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
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