side by side, wingtip to wingtip they would soar, then remain motionless as the stiff breeze held them aloft. Suddenly, in perfect formation they would veer one way or the other and flap their wings once or twice before once again floating in the air above my head.

For the next ten minutes I stood mesmerized by their silent dance on the wind.  I felt their performance was for me alone.  Awe and wonder filled me as I considered the glory and majesty of God and his creation. Then came Isaiah 40:31 "but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

"Thank you, Lord, for that aerial ballet and your wondeful promise.  Oh, that I may soar on wings like those eagles, with ease and grace in the face of a stiff wind and not grow weary. Amen"

Learning From Eagles

My son is not home today, so I am using his computer to write this, and will do so until I can get a new one. Loss is always difficult, and my latest loss is no different. You see, I lost a good, faithful friend Friday evening.  We were playing a game together when my friend quit responding to anything I said or did.  The only option I had was to head off for help as soon as I could.  That meant Monday morning.  Several times over the weekend I had tried to revive my friend, all to no avail.  There was never any response of any kind.

By 10 am Monday the diagnosis was complete and the verdict was in.  My friend of over four years was dead.  Nothing could be done to save it.  The many years of filed-away memories are now lost to me. The pictures, the letters and journals, the budgets and financial records are all in that memory somewhere, but not retrievable.  The doctor tried, but its brain made of chips and circuits was no longer able to communicate with the outside world. Summed up in three words,  It Is toast.

When I was given that news, many of my lost records, photo memories and work flashed through my mind.  I was at the same time sad and yet given a slap alongside my head when I suddenly remembered that inner voice I kept hearing the past month that said, "You should really save onto a disc or flash drive or you are going to lose it." Laughter, though subdued, bubbled up inside me as this thought hit me, "Jesus saves.  I didn't"

Computer and I had spent hours together everyday, maybe too much time. I don't know.  But I clearly remember that first spring, four years ago. We spent hours sitting in the recliner watching a pair of nesting eagles with a nest high in a tree, and a pair of owls, Mollie and McGee, in their nesting box. These nesting pairs provided, each in their own way, security, comfort, and insight as they lived their lives as God intended.  I also watched Bibi, an African gray parrot, who talked, sang, and counted her way into my heart while bossing the dogs and demanding berries.  She brought much amusement and laughter into my life.

Eagles are beautiful birds. The pair I watched were no exception. I watched in awe as they took turns sitting on the eggs, turning them, arranging the nesting material of twigs and grasses, all the while keeping an eye on the sky above them.  Oh so ever watchful.

Once the eggs hatched, the parents took turns sitting on the naked, then fuzzy eaglets.  They took turns bringing in fish and feeding the kids, ever aware of who was getting food and who wasn't. I loved watching the never-ending watchfulness of those parents. But the most impactful event took place in a downpour that went on for hours.

Before the rains came, it started getting windy.  The parent on the nest began building up the sides of the grassy indentation that protected the babies.  No one was getting tossed out, that was for sure.  I had to quit watching at this point because of an appointment.  When I returned home, I immediately turned on my computer to see how windy it had gotten.  All I could see was what seemed to be a large piece of shiny, black plastic over the nest. Although the tree rocked and rolled with the wind, the shiny, black "plastic" was motionless. It couldn't have been plastic or it would have moved. What in the world was it?  Where had it come from? And where was the parent. I tried to make sense of it.

In my befuddled state, I continued watching until I slowly realized it wasn't just the wind I was watching. I was watching a torrential downpour.  Then, from out of nowhere flew an eagle with a fish in tow.  The black piece of plastic then moved, shook out its wings and stood up.  To my amazement, the guardian eagle had been spread out flat over that nest, wings outstretched instead of folded in, head extended,  taking the brunt of the rain and becoming black and shiny as the rain ran off its back. Those future eagles were not getting wet.  The guardian parent made sure of that.

It continued standing over the nest, keeping the rain off the vulnerable babies, while both parents slowly feed them. Once finished, the shiny, black plastic parent gave a little jump, spread its wings and flew off.  The other eagle straddled those little eaglets, settled over them, spread out its wings a little, lowered its head and assumed the exact pose the other eagle had been in.  In a very short time, the nest once again was covered by a shiny, black piece of "plastic".

After watching that first eagle not only endure the fierce wind and rain, but also completely cover its young with its wings, thus providing much needed warmth and protection, then the second parent do the very same thing, a light dawned on me. Another bird, like a large hawk or a vulture, wasn't the babysitter during the storm. The park ranger didn't climb up to hold an umbrella for awhile. It was the other parent that came, the one who knew and understood exactly what was needed for their children's survival and how to provide it. It was no other.

In the following hours and days, I slowly began to understood a little more about Jesus' words to the disciples when he told them he would send another comforter to them after he left. The word he used for another, "allo" meant someone exactly like he was, not merely similar, but exactly like. He could have used two other words with similar meanings instead, but he didn't.   Jesus sent allo Comforter, the Holy Spirit, someone exactly like himself, who knew what we need, when, and why. He sent no other.

Thank You, Jesus.

Beautiful Day and Dead Laptop

What a beautiful day!  Finally!  Well, that is not exactly accurate.  Every day with the Lord is a beautiful day, isn't it?  Today is just special to us living here in the Pacific Northwest because the sun is shining. So far this year we have had over 40 inches of rain.  Enough already. I'm lovin' this sun.

On rainy days I occasionally complain about the weather, then remind myself that I need to change my point of view.  Years ago, after one of our winters when it rained for weeks on end I thought, "What a wonderful example of God's blessings.  They just keep coming and coming whether we expect them or not.  God just keeps pouring them upon us."  But aren't there are those days when we really don't appreciate what we are receiving.  We gripe and complain in our circumstances instead of seeing our blessings. With that in mind, if I truly count my blessings every time it rains here, His praise will continually be in my mouth.

As I said in the beginning, it is sunny today.  So, I will praise him in the sunshine too.


Note:

My laptop crashed Friday night!  So sad it is. Does one pray for circuitry and computer chips? Yep, I did, sort of. "Lord, no! What is this all about? I'm turning it off and turning it on again.  Please let it work."  It didn't.

I've never had a computer crash before. That's why I posted nothing yesterday. Tomorrow I will take the poor thing to the hospital for triage.  Hopefully it is nothing terminal, maybe just a quick debug with do the trick. So today, I am writing this on my son's computer. Because of my computer's down-and-outness, there is a possibility I will not be able to write everyday, but I will try.

Whosever has sunshine,let him praise the Lord.  Whosoever had rain, let him praise the Lord.  Whosoever has weather, let him praise the Lord.  Amen

Ministry or Training Ground?

I spent my morning in a prison visiting room. It is not my favorite place to be. I am glad, though, that visiting rooms were not anything new to me when my husband was first sentenced to prison.  We had been volunteers at a nearby correctional facility.  Our first weeks of ministry were held in a visiting room much like the one I sat in this morning.  At that time, my husband and I, along with our pastor and over thirty offenders sat in three circles and talked.  One man looked at me then warned  that there were evil men in that prison.  I laughed silently to myself.  I had just assumed they were all evil.  He looked at me a few seconds longer, seeming to sense what I was thinking, then added, “I don’t mean men who have broken the law.  I mean men who are truly evil.”  Thus began over eight years of prison ministry.

During those years we talked to and sat by men ranging from their early twenties to their eighties.  We never knew what their crimes were unless they chose to reveal the information. Some were in for burglary, others for murder.  Some were rapists and molesters and some, as an offender told us, didn't do what he was convicted for, but had done so many things he hadn't gotten caught for that, as he said, "It evens out." 

We met wonderful musicians, pastors (yes, they are in prison too), and men with terrific organizational skills.  There were men who spoke and read Hebrew serving time along side men who had sons in other prisons.  There were brothers who found themselves face-to-face in the mess hall.  Neither knew they were serving time in the same prison.  Each man had his own story, his own gifts, and his own griefs. 

We had witnessed fights in the hallway and random pat downs in the yard.  Some nights we couldn't go in at all because the before-dinner inmate count was off. No one could leave their cells until every man was accounted for. As a result, we had to return home.

Then there were the guys who had very strong faiths and good, solid, Biblical foundations.  Many times we sat amazed as offenders corrected each other on the error of their secular or worldly thinking as well as their understanding of faith issues. Some navigated around Scripture the way I find my way around my home--easily and accurately. These men were right on with their understanding and wisdom. Though in the minority, they were both sought out and highly respected by fellow inmates.  

We had seen much.  

As a result of the prison ministry experience, I felt I was where the Lord wanted me to serve. I absolutely loved it.  Yes, we always had to be alert to our surroundings.  We also were not to believe anything the inmates told us, but I loved it anyway.  Then came my husband's crash and we were through.  WE were through.  I knew my husband was through, and headed somewhere behind razor wire and concrete walls.  That was a given. I would just go on without him. Then came the unexpected news from our pastor via phone.  The prison had decided that for my own safety I shouldn't return. I was absolutely devastated and beyond anger.  I was furious. I clearly remember sitting in a bean-bag chair in the office at home.  With some success I kept my tears in check as I cried out to God, "Why, why, why is this being taken away too?" 

Why, why, why did I feel that way?  Firstly, I felt this was the only thing, other than family, that I could depend on. Even though most things in my life had been turned upside down, I knew that every week, at the same time, on the same day, I would go into the prison to worship, study, listen to, share with, and pray for men I knew would be there.  These were men I knew, but didn't really know at all. Yet I felt God was using me there.

Secondly, I was angry at my husband for ruining my life even further. How could he do this to me? It was all his fault.  Now what was I going to do?  My thoughts, although I chose not to acknowledge them at the time, were not very pretty.

As the weeks and months passed, I began to realize that prison ministry was not the ministry God had given me to pursue.  It was really just my training ground for what was to come.  You see, after my husband's sentencing, my anger continued, but I still cared for him and had concerns for him and his life behind bars. After I slowly began seeing God's hand at work, I became thankful for my time spent in training. I had been given a privileged, though sheltered, glimpse into prison life. 

What I was allowed to see was life within the Christian community. I saw how inmates ministered to each other, how they studied the Bible together, prayed for each other, and encouraged each other.  It gave me assurance as well as peace.  Sounds strange, doesn't it , to have assurance and peace in the midst of the confusion, uncertainty and fear that surrounded me in those days, but it did. I strongly felt there would be men around him who would help him through it all. In addition, I felt then, and still feel now, that when the time is right God can and will use him to minister as a fellow offender instead of a church volunteer. 

From what I believed to be my ministry to what I discovered to be my training ground, God had orchestrated the whole thing.  He is truly amazing and faithful.        

First writing, "I'm Angry"

Sleep evaded me the night my family discovered my husband had been molesting our granddaughters.  I finally got up and wrote:

 I'm Angry.

Lord, I want to scream at you!

Why did this happen to our family, 

our kids,

 our grand kids?

How could you let Satan get a foot into the door of our home?

I thought this was your home!

Where were you?

I  must pray for our precious granddaughters.1

I must pray for their parents, 

brothers, 

sister,

 and cousins.

I  must pray for myself.

And, yes, I will pray for my husband.

Then,

As the jaws of hell gape before me, hungry for my very being, 

I remember these words:

"Lo, I am with you always.2

I will never leave you or forsake you.3

"Thank You, Lord, for speaking." 

But I'm still so angry.

1 James 5:13

2 Matthew 28:20

3 Hebrews 13:5

Dad is Just Down The Hall

Today is time for another grandchild story.  This will be fun and easy to write.  It also won't be as draining as the last two blogs were.  The following story took place around ten years ago.

Once upon a time, Dad and Mom and several little kids lived in a teeny-tiny house. While Mom and Dad slept all snuggled up in a large, comfy bed in a very large bedroom, the wee little kids slept at least two to a bed in their very small beds in a teeny-tiny bedroom. They were very happy children in a very happy family in their teen-tiny house that got teeny-tinier as months passed by.

Joy and excitement spread throughout that teeny-tiny house one very special day when Dad and Mom and their several little kids packed up all their possessions and moved miles and miles away to a big, brand new, very large house. Mom and Dad still had their large, comfy bed in a very large bedroom, but the kids each slept in separate beds in two different rooms that weren't teeny-tiny any more.  In fact one child even had a room all alone.

This wee little child had never slept all alone in a room before, especially a very big room..  A grandma who was very curious, as most grandmas are, asked, "Oh, little child, was it scary sleeping all by yourself in a very big room in a very large house?"

From a beaming face with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks came the glee-filled answer, "No, Nana, it wasn't scary. My daddy was just down the hall!"

Oh little child, I pray you will always know, just as surly as you did the first day in your new room, that when you find yourself all alone in a "very big room" in a "very big world", your heavenly Dad is not only just down the hall, he is right there with you.  "May you always sleep well, child"

It Doesn't Usually Happen Like That--Part 2

As you can tell from the title of this post, it is part 2.  Part 1ended as our family get-together wound down--  the one where my kids had their dad relate what they already knew, but I didn't.  He had been molesting some granddaughters. As I related the events that had taken place over a week's time, I shared how situations like ours usually don't happen the way ours did.  At least that is what my therapist told me.  After she shared with me, I began to see more and more of God's work behind the scenes.  The events included:

1  Girls telling what had happened to them despite being told not to.  "It's our secret."
2  Parent's believing their children.
3  The molester admitting his guilt.
4  Adult children confronting, challenging, and demanding the molester take specific actions like resigning positions of leadership, and.turning himself in.
5  The molester listening to his children.
6  The reminder that God would use their dad's destructive behavior to bring about good in our family.

It Doesn't Usually Happen Like That--Part 2

I woke up the next morning after very little sleep, it was a Friday. My husband had already left for the Portland airport.  He and a friend were flying to California for a regional meeting. I walked around the house not sure what to do next.  Finally I did nothing except stand by the french doors in our bedroom and cry.  That is when the phone began ringing.  Caller ID showed that it was my husband's cell phone.

I had not spoken to him since the previous night when everyone was leaving.  I remember I had turned away from the front door and headed back into the living room, still quite teary from the evenings revelations.  I was startled to find that he was no longer sitting by the fireplace where I had last seen him, but standing right in front of me.  "I love you so much"  he said, then tried to hug me. I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to listen to him. I didn't want to answer him. And I certainly didn't want a hug. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. I did finally reply, though, "I can't say anything to you right now."

The still ringing phone brought me back to the present. Still not wanting to say anything to him, I let it ring a couple more times.  Finally, I gathered up enough courage to say, "Hello."

"Hi," he said.  "I just want you to know I have been praying a lot, and I want you to know what I am going to do.  Our son was right.  I need to resign from all my positions.  I'll talk to _______ , the president, at our meeting tonight and give him my resignation.  I am also going to tell ______, the friend he was traveling with.  When we get off the phone, I will call Pastor and tell him I need to resign and why.  Then, on my way back to town on Monday, I will turn myself in."

I can't begin to fathom the mental anguish he must have gone through to reach the decisions he did or, for that matter, to carry them out. In the Christian community he was highly respected for his integrity, looked to for his leadership and consensus building abilities, and loved for his generosity and humor. Now,everything people believed about him would be destroyed. He had fallen and he had fallen hard.

I took heart in what he had told me, but wasn't sure he was being honest. Was he just saying what he thought I wanted to hear?  Did he think he was softening the blow I had received the previous night? This was the first time in our entire marriage that I had questioned his words.  But, he did exactly what he said he was going to do.  He resigned all his positions and turned himself in.

"It doesn't usually happen like that."  What often happens is the molester never returns home, or runs his car into a tree come where.  Neither of those things happened.

As I said in a previous blog, my husband, while tuning out the Spirit in many areas of his life, had not become totally deaf.  Prayers were being answered, and my husband was listening.  He was now admitting his deeds  to not only the family, but also to others. He was taking responsibility for his actions by resigning from Christian leadership positions. And by turning himself in, he was prepared to accept prison time.

What I write next does not fit under the heading, "It doesn't usually happen like that", because this is probably what really happens. Remember, I am typing these words four years after the fact.  At the time of the above phone conversation with my husband, I did not see it with the grace I do now. I could not see the Lord's hand at work in him at all. My pain was too great to even start considering what my husband might have been be going through.  Back then, I thought only such hateful things as, "Losing your positions and your esteem serves you right, Jerk." and "I hope you rot in prison, Buddy."

A loving, forgiving, compassionate, understanding wife had vanished. I had been wounded, my family had been wounded, my grand kids had been wounded--especially my granddaughters. Also wounded to some extent were friends and acquaintances. One of my sons related his feelings this way (a paraphrased version), "My dad became a suicide bomber tonight.  He blew himself up and critically wounded everyone around him." Well, It took me a couple years to realize how deep my wounds or anyone else's were.  As for my husband's wounds, in my eyes they had been fatal.  They were of no concern to me.

As I have shared before, God had been working behind the scenes leading up to the grand unveiling of my husband's deeds. He had also been working to bring about the events I share in this blog. I had planned to wrap this up by saying once again, "What a faithful and awesome God we serve."  Amen. But, that is not what has happened.

Writing some of those last paragraphs has caught me by surprise because I have never expressed myself in those terms before. In fact, I almost didn't write them as they sped from my mind to my finger tips. Anger and, yes I must say it, hatred were revealing themselves.  I wanted to backspace quickly, never allowing the hateful words to get on the page. I didn't want to admit that those feelings even existed.  I wanted them to stay suppressed and denied  along with the resentment, mistrust, bitterness, and depression I suddenly realized made up an emotional cesspool.

So now, I must swallow my pride and admit that those feelings were and, to some extent, still are present. I hadn't been just ticked off, disappointed, or sad. I was full of emotional poisons. Admitting them is one thing, but I still want to suppress them. I know they are ugly, but they are also deadly.  I guess some real work will have to be done now.  Only this work will be mostly on stage and not behind the scenes. "Lord, I have a sewage problem I need fixed. There is a lot work for you to do. Actually, there is a lot of work for me to do.  Together, we can and will do this."

Now, I really am closing, and still saying, "What a faithful and awesome God we serve."