Resolutions or Revolutions

Why do people make New Year Resolutions? For me, resolutions are a waste of time and energy because I know good and well that I will keep them for only a day or two--a week max. Here is what I mean.

I resolve to exercise for 30 minutes every day  thee times a week. The easiest way for me to do that is walk down my road and back. But, what if it is pouring rain? Which it does quite often in the winter. I will wait until later in the day. When later in the day finally rolls around and the rain has diminished to sprinkles, it is getting too dark to safely walk down a country road. I will walk tomorrow, maybe.

I resolve to eat healthier meals. The homemade soups are great, as are omelets, baked chicken, broiled fish, salads, roasted vegetables, and fresh fruit. I watch them all go down the hatch. After a week, I don't want to spend time preparing the food for each meal. It is so much easier to fix a big batch of spaghetti and eat on it all week. A peanut butter and honey sandwich takes very little time compared to a chef's salad. Chopping up peppers, onions, and tomatoes, and grating cheese for an omelet takes forever, but a pot of oatmeal cooks itself.

Get the idea? I'm lazy and undisciplined.

What I need is not New Year's Resolutions, but New Year's Revolutions. When I reach the point of revolting against my old ways, something will happen. Revolt comes from the heart. It comes when I know change is absolutely essential for my well-being. It comes when Holy Spirit whispers to my inner-most parts, "Jan, you are in disrepair. You need some serious work. Quit listening to the enemy's 'later'. Now, now is the time," and I believe him to the point of revolting against the one who tells me lies.

Good intentions won't accomplish anything, at least not in my case. I tend to see them in the same light as resolutions--nice ideas. But a revolution means a fight is on. It means going against the way things are and bringing in the way they should be according to God's will. It means a fire has started within me.

A revolt is brewing, but a date on a calendar can't be the determining factor. It must be determined by an unwavering desire to fight the battle to bring about the change--whenever that desire comes. And it will come. It might be January 1, 2014 or March 21, 2015, or... In the meantime, there is guilt to be dealt with, and sugar and rain.

So, as the new year rolls in, out with the resolutions, and in with the revolutions.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,

Jan and Licorice (who tried bringing her mouse-burger inside yesterday. I sent them both packing.)

Out of Sight

HELP!! Take them all away before I eat so many I make myself sick--wasabi and soy sauce almonds that is. I eat only one or two at a time, but over the course of a couple hours, that is a lot of almonds. By my estimation, 350 calories worth. I guess that's my lunch today.

Then there is the box of chocolate-mint cookies, and the peanut brittle, and the peanut butter fudge, and the licorice Altoids, and the boxes of microwave popcorn. Oh, so many temptations not to yield to. I can do this. I know I am stronger than sugar and salt and butter. I can do this.

There. The cookies are in their box on the far side of the living room. The peanut butter fudge is in the freezer. The almonds are in the bedroom, and the popcorn boxes are put away in the utility room. The peanut brittle is in an airtight container in the kitchen. There is nothing on my table except a laser pointer for the cat and my laptop/mouse.

An old idiom proclaims, "Out of sight, out of mind," but I declare, "Out of sight, the more exercise I get fetching it." Maybe the calories burned while fetching equal the calories consumed while eating the fetched items, especially if I run, hop, skip or jump to the hidden treasures. (note to self--apply for a multi-million dollar grant to study this. Add a gym membership to the total)

With junk food stashed, but not out of mind, I'm considering putting away Christmas decorations while I listen to the Seattle Seahawk's game. That should keep my mind busy for awhile. Then, at half-time, I will race to the freezer to see if peanut butter fudge is as good frozen as it is at room temperature.

So, my friends, as 2013 is almost used up, be blessed, be safe, and be filled with joy.

Jan (who wants an almond with her tea) and Licorice Kitty (who went out for a fast-food lunch: mouse burger and grass blades)

Do You Hear What I Hear?

I'm not sure who in the world let Licorice out in the first place. It wasn't me. I never let her out until after everyone living on my road has headed off to work. I do know who let her in--my daughter-in-law.  Being the helpful gal she is, opening the door to the black world outside and allowing a black cat into the dimly lit living-room was what she does--help however she can.

Our relaxing morning of coffee, Christmas music, tree lights, and conversation abruptly changed as her questioning shriek filled the air, "Does Licorice have a mouse in her mouth?" Yes, Licorice had a mouse in her mouth, and was very proud of it.  Santa Kitty had brought me an early Christmas present. Actually, it wasn't just for me. It was for my company as well.

 Over the next couple minutes Kitty moved her rodent from under the Christmas tree to behind the couch and back again--occasionally dropping the lifeless mouse and batting it around a little--meowing the entire time.

We, all five of us, tried to ignore her. We did a pretty good job of it too until my grandson suddenly cringed. "Do you guys hear what I hear--a crunching sound?"

We all listened. "Gross!" It definitely was a crunching sound we heard. Licorice's breakfast was under way. I immediately increased the volume of the music. Mannheim Steamroller never sounded so good.

Amazingly, Licorice consumed the entire mouse without leaving a trace of the evidence.

The next day, when a granddaughter-in-law asked if she could let Licorice in, we all jokingly responded, "check for a mouse first." She laughed as she looked out the door. "Oh no! The mouse is huge!" It was the biggest mouse any of us had ever seen. After each of us praised Licorice for her hunting prowess and generosity, she posed for several photographs, then disappeared from the porch only to reappeared seconds later, sans mouse, ready to come in.

Christmas is a wonderful time to build memories. These pre-Christmas mouse encounters will definitely do that.  Next year when Do You Hear What I Hear is played, I will automatically say, "I hear crunch, crunch." I will sing, "Jingle bells. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Jingle bells. Crunch, crunch, crunch." And when my Mannheim Steamroller Christmas CD is playing I will turn up the volume--the louder, the better.

Santa Kitty's present was definitely the most  unusual gift I have ever gotten.

The best gift came wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.

Getting ready for a new year,

Jan and Licorice the Hunter

No Need to Stress Out

Make this quick. That is what I am telling myself as I start writing. It is 8:30 am. I have to be at the school to help in my daughter's classroom (she's the teacher, not the student) by noon. That means that I have from now until 11:30, and from 3:00 pm until 4:00 pm, when I head out for basketball game,  to get my kitchen cleaned and living room back in order.

The tree is up. Hooray, but not decorated. That is why assorted containers clutter the place. They are all neatly packed with decorating stuff.

The nativity scene rests on the window seat my the fireplace, and my my little lighted village spreads across a buffet. Neither will be lighted until I find my extension cords. Where, oh where are they? probably in the same tub most of the Christmas tree lights are in--a tub that is behind and under everything else in the storage room.

The Christmas stockings are hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that...

And, my usual bric-a-brac still decorates many of the flat surfaces in the room. Those have to be replaced by candles, shiny balls, Christmas this, and Christmas that. Once all that is done, I just have to vacuum, fix my hair, change my clothes and dash away, dash away, off to the school. On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen...

What about tomorrow? I don't know. That was supposed to be the day I put the finishing touches on everything, but that is up in the air now. I just found out my husband is being transferred to another prison. The prison system doesn't let the exact day of transfer be known, even to the offender. If I wait until Monday to visit, he may be gone already. I feel like I have to go tomorrow, but he may already be gone by then. I'll just have to wait and call tomorrow. They should tell me if he is still there.

It is good that he is transferring out because it means he will now be in a treatment program. The bad part is having to leave his prayer partners, a cell-mate he likes, a job he enjoys, and a Bible study group and Sunday service that are really ministering to him.

In the midst of all these changes, one this is certain, God in on patrol and in control. He knows what he is doing. I will complete what I can complete today instead of stewing about tomorrow. The details aren't mine to know. One moment at a time is what I must do, and let God work on the rest.

What a silly statement that last one was, "Let God work on the rest." He has worked on everything already. It is ready to go.

So, Lord, it is now 9:00 am. A busy few days face me, but you have everything planned out the way you want them. Please don't let me complicate things. I just want to enjoy all the company that is coming for the weekend. I want to enjoy our progressive dinner and gift exchanges. I want to enjoy the laughter and games (card as well as basketball). I want to celebrate the birth of your son.

Come, Lord Jesus. Come, family. Come peace and joy.

Jan and Licorice (she's sleeping on the card table where I dropped my coat after the band concert last night)

Magnify the Lord

All during this past week, a song we had sung last Sunday kept coming to mind. The song contained the words, my soul, my soul magnifies the Lord. Magnify. What does that really mean, I wondered. I knew it meant to praise, but I kept picturing myself with a magnifying glass trained on God. So, I finally looked it up in my handy-dandy concordance. Maybe the Greek word would bring some clarity. Well, magnify has the same meanings in Greek as it does in English: to glorify, praise, exalt, regard highly, and enlarge.

Today, we again sang the same song. Afterwards, our worship leader shared a few thoughts she had had during the past week--thoughts about magnifying the Lord, which were similar to the ones I had had. To paraphrase her, "When we praise and exalt God, it is like holding up a magnifying glass to Him, bringing Him closer, and enabling us to see Him better."

As I contemplated our worship leader's thoughts, then mingled them with mine, this is what I got.

When trials and troubles, cares and concerns start closing in, we have two choices in dealing with the situations. On one hand, we can listen to the advice of the world that comes from friends, media, or our own limited understanding. By doing this, we are picking up the telescope of the world to search for answers, maybe even hoping to find God. But, no matter how we use the scope, it is backwards. All the solutions and answers seem small and so, so far away. That includes God. When He is seen through the world-scope, He looks like a mere, almost invisible speck on a distant horizon. Thankfully, if we search hard enough, we will be able to distinguish Him from everything and everyone else. He is the one on the cross.

Once we realize that God is really out there, our second choice comes into play. Just put down the world-scope and seek something that gives us a better, clearer, more accurate view. The mere act of acknowledging God's presence, no matter how small He seems, is a huge step that will provide Holy Spirit with raw materials that speak to our souls. He will also give us a heaven-scope to replace the one we put down. The new one magnifies two different ways.

Here is how it works. Once our souls begin to magnify (praise) God for who he is: Creator, Redeemer, and the One Who Walks Beside, to name just a few, the Holy Spirit begins to magnify (enlarge) the Lord in our understanding and vision. We begin seeing him not as a far away, almost invisible someone who can't possibly help us in any way: but instead, as a close, powerful, loving, father who wants only the best for us. The Lord becomes so much bigger than our problems that we realize our problems are actually quite small and manageable with God's help.

The more we see of God, the more we praise, the more we see...

There are no human words to express the greatness of God, the vastness, the hugeness (if there is such a word).  I take that back. There are words, words like Omnipotent, Omnipresent,and Omniscient. All Powerful, Always and Everywhere Present, and All Knowing might describe God, but our little, finite minds do not have the ability to comprehend his greatness. God has become too big to wrap our minds around. That is what makes Him God.

That is also why he sent his Son, in human form, to earth. God needed a way to express and show us his love--his love, both dying and undying--a love we can understand in a small way.

My soul, my soul magnifies the Lord. In return, may He be magnified (enlarged) beyond my wildness comprehension.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

My writing may be somewhat limited this week as I prepare for my part of our traditional, family progressive Christmas celebration the Saturday-Sunday before Christmas. Eighteen of us will celebrate with all we have,.

In the meantime, may the Lord be both praised and enlarged in your life this Christmas season,

Jan and Licorice Kitty (Today, for the first time in three months, I let Licorice Kitty outside for a few minutes . She smelled everything around the porches and back of the garage, then came running when I called her. Good Kitty)

Preparing to Prepare for Christmas

After I took Licorice to the vet's this morning, I went to a local big-box store for litter and a special kitty treat. While there, I spent quite a while looking around at all the Christmas paraphernalia in stock. Unbelievable. I checked out glittery this and sparkly that for the tree, velvet stockings and tapestry ones, candy canes for inside decor and out, and Duck Dynasty everything. I left the store with what a came for, as well as a spinning head. I think I will stick with the decoration I have and love. They may be old, but they have a story to tell me whenever I put them up.

For right now, everything Christmas is still stored in a few plastic bins in the storage room. I'll get them out Saturday to begin preparing for all the family Christmas fun. The first items I want to bring out are the Christmas mugs. Enjoying a cup of coffee or hot tea from them over the next weeks will be nice.

Next will be the "glass/ceramic/breakable" nativity scene. It consists of three lighted buildings, two groups of trees (one with a broken top), a cow, a few sheep, a group of camels, a shepherd, some wise men, and of course, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. I'm not sure where I will put it this year. I change it all the time.

The tree will go up somewhere in the living room. Swags decorating the fireplace mantle and doorway to the dining room will add a festive feeling. Three bedrooms will be readied for company. In the back of my mind I have cinnamon rolls baking. We'll see if that happens or stays as an enticing thought. That is what I am planning over the next week.

What planning and preparation did God go through for that first Christmas? There were so many things to do before hand. There had to be a common language in which to spread the good news. There had to be roads to travel on. There had to be a hunger for God. A prophet must be readied. A family had to be prepared to rear the Christ child. Then there had to be a way to get them to Bethlehem. So much to do.

Finally, the time was fully right. Greek was the universal language. Roman roads criss-crossed the Middle East and southern Europe, His people were oppressed and longing for the Messiah's arrival. John the Baptist was born, Mary was amazed and humbled by the angel's pronouncement of a child yet to be conceived. Joseph had dreams. .A census was declared. All was finally ready.

Oh yes, one more thing. The birth announcement was ready too--angels ready to light up the night sky and make a declaration. One said, "...Today in the town of David a Savior has been born; he is Christ the Lord..." A company of the heavenly host appeared and said, "Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."  Luke 2:11, 13

Preparing myself to prepare for Christmas,

Jan and Licorice Kitty

She Was Quite The Lady

White table cloths, blue, construction paper place mats, clear glass vases filled with evergreens and red balls,  and plastic-ware wrapped with red ribbon decorated the tables in the elementary school multipurpose room. Christmas music filled the air while grandparents from the community filed in and waited expectantly for the soon-to-be-meal and music program.

I hadn't been seated very long before a cute high-school student (my granddaughter) asked me if I'd like a cup of coffee. Of course I did. While she went to fetch the coffee, a couple white-haired ladies joined me. (Their hair was whiter than mine) Seated next to me was "Lorna" who, at eighty-five years of age, recently retired as director of the Senior Center as well as from her chaplaincy position with the fire department. "I just can't get up at 1:00 am to help out with fire emergencies any more," she told me.

She hasn't missed a city council meeting in fourteen years, has organized the placement of Holiday Food Bank Donation boxes in almost every business in the area for "who know how long," and loves the drums, guitars, and vocals of the worship team at her church.

She belongs to a well-known social organization that she no longer participates in because, "They don't do anything to help anyone. They make me mad. I have too much to do. I can't waste my time visiting over a social luncheon."

And she loved kids. That was why she was at the Grandparents Christmas Luncheon. She thoroughly enjoyed the sparkly dresses and shiny shoes, the jackets and ties, the tee shirts, hoodies, and pairs of well-worn jeans, as well as the dirty sneakers. She lovingly pointed out the shyest tot and the most exuberant vocalist. She didn't miss anything, and didn't want me to either. Whether the child was a wiggly, giggly kindergartner or an arms-crossed-I-don't-want-to-be-here fourth grader, each brought a grin to her face. The entire two hours were pure joy to her.

For me, I always love the school programs, but during today's lunch I let "Lorna's" story with all its enthusiasm, energy, and servant's heart bring me shame instead of joy. But as she talked I slowly realized that I would have no idea how to do what she has done for years. I don't know the people she does, have her contacts, or her organizational skills. She is using her God-given talents to the fullest. "Lorna" is being the best "Lorna" she can be. I'm sure God is well pleased.

So, instead of feeling bad about not being like her, my main question became, am I being the best Jan I can be? My honest answer is, not yet, but I'm working on it.

I praise the Lord for people like Lorna. What an example and inspiration she was to me. I don't think our sitting at the same table was coincidental. The Lord was definitely in our encounter, and, for me, it truly was joyful--tis the season.

Thank you, Lord, for today's luncheon and "Lorna". She was quite the lady.

Jan and Licorice (who is sitting on my lap purring)

He Calls, and Calls, and Calls

Guess what sounds wonderful around now, curling up in my warm bed for a little nap. I'm so tired this morning. It is the cat's fault. Since Licorice Kitty spent a restless night searching for her kittens, I spent a restless night also. She would sleep at the foot of my bed for an hour or so, then jump down and start roaming throughout the house mewing, yowling, and crying, but still not getting any response. Then she would return, mew at me, curl up and sleep another hour before searching again. Even this morning, she is still searching and sniffing everywhere the kittens had been. From the top of the kitchen bar to the nether regions under the couch, she has explored. Still no luck.

I have explained the situation to her, but she just doesn't understand why her kids are going to new homes. She tells me they must be hiding around here somewhere.  I will say this, though, she has been very affectionate since we got home yesterday. When she isn't searching, she is either sleeping beside my laptop while I type, or sitting beside me wanting to be petted. I was even surprised when she jumped on my bed last night. In the three months she has been inside, she has never done that.

This new experience has given me more awe of God's creation than I had before. The maternal instinct Licorice Kitty exhibits brought me to tears again today--not like yesterday's torrent, but tears are tears no matter how many there are.

If a mere cat can experience such loss that her searching and calling is now approaching twenty-four hours, what must God go through when seeking his lost ones. Unlike Licorice Kitty, God knows where we all are, but he continually calls for His lost to return to him.

Within a week, Licorice should forget her "lost" kittens. At least that is what the vet said. That will be good for both of us. But God never forgets his lost kids. Holy Spirit will call, and call, and call until we are no longer have breath to answer Him.

And best of all, He calls us by name.

Isaiah 43:1-2
But now, thus says the LORD, who created you, O Jacob, And he who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are mine.*

Thank you, Lord.

Jan and sleeping Licorice Kitty

I Said I Would't Cry

Since eight o'clock this morning, I've been telling myself that I am not going to cry. That is what I said when I tucked my four kittens and Licorice Kitty into the pet carrier for an hour-long, snowy trip to the vet's. That is what I told myself every time they meowed from the back seat. That's what I told myself when each kitten got a clean bill of health, a shot, and then put into a different carrier (they will soon have new homes). That's what I told myself every time Licorice started meowing during the drive home.

So, now we are home and the tears won't stop--mine or Licorice's. For the past hour she has gone from room to room calling for kittens that don't come. She has spent long minutes staring out every window possible--no kittens anywhere. She is now calling from the back of the sofa, and still getting no mews or scampers from her little ones.

It is so sad listening to the change in Licorice's cries. They are no longer purring-mewing cries of a mother checking on the babes. They are now a mournful yowl that makes my heart break and my tears flow faster. I haven't cried like this for over a year.

We'll get over it. We'll forget the sorrow and pain. I don't know about cats, but I will always remember the joy those kittens brought. Today was a perfect example of a comment my pastor made yesterday. "Joy and pain are two rails of the same track called life."

With that, I'll sign off, blow my nose, wipe the tears off my cheeks, and try do get some work done. Licorice has finally gone to sleep.

May we all experience Christ's joy in spite of our pain.

Jan and Licorice, who's getting spayed in a couple days.

Winter Looks Like...

What does winter look like? It looks exactly like my backyard .

Long uncut grass pokes its blades through the skiff of pure snow.
Curled, brown, dried leaves also poke through--beautifully decorated with frost.
A few lonely leaves still cling to the hazelnut tree.
They dare an icy wind to blow them off--a wind yet un-felt.
Tree branches reach in all directions searching for relief from their cold, snowy blanket.
But the sun brings no warmth.
There is only cold, peaceful, silent death.

Winter may look like death, but isn't.

It's nature's rest from busyness,
silence from a noisy world,
and strengthening for spring.

It's my warm evening fires,
mugs of hot cocoa,
and good books.

It's Christmas time
With Hark the Herald Angels Sing,
And the Christ child's birth.

That is what winter looks like.

Enjoying all of it,
Jan

What is This?

What is this? That is the question I am asking myself this morning as I survey my surroundings. What is this?

What is this pile of towels heaped on the floor?  I had them folded last night.

What are these bits of shredded paper and miscellaneous toy parts doing in my living room?

What are all these scratches on my arms and legs?

What is that stinky, dark pile of something by the door?

What is that mewing sound ringing in my ears whenever I open the refrigerator door?

What is this headache?

KITTENS!!!

Fluff-ball, Ossie, Target, and Bibbs, four bundles of energy when awake, and one pile of cuteness when sleeping, need to find homes, but they can't because they don't have phones. (Sorry, I couldn't resist that take-off of a TV ad). Anyway, I left a phone message with HAVA  (a no-kill animal rescue center), and now wait for a returned phone call saying, "Yes, of course we can take your kittens."

"Would you take Licorice Kitty, too?" would be one of my questions. She is a very nice cat; however, until she has been spayed and is able to go outside again, I can't leave home for any period of time. If only she could change her own litter box.

What is this? is what I am also asking about the cornucopias, dried Indian corn, fall leaves, and amber candles scattered all over my dining room table. Thanksgiving decorations, obviously, but why are they still sort of placed on my table? My fault. I thought they would be safe up there until I put them away sometime with week. WRONG!

How did the kittens get on top of a dining room table? was the first question that entered my mind the other morning. They demonstrated later in the day. First, they tried all the wooden chairs, but got no further than the seats. Then, "Hey guys, over here--a climbing-material thingy!" The cry went out, and all four kittens jumped from the floor to grab the seat of the padded desk chair (not put away from Thanksgiving dinner). Then they pulled themselves onto the seat, climbed up the back of the chair, and jumped onto the table. What fun awaited them--until I intervened.

How do kittens get on top of the kitchen-island counter? The same way they get onto the table--climbing-material thingies--also known as bar stools. It is a long jump from the floor to the bottom of the stools. But, with enough tries and endless determination, the impossible becomes possible, and Mt. Everest of the Kitchen is conquered.

"Looky at what we did, Feeder-Petter-Person-With-Climbable-Legs. Aren't we smart, and cute, and athletic, and ..."

"Nope, not anymore. Get off the counter!"

What is this? This is another growth experience for me. As I have been watching the interactions of my cat family this morning, I am once again feeling the pain of separation. A few hours ago, Licorice was sleeping somewhere in the area. Three kittens were sleeping on the towels I had moved from the floor to the couch, and Target was playing with his shadow on the living room floor. All of a sudden, Target started mewing, quite loudly, I might add, for no apparent reason. In a matter of seconds, Licorice came running from the dining room, greeted Target, and started licking his face. The sibs on the couch woke up and jumped down to join the wonderful kitten-washing time. Within minutes, all were cleaned up and stretched out on the rug for a nap-time with Mom. Target was no longer by himself.

As I write this, Mom and kittens are having another nap-time, this time called my Licorice herself. Three kittens had been sleeping on a padded chair at a folding table (still up from Thanksgiving). Fluff-ball was sleeping somewhere unknown to me. Into the quiet room came Licorice, just up from her nap on a dining room chair. I heard her coming before I saw her. She entered the room calling for her kittens. The three on the chair immediately jumped down, but Fluff-ball didn't come from anywhere. While the three chair-sleepers clammored for their mother's attention, Licorice headed directly toward a sofa, looked under it and meowed, then meowed again. Finally, out from under a sofa, came Fluff-ball. She stretched, yawned, mewed, and licked her mom's face. Licorice had her family all together again.

Now they sleep--a contented pile of cats.

If kittens can feel all alone, I think Target had. If mother cats can wonder where their kittens are and what they are doing, I think Licorice had. Separating Licorice from her kittens will be difficult for me, but has to be done. I have to remind myself that I can't put human emotions into animals, and cat families don't usually live as one big happy group forever.

I know that time is fast approaching as I observe Licorice separating herself from the kittens. She stays with them for  only short periods of time, then leaves them alone to sleep, play, fight, and attack my feet. She still occasionally plays with them, but is getting much rougher. She yowls and bats at them if they insist on playing with her tail while she oversees their antics. I think she is preparing for the inevitable separation by getting the kittens ready to survive without her. That is the way God created his creatures.

Separation and pain. I don't like either, but am beginning to feel both once more. I told myself quite awhile ago that I would never again have a pet, even though my kids and my therapist suggested I do so. I went through separation and pain when I had to have my dachshund put down. I didn't want to do that again. But that pain was nothing compared to the pain when my husband confessed to child molestation and went to prison.

So, those many years ago, I closed myself off, locked the doors, and told myself that I wouldn't love anything again. I wanted nothing in my life that would be taken from me.  So what do I do? I take in a stray cat, pregnant at that. I felt this might be a God thing, and still do. That is why I asked the question, what is this. What am I to learn?

I can love, even when I tell myself I won't.
Loss is part of life.
Separation isn't easy, but often necessary.

In the midst of all the questions in this post, I know one thing for certain: God answers prayers, often the way we want. The lady from HAVA just called. They will take the kittens. Within the hour, I am to call the vet that HAVA works with, make an appointment to bring in Licorice and kittens. Licorice will be checked for leukemia, and the kittens will get a wellness check. I can then leave the kittens for HAVA to pick up, and make arrangements to have Licorice spayed.

Thank you, Lord.

Oh yes, what about this headache? It wasn't the kittens after all. It was caffeine withdrawal. A cup of strong coffee with mint creamer worked wonders.

Giving thanks in all things, including kitten messes, leftover Thanksgiving disarray, and coffee,
Jan

Children, God's Gift

I wish I remembered dates, but I don't. The date doesn't really matter in this story, but I think it was 1970. My youngest child was just an infant at the time. That would make my number one child around five-years-old. He is the one this story is about--a story of grace and answered prayers.

My cute little guy's blue eyes and impish smile melted everyone's hearts. What a natural charmer he was. But a time of concern came upon my husband and me when we noticed that our son kept playing with a spot on his cheek, pinching and poking at the same place throughout the day. When we finally checked out what he was doing, we discovered he had a BB sized lump under the skin.

What were we dealing with?

A local specialist thought it was something that would get smaller and go away--an infection maybe. But, we were to keep an eye on it. So we did. Instead of disappearing, the lump got larger. The doctor now felt we were dealing with a tumor. He then explained that because children's tumors grow quite rapidly, he was concerned about the supposed tumor's close proximity of the brain.

Surgery now stared us in the face--so did another problem. The tumor could involve the nerve to the corner of the mouth. If that were the case, our son could lose his ability to smile. He would probably also drool; however, the doctor assured us he would operate as if our son were his own son. But he could make no promises about the outcome.

The first couple days, everything was scary. We were concerned about the surgery itself as well as possible hardships our son could face. I had a second concern. It was for the baby I was nursing at the time. Would stress cause problems for me or the baby?  All these worries were short lived because this was where prayer entered the picture.

While we waited the arrival of our surgery, our friends and church family prayed for us. As a result, God answered.  Personally, he met me in an unusual way (at least I thought it was unusual). Instead of worrying about all the "bad" things that could happen, I began to understand that our son, a God-given gift, was ours to love, care for, and instruct--for a season. How long would that be? I had no idea. But that mind set brought me peace of mind, and not fear.

During the waiting game, I watched with awe as not only our son (the patient) but also our two-year-old daughter experienced each new day with joy, curiosity, and discovery. During those days, the Lord opened my eyes to what a gift these children really were. He also opened my eyes to his faithfulness. This came as I watched my infant son eagerly take in his surroundings as he nursed.

Thank you, Lord, for answered prayers.

The night before surgery, our friends didn't sleep very well. They awoke quite often and prayed for us, for our son, and for the doctor. Both my husband and I slept soundly the entire night. That was another answer to prayers.

Surgery day--all went well. The tumor wasn't a tumor after all. It was a lymph node infected with tuberculosis! Talk about weird. First off, there shouldn't have been a lymph node in the middle of the cheek. Secondly, we didn't use raw milk, the usual source of TB in children.

The TB mystery went unsolved. The family took anti-tuberculin drugs for a year. And, as forty-three blessing-filled years have passed, I still view my adult children as I did when they were small: gifts God has given me for a season.

I continue thanking the Lord for long-ago trials that showed me the gift of children.

Jan

Thanksgiving Debriefing

The only sound I hear at this moment is the furnace. Other than that, nothing. Silence is so nice!

The noise level in my home yesterday was almost equal to the home game for the Seattle Seahawks--record breaking. Twenty-four of us spent Thanksgiving enjoying delicious food and wonderful company. As a result, the decibel level of the laughter and happy voices was extremely high

After a one o'clock dinner, the afternoon consisted of fun-filled card games and board games. While an intense game of Settlers cast a spell over a table of adventures at the dining room table, a hot card game of Hand and Foot held another group to their chairs around a table in the living room. After snacks and turkey sandwiches, Wits & Wagers challenge a group of competitors.The last card game of Presidents broke up at 11:30 p.m.

For those of us who aren't card players, a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be pieced together covered the surface of yet another table in the living room.

Not a puzzle person or need a break?  Then kick back, have a cup of coffee, tea, or cider, and talk. It was nice to visit with family members when nothing else is on the agenda. It was also nice to talk with guests we didn't know.

If that weren't enough, we all took a break for a new event this year. BINGO (with prizes). Glow in the Dark Glasses, Minion stickers, votive candles, and a squeaky rubber duck pleased everyone who won. Some people won several times, some of us didn't win at all. That unfair division of the prizes is why I don't trust phone apps. They just don't work the way I think they should--not that I'm upset or anything. But, I really wanted that little yellow ducky.

Then, to add a little excitement, one never knew when a kitten would appear at a table, not on its own accord, but with the help of one of the kids. At least the feisty felines received more attention and handling that I could ever give them, and that is a good thing.

Oh yes, one other thing, what Thanksgiving is complete without dirty dishes? Since I don't have a dishwasher, we hand-washed lots of dishes and silverware and glasses and cups and pans, and more dishes.

Now, on this day after Thanksgiving, our numbers have diminished. We are a family of sixteen for the next couple days. By this evening, the turkey broth that simmered all day yesterday will have transformed into highly-anticipated turkey soup, a grandson's 22nd  birthday will have been celebrated, more games will have been played, and another puzzle or two reassembled. It will be good.

I am so thankful for my family. Everyone pulls together, doing what needs to be done. From preparing food to setting tables, from wiping off counters to picking up stray cups and glasses, from slicing desserts to putting out sandwich makings, from washing dishes to putting them away, all is done without any choreography from a leader. It's a beautiful dance performed by a dance company of twenty-plus. What a blessing!

That about sums it up. While I have been typing, a daughter-in-law has been busy taking down one of the tables in the living room and rearranging the folding chairs. We will be totally ready for this afternoon's and evening's activities. Now to get the soup started.

Feeling so blessed.   (tired too)

Jan

Bittersweet Afternoon

It seemed like such a sweet little book at first glance. I love little books. This ones floral, fabric cover attracted my attention immediately. The blank pages inside had scripture at the top of each one, as well as two dates on each side--nice, I thought.

As I flipped through the empty pages, I thought of different uses for it: date book, diary, God moments, prayer requests.... Wait, what was that? Writing? That is when the book turned from sweet to bittersweet.

Here is what I found.

June 5, 2009     Friday
All the kids are coming to (Husband's) sentencing this afternoon. "Lord, may we be strengthened to accept whatever your will is for (H) and our family"

June 6    Saturday
Family in crisis--God in Control
Ten years to life is hard to fathom, but God is good, and his will is done--I should say, is being done.We now move forward

I will lift up my hands in his name.

June 7    Sunday
(Elder son) and I saw (H) this morning. (Daughter and younger son) went this p.m. It was healing for all. (Elder son) has a strong sense that God will do a mighty work in this family. Praise Him.

June 8    Monday
During yesterday's visit, (H) had some personal prayer requests:
That he stay strong in faith, stand strong against the enemy, be a mighty witness, and be safe.

He might be sent to (prison nearby) today.

I saw a therapist

June 9    Tuesday
 This is my pray for (H) today.

"In the day when I cried you answered me, and strengthened me with strength in my soul." Psalm 138:3

 He was sent out yesterday a.m.

No energy today, I accomplished very little.

June 10    Wednesday
I must get out and work while the weather is nice.

"Lord, keep away the body aches--restore my strength."

Why are tears still so near the surface?

June 11    Thursday
Hubby's 68th birthday.

The rest of the book is blank.

After all these years I would like to think my sorrow would have gone away. As I discovered this afternoon, it hasn't. Although it hasn't left, it has changed. It no longer feels raw and stinging. Bittersweet molasses are the only words that express what I felt. Today's sorrow was thick, sweet, and comfortable.

I've seen and experienced the Lord's healing hand since 2009. What I felt back then was tears and emptiness. I had no anger or sorrow that I was conscious of, just those confounded tears from deep wounds and emptiness. I didn't understand how raw and stinging my suppressed emotions were.

How did I get from raw and stinging to molasses?  I guess the bittersweet molasses description comes from a childhood memory of my granddad giving me a glass of milk with black-strap molasses stirred into it (his idea of chocolate milk) after dinners at his house. The first sip always made me shudder and make a crazy face. But Granddad's words, "It's good for you, girl." made the rest go down more easily. When finished, Granddad and I would wipe the milk off our faces and give each other big smiles followed by a resounding, "Aaaaaaaah, that's good." Those were good times, sweet times, and times of comfort and peace; however, a bittersweet taste always remained for awhile.

That is the way this afternoon was. Reading entries about forgotten events made me shudder at first taste, then I thought about all the good that has come out of it (it's good for you, girl). Now, several hours later, I can smile and say, "Aaaaaaaah, these years have been good." There have been good times, sweet times, and times of comfort and peace; although, some bitter-sweetness still remains.

What an interesting day today has been.

Thank you, Lord, for the reminder of our journey-- 000000000=[]kitten walked across the keyboard.

Jan and Cat family,

Pre-thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving--a time of giving thanks, but what am I thankful for? Making a list would be extremely easy. There is my family and home. There are friends, clothes to wear, food to eat, a car to drive, good health.... But giving thanks for things I possess or are meaningful to me is quite superficial and self centered. They could all be destroyed in a matter of minutes. If a record breaking tsunami took it all, would I have anything left to be thankful for? Absolutely.

I would be thankful for my Lord. He is my rock. He is my fortress. He's my deliverer. He is King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Prince of Peace. He is Wonderful Counselor, Bread of Life, Living Water, and Light unto my path. And don't forget Healer, Redeemer, and Lover of my soul.

This Thanksgiving I will give thanks for all the material blessings I have and the people in my life; however, I must not lose sight of the Giver of everything.

Thank you, Lord, for who you are--the great 

I Am

Bringing out the vacuum to finish blessing my home,

Jan, Licorice Kitty, and sleeping kittens

A Jumble of Thoughts

Less than a week until Thanksgiving, where has the year gone? Each month seems to fly past more rapidly than the previous one, but with winter upon us, each day seems to go more slowly. All last week I'd check the clock to see how late the hour was, only to discover bedtime wouldn't arrive for hours yet. I didn't check the time because I was tired or sleepy. I checked because it was dark outside.

Like now, for example. Dusk left hours ago. My summer-time brain tells me it is eleven o'clock, but my computer tells me it's only 6:30 p.m. If I go to bed now, I'll be up at 1 a.m. So, I'll wait it out by.... I don't know what I'll do. I could read something from the paper-bags of books a friend gave me. I could work an a counted cross-stitch Christmas stocking I started last January. I could listen to some music. I could.... I could... I could do anything I wanted, but I really don't want to do anything, so I will sit here and type (I believe keyboard in the proper term these days)

So far on this post, I have been freewriting, but with some revision and corrections. If this were true freewriting, I would make absolutely no corrections or revisions. I'd let the creative side of my mind have free rein while I kept the critic side locked away until another day. That is extremely hard for me to do. I will try it for a few minutes. Here goes.

The grandkids came over this afternoon to help with some chores as I get ready for Thanksgiving. The yellowpad of notes spelled out jobs for them to do. I love having them over. I love fixing them food and listeneing to their converstaions. Pizza is always a hit. So are brownies. All the recycle stuff ahs been temoved from my kitchen. The garbage has been emptied, and the porch cleaned off. Leaves are raked up, front door window washed, and all the flat surfaces of my living room and dining room have been dusted. The kittens have been lpayed with, and dishes washed. And we have talked about writing, and learning, and basketball practice. What a fun day it was. I'm blessed. Having my daughter busy in the kitchen preparing lasagna for a potluck she is attending tomorrow was also fun. I'm thankful. Now I have piles notebooks, books, photo albums, jigsaw puzzles, and Thanksgiving decorations to deal with. No one can really healp with that kind of stuff. It is mine and mine alone. I do not like deciding what to do with it. Nice neat piles works well for me--except when I am having company over. Twenty people for dinner I figure. I still have several days.

There, you have just journeyed through my jumbled thoughts, typos and all. If I were taking that just-written paragraph seriously, I would spend the next hour working and reworking it until you all felt as if you were right here with all of us. I'd heat some water for your favorite beverage and serve you some warm brownies while you sat back and enjoyed my day with me. You would hear the chatter, smell the aromas, and laugh at the kittens.

For now, you will just have to imagine.

I'm thankful for another day of grace.
Jan, Licorice Kitty, and kittens.

What a Scene

While I was finishing up the last lessons for my online class today, I learned that when Licorice Kitty sounds distressed, she is; her kids are up to no good. Now, about those kittens, they are supposed to stay in their own room. They have stuffed animals, balls, tubes, and boxes to play with, a bed to sleep on, water to drink, a wicker basket to climb over, and a litter box to...well you know what. Why they want to explore the forbidden areas of the house is beyond my comprehension, but I'm not a kitten.

Please bear with me here while I digress a moment.

Does anyone remembers my earlier post about my stacks of papers to be filed--the ones I placed on the couch? Well, the couch is always overjoyed when company arrives, especially calm, quiet company that will stay for several days. That gives her ample time to entertain her captive audience with her famous Legends From the Living Room tales. The past few days, she seemed to have plenty of stories to tell, and the papers seemed to be mesmerized by them.

Not only were they listening well, they were also following my instructions to the letter. "Stay in your assigned groups on the couch--October, you stay in this pile; November, you're in this one; and Tax Info, over here. I'll be back very soon to take you to your forever home." Well, they are home alright, and they are grounded. I am not happy with them (or the kittens for that matter).

I will never know exactly what happened; no one is talking. But it seems that two feline explorers entered the living room and mewed to the papers on the couch. I'm not sure what happened next. Maybe those rascally papers had finally tired of couch's stories and convinced the kittens to join them for a wrestling match, or the two kittens convinced my papers to jump off the sofa and play tag with them.

Anyway, I watched with my own two eyes as my papers flew all over the floor. I witnessed Licorice's fuzzy-duo scampered over, under, and through anything in their way. While the kittens jumped and ran with complete abandon, the papers flitted, fluttered and tried unsuccessfully to dodge sharp little claws, Licorice vocalized from the coffee table, and I just laughed. What a hilarious scene it was; however, neither Mamma Cat nor I were very happy with our charges.

I'm glad the joy of the Lord is my strength. The joy of the Cats and Paper Fiasco wore me out.

Jan, Licorice, and (hopefully asleep) kittens

Trials of A Mother Cat

What do a turtleneck shirt, fisherman knit sweater, and Mickey Mouse hoodie have in common?
They are all keeping me warm on this chilly, as in cold, day.

What does a pile of sleeping six-week old kittens have in common with their wide awake sibling? Absolutely nothing.

The awake one refuses to stay in her comfortable room. I tell her, "It's nap time little kitten. Back in your room you go. Now curl up with the rest of the kids. Night, night."  I put her on the pile of napping fur-balls, and no sooner high-step over the toy box that blocks the doorway than she is also over the box and bounding for the living room.

Licorice is not happy about the situation at all. I've found her lying in the middle of the living room floor and peering under the couch at her wayward child. I've found her on a dining room chair and looking under the table at the adventurer who is trying to climb a table leg. All the while she is not only talking to, but also scolding the kitten. When Licorice isn't keeping a sharp eye on her explorer, she is checking on the sleeping ones. Then, if she hears the refrigerator door open, she is immediately at my feet begging for a handout.  Oh, the trials and busy-ness of a mother cat.

As I watch Licorice fret and stew over four little ones, I wonder what God must go through with all his brood of wayward ones. I'm glad he is God.

*******
I just left to check on the cats because the house was suddenly quiet. I'm a happy mama now. Prodigal kitten made her way back to the pile and is sleeping with the other three. Licorice is stretched out on the toy box trying to get some shut-eye while the kids are sleeping. No one is sneaking out of the room on her watch.

All is well around here

Jan

Forgiveness and Repentance

As I was flipping through some of the notepads taking up space in my desk cubicles, I came across a couple pages of notes I made over five years ago. At that time, my husband was living in a motel in town while the police were investigating the charges against him. I was deep in turmoil as I dealt with forgiving him. At the suggestion of our financial adviser who was helping me in my financial upheaval, I called his own pastor in a nearby city.

Forgiveness

During our conversation the pastor said, "Forgiveness is refusing to let the sin of another person interfere with my desire to love that person to the extent it is safe."  He also asked, "Are we willing, to the extent we are able, to be in the other person's presence?" To that he added, "But we can't walk into danger."

Those notes are a good reminder of where I was then, and where I am now. I remember meeting my husband in the parking lot of the grocery store to give him some needed papers. I was extremely nervous walking toward him, wishing to be anywhere other than there. He wanted to give me a hug. I said, "I don't think so." He invited me to have lunch with him. I said, "I'm not comfortable being with you. I don't know what you will do to me." I could tell by the expression that briefly passed across his eyes that my remark was like a slap to his face.

He had never given me any indication he was even capable of doing bodily harm to anyone, but I feared him anyway. If he could molest our granddaughters, he could hurt me. The enemy was definitely working his devious plan in my fragile mind--planting doubts and fears.

Most of that has changed. I no longer fear for myself. If my husband were out of prison, I could easily have an evening out with him because I wouldn't feel I was walking into danger. I can see more of the man I married, and less of the sin he committed. Any concerns I might have in that situation would be very self-centered. (What would people think)

I still have other concerns, though. Because he hasn't gotten any treatment yet, can he resist the lure of children? Thankfully, he has been accepted into the prison's Sex Offender program, and has several more years to serve.

Repentance

The pastor I talked to said, "Godly sorrow focuses on the damage we caused others. It is that Godly sorrow that brings about repentance. Repentance is not something we do, but something that happens to us." 2 Corinthians 7:8-11

I took several years for my husband to realize the damage his actions caused the family. He was so engulfed by his own fears of prison, of possible threats, and even of death that he couldn't begin to conceive that his family was also living in their own form of prison--an emotional one. He understands that now, and is truly sorry for the pain he caused us. Repentance has and is happening. I am so thankful the Lord has brought my husband as far as he has.

But what about me? That is the question I always have to ask myself. Where am I in the forgiveness/repentance arena? I have forgiven my husband, but occasionally feelings and emotions arise that are contrary to the Lord's words and promises. They have to be taken captive.

We are destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ, 2 Corinthians 10:5

Repentance is what is beginning to come to the surface of my thoughts. For a person who felt terribly wronged, I have to open my eyes to those I may have wronged. What words have I spoken, and what actions have I taken, or not taken, that have caused damage to others--especially my husband? For these things, and I'm sure there are many, I have to search and ask the Lord's forgiveness as well as the forgiveness of other people.

I'm thankful Holy Spirit keeps working in me, but sometimes it hurts a lot.

Rejoicing in today's brilliant sun and the Eternal Son,

Jan and the napping cats.

Best Laid Sleep Plans Don't Always Work

I certainly have no idea who I was trying to fool when I turned off the bedside lamp at 9:30 last night. It must have been myself since I was the only humanoid in the household. Get yourself to bed early, I told myself, enough to this 11:00 p.m. nonsense you've been pulling.

When I plan on going to bed at 11, I end up extending it to midnight or later. The good thing is I fall asleep quite rapidly. By 6:00 - 6:30 a.m. my eyes pop open, squint at the clock across the room, and shut again as I think, I should go back to sleep for another hour or two. Doesn't happen. I lie there, eyes closed, body relaxed, but mind awake.  It reminds me that most literature says I need at least eight hours of sleep each and every night; I am getting only six to seven. Okay, Jan,  if you can't sleep in, try getting your bod to bed earlier.

I know I've tried this masterful plan before and it didn't work. But, as the all-powerful "they" say, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." So I did.

I climbed into bed at 8 o'clock, read until 9:30, then turned off the light and shut my eyes. Goodnight Monday, hello sleepy-time. Off to dreamland I want where the strange house I lived in was being remodeled. The kitchen was being moved into half of the living room area, carpet squares were being torn out in preparation for hardwood floors. My mom was there in some capacity, but I don't know what. In the midst of figuring out what in the world was planned for the old kitchen space, I woke up.

Obviously, it was still dark. I felt rested, and wondered if the clock would read the usual 6:00 or so. Did I succeed in getting eight hours of sleep? Raising myself up on one elbow I did my squint routine, then collapsed back onto my pillow. TWO-THIRTY A.M., YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING. Five measly hours of sleep. As my teenage grand-kids would say of my increased-sleep endeavor, "Fail!"

I pulled the covers up to my nose, wriggled around to get comfortable, took half a dozen deep breaths, and tried to go back to sleep. Nope, wasn't happening. After forcing myself to stay relaxed and rested for a long, long two hours, I finally got up, fixed some toast and peanut butter, fed the cats, and muttered about being up so early.

It is now 4:00 p.m.; I've been up twelve hours, and am very sleepy. I am now faced with an unusual dilemma: do I take a nap?  That is a new one for me. Part of me says no, don't do it. The other part says sure, why not. Decisions, decisions.

While I am deciding, I just want to share that the ladies I pray with on Tuesday mornings had a great time praying for our community and churches today. We should be seeing great things happening down the road as a result.

I'm off to read awhile, maybe doze off, maybe not. I'll see what happens.

Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens,

(The little imps are learning to climb over the toy box that blocks their room from the entry way. Oh dear.)

Files in My Mind

What's in all my filing cabinets and boxes? I don't know. I have one full-sized, four drawer cabinet plus two small cabinets. That number doesn't include at least one cardboard box, one plastic file box, and four plastic totes. Included in the cabinets are: ten years worth of tax returns and tax related paper work, material I have written, maps and camping lists, warranties and service manuals, etc. The plastic totes contain letters and cards,  photographs, newspaper clippings, and family history records.

I also have records from my husband's father and aunt who have been dead for a couple decades.

As I have been working up enough courage to tackle all those papers, I remembered the picture I painted when I first started therapy; a self portrait is what Dr. B. requested. She wanted me to put down on paper an image of how I saw myself. That was a real challenge and one of my first steps toward healing.

I sat down at my kitchen counter-table-thingy, pencil in hand, and stared at a sheet of paper. I knew I could draw a rough representation of myself in my usual blue jeans and turtleneck shirt. I could draw glasses on my face and scribble graying hair on my head. I could even remove my extra twenty pounds if I wanted to to. Once sketched out, I colored myself in--differing shades of blue for my pants, pink shirt, gray hair. But I didn't do an instant, weight loss picture. I wanted to be as honest about my self image as I could. My exterior was the easy part. My inside part was harder to discover?

As I mulled over the few emotions I had at the time, I could picture my brain as a storage vault filled with filing cabinets. Instead of "everything in its proper place", drawers were open and their contents strewn everywhere. Papers were on the floor, on tops of cabinets, and hanging over the edges of drawers. Some papers were torn, others walked on, and some even bloodied. Nothing was where I had tucked it away. Nothing could be easily located. All was in complete chaos.

Now that the mental mess has some semblance of order, I know things are filed differently than they were before. Memories and events that had been filed in their separate folders have now had copies made and mixed in with other files because I am slowly learning that life is not composed of singular events. It is an accumulation of experiences, each one building upon the other.

I used to have a God file. It was filled with information that I had learned, prayers that had been answered, songs that I loved, and special moments that I felt his presence. But God can't be filed away as a once-upon-a-time memory. I now see him more as the Master of my Memory Vault who knows exactly what I need to know or remember, then brings it to my attention by handing it to me face to face. He doesn't bring just memories of one incident, he often includes a present day situation and says, "Do you see my hand in these two events? Do you see the wonders I have worked?"

He hands me memories of my childhood as well as my college days. He shows me times of camping and playing with my family. He shows me his presence in the delivery room as well as at my dying mother's bedside. I see him dancing in my joys and grieving in my sorrows. Although I might not have acknowledged him when these events were happening, I realize more and more that he was hard at work in every situation. My spiritual eyes still cannot see him clearly, and maybe never will, but he is there.

He is no longer filed away under "G".

Anticipating a GOD day,

Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens,
(I have to start finding homes for the little ones. They are six weeks old now. From what I read, eight weeks is an ideal time for adoption.  Lord, help me.)

One of Blue Pig's Tales

The tile floor beneath my feet is cold. To correct the problem, I put an old bath mat under the desk to provide a bit of insulation. Somehow or other, the mat is now all scrunched up, moved around, and doing nothing but irritating me. I have taken my fuzzy socks off because they are bothering my toes. And then there is my hair. I washed it, but didn't apply any mousse. Now it just wants to fall in my face. Grrrrr. The pink, Maui baseball cap I put on does help a little. So, now that my hair is somewhat controlled, my feet are free of their captors, and the mat under my feet is my only discomfort, what else can I complain about?

It has been one of those days. You know the kind I mean, but maybe you don't. It's been the kind where all I've accomplished is making my bed, taking a shower, preparing and eating three meals, feeding the cats, paying some bills, and writing 350 words for my book. That is it, all, everything, yet nothing, absolutely nothing.

All of today's dishes are still in the sink and patiently waiting for me to give them my hot, soapy water bath and rubdown followed by a quick dip in the rinsing pool--my special spa treatment--at least I think they're patient.

Three months worth of paid bills, lab reports, bank statements, insurance information, etc., are neatly piled on the living room couch and surrounding carpet--all patiently waiting for their trip to the accordion file. That will be a nice change of scenery for them. They must have gotten tired of decorating the top of my dresser for all those months. Although, the blue piggy bank standing proudly beside their disorderly pile was probably good company. He has good stories to tell, like the time...

..."I was just a young little porker and bursting with pride. I was proud to be blue. There are very few of us around, you know, especially as big as I am. In fact, all my siblings are blue too--specially painted by a caring grandmother for all her kids and grand-kids. Our owner, Jan, is one of the kids. That's how I got here.
"Anyway, my tummy was full of pennies, nickles, and dimes, and maybe even a quarter or two. Since I'm not very good at counting, I lose track faster than my grandpa running for the slop bucket, I don't really know how much money I was guarding. But I was proud of what I had.
"This day I'm telling you about scared me to death. If I had a real heart, it would have stopped beating because all of a sudden I was snatched off this very dresser, turned upside down over the bed and shaken up and down, back and forth, and every sideways there was. Some little person was shaking me and laughing as all my coins started falling out. Nickles, dimes, and jillions of pennies (at least that is how many I counted) tumbled out of my little coin slot.
"I squealed, 'Stop shaking me. There's a plug in my tummy for the coins to exit. Don't shake me. I'm getting dizzy.' The little tyke just kept shaking. I don't remember much after that. In fact, all I remember after the shaking stopped was a little voice saying, 'Thanks for the money, Nana. I hope my class wins the penny drive.' That made me very happy and very proud."

Yes, I do think my little blue pig told the pile of papers lots of wonderful stories. I hope they don't miss Piggy too much; however, at this very moment, the couch is probably telling them about the little mouse that popped from between their cushions while I was reading a story to a granddaughter. I was quite startled, but just kept on reading--didn't want to scare a sleepy, comfy little girl. Yes, that is probably what's happening in the living room as I type.

I'm ready for a cup of hot tea and a trip to bed, but the dishes are getting restless. Before they revolt, I had better give them their spa treatment.

Anticipating a good night's sleep, then church in the morning,

Blessings to all,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens

(I gave the kittens four-foot-long, heavy-duty mailing tube to play with. When one heads into the tube, another waits at the other end, then pounces on her litter mate as she exits. So cute.)
 

God is Good

Give thanks to the Lord Almighty, for the Lord is good; his mercies endure forever.

Jeremiah 33:11

That is all I have to say this evening. Well, this too. After a couple days of turmoil, sadness, and uncertainty, prayers have been answered. God is sooooo good.

Resting in Him,

Jan and five sleeping cats

Love, With A Hook

Last night, while listening to an audio presentation about God's love, this comment made me grab a pen and start writing, "We want what He gives, but don't want to give what he gave us." Wow!

All of  a sudden my mind was working at warp speed, and that is fast.

He loves me unconditionally. I want that kind of love, but do I love others that way? Can I look into the eyes of a woman sitting on the sidewalk and greet her with a smile? Not usually. I either look the other way or cross the street. Can I sit beside a smelly woman on the bus and talk with her? I'd rather not answer that question. Can I drive by a panhandler without judging or questioning his lifestyle? Sometimes, but not often.

I'm not talking about giving them money. I'm talking about seeing them as Christ sees them. Do we see them as people who need unconditional love and acceptance? Do we even see them at all, really see them?

I thinks Christ weeps over them just as he did over Jerusalem. He weeps for their loneliness and pain, their hopelessness and lost-ness. (that's not a word, but I'm using it anyway) Some are lost sheep without a shepherd. Still others know the shepherd's voice but have either wandered away or are waiting for his help to arrive.

That's why I think Jesus cries even more for us, we aren't arriving. We have chosen not to see those who suffer; therefore, we are not loving, we are not helping, we not not ministering.  

For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’  Matthew 25:31-46

For some reason, we tend to add an egocentric, barbed hook to the end of  "I'll do it for the least of these" We add a but, an if only,or a when you. We do it without thinking. We do it to the guy on the corner and the gal in the doorway.

"If he/she got cleaned up a little and showed up in church, then I might see what I could do."

"I'd be willing to buy him a sandwich, but I'm not getting close to him now. When he doesn't reek like whiskey anymore, I'll consider helping him"

"As I always say, God helps those who help themselves."

Sadly, we do the same with family members. It might not be as overt as the following conversation I overheard at the mall one day, but the "I love you" hook can be there.

"You always buy Suzy things and not me. Why do you love her more?"

"I don't. I love you both the same. You know that."

"Then why don't I get earrings too?"

"Because today I decided to buy your sister some, not you. (long pause while mother thinks) Okay, to prove that I love you I will buy whatever earrings you want when you take off five pounds. Deal?"

I could understand the earring situation if it were a reward for grades or a promise kept. But in this scenario the older, slender sister gets earrings because mom decides so. Little sister gets earrings if she loses weight. That is how she will know her mom loves her. This was not unconditional love. This was love with Mom's hook in it.  I wanted to cry.

To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what God's unconditional love is like. There is no way I can wrap my finite mind around that concept. That is part of my problem: I tend to see unconditional love as a concept. It isn't a concept. It is reality. I understand it intellectually and conceptually--God loves me no matter what I do or don't do. He loves me because he loves me. I have even experienced that love microscopically through answered prayers, prophetic words, and soul rattling corporate prayer. But to be overwhelmed by the power of his love, to be swept off my feet is my desire.

How can I even begin loving the unloved, disenfranchised people in my community unconditionally, if I have not let myself experience that kind of love. How can I pray for spiritual revival and the ouster of the enemy camp in my community if I don't see its people, feel them, smell them, or cry for them as my Lord does?

I must press closer to the Lord. I must listen to his heart, and learn to love as he loves. My pride must go. Maybe then I can give to others what he has given me, unconditional love. But for now, God knows my heart and its desires for my community, church and family. Although my love still tends to be conditional, I will continue to pray to the best of my ability knowing God will answer as he wills.

And what about forgiveness? He has given that to me too. Can I also give it away? That is another topic for another day.

I'm off to bed with my mind full of more questions than answers.

Jan, Licorice Kitty and family

(I am very happy with the little ones today. I had to clean their litter box.)

Freewill Parable

I love finding surprises. As I cleaned out desk drawers full of miscellaneous items last week, I stumbled across a yellow file-box filled with index cards, most of them blank, but not all. Some of them contained notes I had written several years ago. One was a granddaughter story I had forgotten about.

It seemed that my five-year-old granddaughter and her mother had differing opinions about that night's bedtime routine. Mom was tired, had a migraine headache, and wanted to retire early. Child was full of energy, wanted another ice cream snack, and wanted to watch a video. "I'm not sleepy," was her reasoning.

Not up to dealing with a confrontation, Mom looked at her blonde, tousled-haired daughter in footy pajamas and sighed, "Okay, if you think you can be your own boss, I'll let you. You know where the ice cream is. Eat is all. There is some candy hidden behind the cereal bowls. Eat that if you want. Put on a video. Stay up as long as you want, but be ready for kindergarten in the morning. I am going to bed. Oh, don't forget to check the doors and turn off the lights before you come upstairs. Good night. Have fun."

With that, Mom headed upstairs to her room. A heartbreaking wail followed her. "No, Mommy, don't go upstairs. I don't want to be the boss. I don't want anymore ice cream. I don't want to turn off all the lights. I want to be with you." P.J. girl then scampered up the stairs and hugged her mother.

As Mom tucked the headstrong daughter into bed, the child said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I love you."

"Love you, too, Boo-Boo. Sleep tight."

The day my daughter recounted that story, I thought what a wonderful illustration of free will that was. We know what God expects of us. He's the boss, after all. But so often we want to do whatever we want to do, and do it right now. It might not be the right thing, or even the wise thing to do, but we think we know what's best. We can be my own bosses. "I've got this, Lord."

God says, "Go, do what you think best. When you learn what you have to learn and are ready to join me, you're more than welcome back. I'll be watching for you."

I pray that during those times in my life that I want to do my own thing,  I can honestly, and in a timely manner, cry out, "I really don't want to be the boss; I just thought I did. I want to be with you. I'm sorry, Lord, and I love you."

Thankfully, we have the story of the prodigal son to remind us of our Father's love in situations like this. Luke 15:11-32

Not wanting to be a headstrong, stiff-necked daughter of the King,

Jan, (Licorice Kitty and family),

(The kittens now climb onto the bed for their naps. Coming back down is a humorous sight. At least one comes down head first, leaping the last couple feet. Another has learned to turn around and back down the overhanging blanket.)

Everyone Counts

Ever since yesterday afternoon the same idea keeps going through my mind: everyone counts, everyone counts, EVERYONE COUNTS. Here's what triggered that thought. One of my granddaughters called from Eastern Washington to report the girls's results of the State Cross Country Meet. Their team took second place. That alone was fantastic, since they were seeded 4th. The amazing part is how they did it. That is where everyone counts enters the picture.

In cross country, runners are scored by the place in which they finished. The first runner across the finish line receives one point, second runner gets two points, etc.. Each team's final score is the sum of their first five finishers' points.

Our team's fans cheered our runners while still trying to keep track of what place each girl was in. Our first runner across the finish line usually ran second. Our second runner usually ran third. The third one across the finish line for our team usually ran first. Then came the fourth runner. It wasn't our usual runner. The girl coming across usually ran fifth or sixth. The fifth runner wasn't who the fans expected either. This was our other fifth or sixth place runner. Where was our girl, one of the strengths of our team. She came in as number six, and in tears. She had tried so hard, but knew she had failed. Many of the fans felt the same way as they waited for the race results.

Our number six runner had had an extremely rough day. She was fighting a cold, and before the race started, her asthma started acting up. During the race she knew she was slipping from her usual fourth place down to fifth, then to sixth, as two teammates passed her. She started to give up because she felt that if she wasn't able to finish as one of her team's top five, she no longer mattered. She had let the team down. But this young lady's competitive spirit finally took over. She decided to push through by giving it all she had. It wasn't much, but it was something. Her something allowed her to pass a couple runners on the team they ultimately beat.

What she didn't know was that during her struggles, her teammates' strengths were making up for her weakness. One girl increased her own personal record in the three mile race by thirty seconds. Another increased by twenty. The rest of her teammates remained fairly consistent.

Everyone anxiously waited for the results. It took forever before the final scores were posted. Our girls took second place with ninety-five points. The third place team also had ninety-five points. The determining factor was our struggling runner, number six, and her "do the best I can" thinking. Her passing the other teams' number six runner made the final difference. But it wasn't just her. The girls with p.r.s helped achieve the ninety-five points. Everyone had counted. Everyone had made a difference.

The team coach took advantage of the victory to encourage all his runners; whether number one or number eight, they are each important to the team.

As I kept thinking about this yesterday, I thought of the church--the body of Christ.There are always those in the top-five lime-light, so to speak. They are looked up to and admired for their leadership. They often receive recognition, thanks, and the praise. Too often, those of us in the middle of the pack, or bringing up the rear, tend to feel we have nothing to contribute, therefore we are not important. Why try?

We are so wrong.

We, you and I, are the body of Christ. Yes, the leaders are important. They set the pace and set the path that has been determined, but everyone of us is needed.

Years ago I learned a song that went something like this,

The church is not a building.
The church is not a steeple.
The church is not a resting place.
The church is the people. 

That's why we try. We are the people. We are the church. We do count! each and everyone of us. Not everyone can organize an event. Not everyone can lead worship, play the keyboard, guitar, or drums. Not everyone can preach or teach.

Why organize small groups, Bible studies, family picnics, or clothing banks if no one comes or invites others?

Why lead worship if no one worships?

Why preach or teach if no one listens?

That is where we come in: to attend, to worship, to listen, and to invite.

Our attentiveness to a sermon, or our "Amen" might be just the encouragement that energizes the pastor. Our smiles and friendly "hello" at worship or a gathering might be the touch a person needs in their sorrow, loneliness, or depression. A smile to a stranger at the grocery story can work wonders. The Lord can use a note we write, a phone call we make, an invitation we extend, or a word we speak to answer someone's prayer or draw them closer to him.

A personal touch expresses Christ's love in a way that a flow chart can't. We do count.

And those days we fall short? The Lord has someone who can step in, someone who is having an exceptionally good day. On our bad days, we keep pressing on, giving what we have, and overcoming what opposition we can. On our good days we do more that we ever thought we could. Because God puts my ups together with your downs, and vice versa, we have a winning team. Everyone counts.

I want to run a great race, but am thankful for team support when I have an off season. Thankfully we don't have to wait for the final results. We know the Lord's team ultimately wins the race.

Jan, Licorice Kitty and family,
(The kittens spent ten minutes this evening climbing up and down my pant legs. Man alive, their little claws are sharp!)



 

Hoarding Tendencies?

I don't call myself a hoarder. Others might, but I don't. I merely hang on to items that could be used at a later date, maybe. Take cottage cheese and large yogurt containers for example. Several stacks of these wonderful, plastic containers are neatly arranged under my kitchen sink. And, of course, I also have their lids.

Why? Well, I never knows when I might want to send leftovers home with a family member. When given the word, a Greek, honey yogurt container leaps to the rescue, lid in hand, and the day is saved.

With my wonderful collection, I will also be ready if my daughter, an elementary teacher, sends out a distress call. "Mom, Help!  I don't have enough plastic containers for my class painting project. Do you have any? Even lids will help out."

Laughing silently, I imagine myself yelling "Charge!" as I dash into the classroom armed with a couple dozen containers. Mom saves the day, and a swarm of second graders cheer. With all the heroics out of my system, I finally say, "You know I do. How many do you need?"

How many of anything do I really need? I am in the process of rearranging my office area. In the shelving around my laptop I have tablets of every size, shape, and stage of use. There are seven 8 1/2 x 11 spiral notebooks (one from my oldest son's high school days, and a couple that are starting to rust), three steno pads (one has only five pages), four yellow legal pads, six white pads, two inches of small note pads and a little drawer full of post-it notes of various sizes. I didn't even mention the pack of ledger pages that my father-in-law had, a folder full of assorted decorative printer paper, and a folder containing six blue pee-chees.

Stepping on William Shakespeare's toes for a moment, to keep or not to keep, that is the question. One thing is for certain, though. If any of the grandkids need paper for anything, and I do mean anything, I have it all beautifully arranged on my shelves. Need a plastic lid or container? Help yourself.

From soup to nuts, or more appropriately plastic containers to writing paper, I am truly ready for anything life throws at me all because I don't throw very much away. Sadly, if I don't deal with most of it, my children will have all of it when I'm gone. Lucky them.

Spiritually, we as people also have a tendency to hoard. We hand onto negative thoughts and emotions that we should lay at the foot of the cross. We stick them in back closets of our mind instead of confessing them. Then we shut the door thinking that someday we might need to haul them out to remind ourselves what someone did to us. But somehow they continues to grow, accumulate, and putrefy until they contaminate not only us, but also those around us. It can reach the point where so much sin and darkness clutters our hearts, souls, and minds that there isn't much room left for God to work.

Notice, I said, "There isn't much room."? One of the many things I love about God is his spirit can always find room. He can find the tiniest places to seep into, minute cracks in our closed doors and erected walls. Then be begins his work. How he does it, I don't know, but he does it. He softens hard hearts to restore relationships. He cracks solid walls to allow light in. He overturns rebelliousness to create new, Godly desires. He helps us clean house, and then gifts us with a housewarming fruit basket. I don't even have to pay for his heavy reconstruction/housekeeping services. They're free. So is the fruit basket.

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law” (vv. 22–23).  
- Galatians 5:22–23
Lord, no matter what I once was, I have been washed, I have been sanctified, and I have been justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God! 1 Corinthians 6:11

We can't afford to be sin hoarders.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family

(The little ones are learning to pounce and jump. They are so funny.)

Book Intro

I have just spend over nine hours editing and re-editing what you are about to read. The original was written months ago as a post that some of you might remember. It has changed quite a lot since then. In fact, this is the fourth draft. I am considering it for the intro to the book I am starting. For this post, I have replaced names with letters that are not even initials. 

Even as I write this, I think I will use fictitious names in the book to protect my family's, especially my granddaughters',  identity. 

************

Laughter and loud voices filled C. and E.’s living room. An evening of birthday fun at our younger son’s home was off to a great start. Everyone was there: my husband and I, our three adult children, their spouses, and all seven grandkids. The adults visited and snacked on chips, salsa, and veggies in the living room while the grandchildren played in the bedroom.

Sometime during the evening, the four-year-old granddaughters both decided to dress up. With the help of the older kids, they donned angel costumes, complete with beautiful, sparkling wings. Then, oh so gracefully, they flapped into the middle of the adults’ conversation. Before long they were flying high overhead, supported by my husband’s hands--first one girl, and then the other.

As each little girl got brave enough to let go of Papa’s arms and spread out her own arms, her imagination took over. We watched her slowly transform from a costumed little girl, hanging on for dear life, into a beautiful, soaring angel. The glow on each girl’s face changed a living room full of happy people into a heavenly place of angelic beings and admiring celebrants. That birthday party had become truly magical.

Now, let’s fast forward from the evening with angels to a different evening that took place six years later--one that wasn't magical at all, one that still haunts me. That day had been like any other. Even the phone call I got from C. during dinner, “Mom, I need Dad to come over for a few minutes. It won’t take long,” was not unusual.

“Sure,” I told him, “I’ll let Dad know.”

Twenty minutes later, my husband returned home with these softly spoken words, “The kids are on their way over. There is something we have to discuss.”

I sat there at the table and didn't move for a long time. Not wanting to look at him, I just stared at my half-finished crossword puzzle instead, and then finally asked, “How bad is it?”

“It could be worse,” was his simple reply.

The evening of my once-ordinary day suddenly became a nightmare. Unspoken questions filled my head. The kids are coming over? All of them? Why didn't I know that O. & O. were in town? Are their boys with them? Are they staying overnight? What’s wrong?

Right away? Why didn't I have more than a fifteen minute warning? Do I have time to fix a dessert or something? Is it an emergency?

I had known nothing before my husband got home; however, I now knew two things for sure. Our out-of-town kids were in town, and all three of our kids were on their way over for a discussion.

To be perfectly honest, though, while I asked myself all those questions, I knew exactly what was going down. It was not good. Fear and dread had flooded every cell of my body, and my heart had sunk the moment my husband made his announcement of the family gathering. 

At that moment, I knew in my mind, I knew in my gut that all my confusion and concerns about my husband’s relationship with our granddaughters had not been unfounded. I had been right. My concerns had not been honestly addressed. My questions had not been honestly answered. I had been lied to and deceived. Finally, I was going learn the truth about my husband and what he had done.

That entire evening is etched into my mind. I can replay it all. Our daughter sits on the floor. O. & O. cuddle together on one sofa. C. sits next to me on the other sofa. My husband sits on the raised fireplace hearth facing us all. The only family members missing are our son-in-law, daughter-in-law, and all seven grandkids.

Anyone looking into our dimly-lit living room can see nothing overtly unusual about this cozy family setting because they cannot possibly hear the silence that roars in my ears. They cannot see my mind as it races in circles, trying to make sense of the coming destruction. They cannot feel my heart beating at an ever increasing rate, knowing it will soon be broken. All my thoughts, senses, and emotions are too thickly veiled for anyone to see, even my own family.

So, there I stoically sit in a silent living room that echoes with noise-filled memories. I look at my three kids and daughter-in-law, and wonder what these people I deeply love are going through. I look at my veiny, spotted hands, and know old age is approaching. I look at my husband of forty-four years, and feel nothing.  I look at everything, wonder much, know some things, yet feel nothing because, in the midst of my mental turmoil, my emotions have become numb with the thought, how in the world did this happen?

The silence suddenly shatters as my oldest son speaks, “Dad, I think you have something you want to tell us.” I become alert. I know, yet am not fully prepared for what is to come. 

Along came hell is the only way I can describe those first minutes. The  reason I felt that way was merely because I hadn't remembered that God is the head of our household. Thankfully, our daughter-in-law O. did remember. After my husband's confession of molesting the two little granddaughters he had helped fly like angels, and the ensuing discussions on the next steps to take, O. beautifully reminded us that God can take something evil and use it for his good. She also stated that Satan would love nothing more than to destroy our family through this, but declared that he would not succeed. God is the victor. 

That is what our family prayed that night, and continues to pray.

By the time morning finally arrived, our prayers were already being answered. The Lord had brought to mind instance after instance of his hand preparing us for such a time as this. That is when I added a disclaimer to Along Came Hell, "or so I Thought."

Hopefully I can clearly show the mysterious ways the Lord has worked in not only my life, but also the lives of my children, grandchildren, and husband as we travel this unexpected, rocky road. God's love, provision, faithfulness, grace, and healing power have truly touched our lives, eased our journey, and increased our strength. Our God is a mighty God.

(I would appreciate any comments or suggestions. jansjournal@hotmail.com    )

Turning in at 1:45 a.m., or so I think, (2:26 actually)

Jan, Licorice Kitty and family,

All the feline family members are fast asleep.