Do you want the good news first, or the bad?
The good news is two-fold. MY LAWN MOWER IS FIXED! SUNSHINE IS RETURNING TO THIS NECK OF THE WOODS BY MONDAY!
The bad news? My lawn mower's fixed and sunshine is returning to this neck of the woods by Monday!
The news isn't really bad, bad. It is just bad in terms of the work that has to be done now. I won't even have the excuse of rain to stay off the mower. I suppose I could say I have to stay indoors because of my sun sensitivity, but that won't work since I always mow in a long sleeved, turtle neck shirt, long pants, boots, gloves, ear protectors, and large hat. I make quite a fashion statement, really I do.
With the grass as tall as it is, I will have to remove the tube that shoots the grass from the blades into the bags on the back of the mower. If I don't, it will continually clog up. I really don't like to stop, turn off the mower, pull all the clumped up grass out of the tube and throw it down, start the mower again, head off, and re-engage the blades only to repeat in five minute. I really don't like that.
Even less fun is trying to unhook the grass-tube, grass-shoot thingy, or whatever you call it. Cauter pins (or however you spell them) hold it to the mower deck. It takes a lot of finger strength to remove them. I would like to believe I still have the strength of a twenty, thirty, or forty year old. Even a fifty, sixty year old, but I don't. Them there's the facts. So, I will have to swallow my pride and ask for help when the mower is returned.
I will have to swallow it again when the grass is much shorter and I want the grass-shoot thingy back on so I can catch the clippings. Aaaand I will have to swallow it yet another time when I have to put gas in the tank. It is extremely difficult to lift and hold a five gallon can of gas as high as necessary to get gas into the tank.
(Note to self--never, and I repeat, never again fill a 5 gallon can all the way to the top. I thought you had learned that lesson last year!)
Actually, I am partially joking about this whole process and not wanting to mow.
There is something exhilarating about chugging around the yard to the drone of the engine and whir of the blades. The sight of my yard being domesticated brings a smile to my face. Pretty soon, the salmon berries and huckleberries will be ripening and providing an occasional taste of juicy goodness as I mow the perimeter. By late summer/early fall there will be blackberries to gather while I'm emptying the clippings into the corner of my "back 40". I also love seeing the garter snakes in my yard. All summer long I remain alert for those sleek, silent, slug hunters. I certainly don't want to run them down. And, of course, there is the blissful warmth of the sun, and nostril-tingling aroma of freshly cut grass. (Excuse me a moment while wipe my brow, sneeze and blow my nose. I think I'll also have a glass of iced tea while I'm at it.)
A tall, cool glass of tea will be just the thing to not only increase my fluid levels, but to also wash down all the pride I swallowed previously. I wonder how many calories pride has. Well, as I figure it, since scripture often uses pride, arrogance, and haughtiness together, it must puff me up and swell my head. Therefore it is best to get it out of my system. So I will swallow it. Besides, it must provide soul-enriching nutrients for spiritual growth. That's how I figure it, anyway. I also figure I should be quite well nourished by summer's end.
Gearing up for pride-swallowing-grass-mowing summer,
Jan
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Comforters
As I have mentioned previously, it is fun to just sit down and start writing without having any idea about a topic beforehand. Take this morning for instance. I sat here on my couch, ate my oatmeal with craisins and walnuts, and checked out Face Book. At the same time I was trying to decide how I might start my blog--not what was I going to write, but what the first sentences would be about. The two blankets/throws on the back of my couches looked like a good place to start.
Blankets it would be. One is a prayer shawl/lap robe made out of a soft, variegated gold/aqua/rust yarn. As I have found out, prayer shawls are knit by people who pray for the person who will receive them. Mine was given to my pastor at a pastors' conference as a love gift to me. This was soon after my husband's arrest. The shawl is pretty. It is soft. It is cuddly. Though not very warm on cold winter nights, it is perfect for summer evenings. I really love it.
The other is a very large, thick, soft, fleece blanket with teddy bears on it. One of my daughters-in-law made it for my birthday (or Christmas) many years ago. During the cool summer evenings it is way too much, but it is wonderful on cold winter nights and at track meets. I really love it.
Two blankets, two uses, but both are wonderful. As I was thinking about my blankets I thought of the comfort they bring. I guess that is why certain ones are called comforters, isn't it. Here comes the fun part. My mind immediately jumped to The Comforter, as in the Holy Spirit.
Jesus said, "And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Comforter, that will be with you forever-- the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him for he lives with you, and will be in you. I will not leave you comfortless. I will come to you." John 14:16-18
There were times after my husband's arrest and imprisonment, especially in the first couple years, that I tried to completely cover myself up with the prayer shawl. And I do mean completely--from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet. Although it was way too small to do the job, it still provided a means of escape. It provided a sense of security. It also carried the prayers of some unknown needle artisan--not literally of course, but I knew someone had been praying for me while knitting away her hours.
At other times, the prayer shawl provided just the warmth I needed while I took a little nap. I'd put a small pillow under my head, kick off my shoes if they weren't already off, position the little shawl the best way I could for maximum coverage, and doze off. It was perfect.
As for the big, thick, fleece blanket, it was a constant companion, especially in those early days of adjustment and struggle. I would sit in the recliner with my feet up, my head back, and the comforter drawn all the way up to my chin. I would then wiggle and jiggle my feet around until the blanket was securely tucked around them. Finally, I would bring my arms beneath the teddy bear fleece and settle in. I was as snug as a bug in a rug. My blankie provided everything I needed--warmth, safety.
Of the two comforters, the teddy bear fleece is the work worse. While the shawl is light weight and somewhat lacy, the fleece is sturdy and thick. It was a lifesaver during track season. On those cold, blustery, rainy days at least four of us could huddle under it and keep relatively warm. Sometimes it was just me until some track kids spotted me and climbed under. Other times it was family members who joined me. Whatever the case, I was never alone for long. On warmer days, when not covering us, it became wonderful padding for those who hadn't brought cushions to sits on. Then when it was warm and sunny, it was spread out on the grass for us all to sit on. No matter what, it was always with me, providing what was needed.
It needs to be washed.
I may need two comforters to meet my physical needs during changing weather and circumstances, but I need only one comforter to meet my spiritual and emotional needs--The Comforter. In times of sorrow and distress I can feel his presence, the warmth of his arms, and imagine being securely wrapped up from head to toe, snuggling in--as snug as a bug in a rug. Just perfect.
He is also my covering as I rest or sleep--always there, not too heavy nor too light, just perfect.
I could go on and on with this analogy, but won't. My personal use of shawls and blankies is probably quite different than yours. Because of that, my images and understanding of The Comforter could be influenced quite differently, too. So, how do you use blankets/comforters? Do they give you any new insights into The Comforter, the Paraklete, the one who comes along side?
Staying snug as a bug in a rug, warm and safe with The Comforter who is always there,
Jan
Blankets it would be. One is a prayer shawl/lap robe made out of a soft, variegated gold/aqua/rust yarn. As I have found out, prayer shawls are knit by people who pray for the person who will receive them. Mine was given to my pastor at a pastors' conference as a love gift to me. This was soon after my husband's arrest. The shawl is pretty. It is soft. It is cuddly. Though not very warm on cold winter nights, it is perfect for summer evenings. I really love it.
The other is a very large, thick, soft, fleece blanket with teddy bears on it. One of my daughters-in-law made it for my birthday (or Christmas) many years ago. During the cool summer evenings it is way too much, but it is wonderful on cold winter nights and at track meets. I really love it.
Two blankets, two uses, but both are wonderful. As I was thinking about my blankets I thought of the comfort they bring. I guess that is why certain ones are called comforters, isn't it. Here comes the fun part. My mind immediately jumped to The Comforter, as in the Holy Spirit.
Jesus said, "And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Comforter, that will be with you forever-- the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him for he lives with you, and will be in you. I will not leave you comfortless. I will come to you." John 14:16-18
There were times after my husband's arrest and imprisonment, especially in the first couple years, that I tried to completely cover myself up with the prayer shawl. And I do mean completely--from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet. Although it was way too small to do the job, it still provided a means of escape. It provided a sense of security. It also carried the prayers of some unknown needle artisan--not literally of course, but I knew someone had been praying for me while knitting away her hours.
At other times, the prayer shawl provided just the warmth I needed while I took a little nap. I'd put a small pillow under my head, kick off my shoes if they weren't already off, position the little shawl the best way I could for maximum coverage, and doze off. It was perfect.
As for the big, thick, fleece blanket, it was a constant companion, especially in those early days of adjustment and struggle. I would sit in the recliner with my feet up, my head back, and the comforter drawn all the way up to my chin. I would then wiggle and jiggle my feet around until the blanket was securely tucked around them. Finally, I would bring my arms beneath the teddy bear fleece and settle in. I was as snug as a bug in a rug. My blankie provided everything I needed--warmth, safety.
Of the two comforters, the teddy bear fleece is the work worse. While the shawl is light weight and somewhat lacy, the fleece is sturdy and thick. It was a lifesaver during track season. On those cold, blustery, rainy days at least four of us could huddle under it and keep relatively warm. Sometimes it was just me until some track kids spotted me and climbed under. Other times it was family members who joined me. Whatever the case, I was never alone for long. On warmer days, when not covering us, it became wonderful padding for those who hadn't brought cushions to sits on. Then when it was warm and sunny, it was spread out on the grass for us all to sit on. No matter what, it was always with me, providing what was needed.
It needs to be washed.
I may need two comforters to meet my physical needs during changing weather and circumstances, but I need only one comforter to meet my spiritual and emotional needs--The Comforter. In times of sorrow and distress I can feel his presence, the warmth of his arms, and imagine being securely wrapped up from head to toe, snuggling in--as snug as a bug in a rug. Just perfect.
He is also my covering as I rest or sleep--always there, not too heavy nor too light, just perfect.
I could go on and on with this analogy, but won't. My personal use of shawls and blankies is probably quite different than yours. Because of that, my images and understanding of The Comforter could be influenced quite differently, too. So, how do you use blankets/comforters? Do they give you any new insights into The Comforter, the Paraklete, the one who comes along side?
Staying snug as a bug in a rug, warm and safe with The Comforter who is always there,
Jan
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Joy And Excitement In The Mundane
I'm so excited. This morning I experienced a first. It wasn't the first time it happened in my entire life, but a first in over five years. I got ten hours of sleep! HOORAY for me! I went to bed around 11 pm, woke up at my usual 6 am. And, as usual, closed my eyes to catch a little more sleep. That never happens because the Sleep Train never arrives at this station after 6 am. But this morning, when I opened my eyes again, my clock said 9:15. I couldn't believe the Sleep Train had stopped, so I turned on my bedside radio. National news had just finished and "Live at Nine" was introducing their guests for the morning's show.
I almost cheered. I haven't been this excited since last month when I found enough loose change in my purse for an ice cream cone. Although, I must admit that the track meet last weekend was filled with excitement. Oh yes, my dinner last night was exciting, too. I was looking forward to eating some homemade chicken vegetable soup I had thawed out because I knew it was really, really good. But, when I dumped it into the pan and discovered it was a pulled pork-shell noodle casserole instead, I said a silent,"Yummy" followed by a very audible, "Thank you, Lord". I was so excited.
I think I need to get a life. If such simple, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of things excite me, I need to get out more. On second thought, I love the fact that I can find joy and excitement in the simple, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of things like sleep, track meets, and surprise casseroles.
Speaking of casseroles, those wonderful dishes filled with anything and everything one loves, I am planning on taking a walk today. (How is that for a segue?) Walks, like casseroles, are filled with everything I love. There will be flowering plants (and weeds which I don't love as much). There will be robins, sparrows, juncos, crows, red-winged blackbirds, and flickers. There will be happy, tail-wagging dogs as well as barking ones. There will be puddles on the road and mud elsewhere. There will be wet horses, and drippy rain. There might even be a few light gray clouds.
I'm sure all these things will be on my walk. They will be there for my enjoyment--or not. It's up to me. I can look for them, appreciate their beauty, and, like a child, find pure joy in what I see with my eyes as well as the spray I feel on my face. Or, I can trudge along wishing the weather were nicer and, at the same time, complaining about the dogs and the puddles and the drizzle, and sneeze inducing Scotch Broom, and the...
So, now I will get myself dressed for the adventure. Who knows what I will discover or experience during the next hour. The question is, how much more excitement from the simple, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of things can I take in a week's time? I hope it is an infinite amount.
After I get home, I will try to find that same joy and excitement when I clean bathrooms. Wheeeee.
Finding joy and excitement is the seemingly mundane,
Jan
I almost cheered. I haven't been this excited since last month when I found enough loose change in my purse for an ice cream cone. Although, I must admit that the track meet last weekend was filled with excitement. Oh yes, my dinner last night was exciting, too. I was looking forward to eating some homemade chicken vegetable soup I had thawed out because I knew it was really, really good. But, when I dumped it into the pan and discovered it was a pulled pork-shell noodle casserole instead, I said a silent,"Yummy" followed by a very audible, "Thank you, Lord". I was so excited.
I think I need to get a life. If such simple, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of things excite me, I need to get out more. On second thought, I love the fact that I can find joy and excitement in the simple, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of things like sleep, track meets, and surprise casseroles.
Speaking of casseroles, those wonderful dishes filled with anything and everything one loves, I am planning on taking a walk today. (How is that for a segue?) Walks, like casseroles, are filled with everything I love. There will be flowering plants (and weeds which I don't love as much). There will be robins, sparrows, juncos, crows, red-winged blackbirds, and flickers. There will be happy, tail-wagging dogs as well as barking ones. There will be puddles on the road and mud elsewhere. There will be wet horses, and drippy rain. There might even be a few light gray clouds.
I'm sure all these things will be on my walk. They will be there for my enjoyment--or not. It's up to me. I can look for them, appreciate their beauty, and, like a child, find pure joy in what I see with my eyes as well as the spray I feel on my face. Or, I can trudge along wishing the weather were nicer and, at the same time, complaining about the dogs and the puddles and the drizzle, and sneeze inducing Scotch Broom, and the...
So, now I will get myself dressed for the adventure. Who knows what I will discover or experience during the next hour. The question is, how much more excitement from the simple, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of things can I take in a week's time? I hope it is an infinite amount.
After I get home, I will try to find that same joy and excitement when I clean bathrooms. Wheeeee.
Finding joy and excitement is the seemingly mundane,
Jan
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Giftedness
Does anyone know where this year has gone? Just yesterday my "teacher" kids were excitedly proclaiming and celebrating 4-5-4. I had no clue what they were talking about. Finally I asked what in the world I was missing out on. It seems there are only 4 days of school this week, 5 next week, and then 4 more. It's unbelievable that the school year is almost over.
Between now and the last day, I will attend an elementary school concert to hear a grandson play his trumpet. The following evening is the decades old Dance Festival, then the next week is the Track and Field Awards banquet.
During P.E for the last month or so, the young kids have been practicing, practicing, and then practicing some more for the Dance Festival. The theme this year is Disney. That means each grade dances to music chosen from Disney movies. Costumes are simple and inexpensive, They usually consist of white tee shirts and jeans, and jazzed up with colorful scarves, sunglasses, canes, or plastic hats.The gym is always packed with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and whoever else wants to come.
I remember the first one I attended. My granddaughter was in kindergarten. As the 5/6 year-olds marched into the gym, each class was supposed to form a circle on the court--one under each basket and one at half court. The kids were supposed to space themselves evenly around their circles. As little ones do, they were all so busy searching the stands for their families that they would bump into each other, then stop. That resulted in clumps of kids, not nice round circles.
This turned out to be a night that my granddaughter's organizational skills jumped into high gear for all to see. As soon as she noticed what was happening, she started grabbing kids and moving them to their proper spots. Some went willingly. Others did not want her touching them, so pushed her away. Even after the music started, O-Granddaughter-of-Mine kept organizing. When all was to her liking, she joined in with the dancers. Of course this whole scenario brought laughter to the crowd.
Several years later while she was visiting me, I asked her if she wanted to organize my bookcase of jumbled, disorganized children's books. She jumped at the chance. Before long she asked me this question, "Do you want me to put them back by height, book title, author's name, subject, or color?" Now that is an organizer.
Between now and the last day, I will attend an elementary school concert to hear a grandson play his trumpet. The following evening is the decades old Dance Festival, then the next week is the Track and Field Awards banquet.
During P.E for the last month or so, the young kids have been practicing, practicing, and then practicing some more for the Dance Festival. The theme this year is Disney. That means each grade dances to music chosen from Disney movies. Costumes are simple and inexpensive, They usually consist of white tee shirts and jeans, and jazzed up with colorful scarves, sunglasses, canes, or plastic hats.The gym is always packed with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and whoever else wants to come.
I remember the first one I attended. My granddaughter was in kindergarten. As the 5/6 year-olds marched into the gym, each class was supposed to form a circle on the court--one under each basket and one at half court. The kids were supposed to space themselves evenly around their circles. As little ones do, they were all so busy searching the stands for their families that they would bump into each other, then stop. That resulted in clumps of kids, not nice round circles.
This turned out to be a night that my granddaughter's organizational skills jumped into high gear for all to see. As soon as she noticed what was happening, she started grabbing kids and moving them to their proper spots. Some went willingly. Others did not want her touching them, so pushed her away. Even after the music started, O-Granddaughter-of-Mine kept organizing. When all was to her liking, she joined in with the dancers. Of course this whole scenario brought laughter to the crowd.
Several years later while she was visiting me, I asked her if she wanted to organize my bookcase of jumbled, disorganized children's books. She jumped at the chance. Before long she asked me this question, "Do you want me to put them back by height, book title, author's name, subject, or color?" Now that is an organizer.
NOTE
When I started writing an hour ago, I had no idea I would end up where I am now. So, where do I go from here? I'll decide after I grab some lunch.............I'm back. A handful of baby carrots, a stalk of peanut butter stuffed celery, and a sliced apple helped me decide what to do. So here goes.
"We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully." Romans 12:6-8
My granddaughter started organizing her toys as a toddler. Her stuffed animal could be found in groups of pink, brown, blue, purple, and white after she had been playing for awhile. Later in the day there would be groups of bunnies, bears, sheep, and cows instead. One day she placed all her books down flat on the floor, then stood back to enjoy her work. Suddenly she marched her diapered behind into the middle, picked up a plastic toy of some sort and threw it across the room as she exclaimed, "That doesn't belong there." I was constantly amazed with the way her God-given mind worked. Here was a skill, a gift, that she was born with. It was an integral part of who she was.
To this day she is an organizer. If there is clutter, she can hardly wait to get approval to dig in. Just the other night she posted on Face Book that she had baked cookies, cleaned her room, then gone to the attic and put all her grandmother's World War II newspapers in chronological order. Why am I not surprised?
It takes some of us years to see and understand our own gifts and abilities. For me, I thought everyone had the same thought processes I had. I didn't understand why they couldn't come up with ideas for themed events, decorations, and publicity. Why couldn't they take a few days and put together a short skit? After all, there really wasn't much to it, was there? I was in my late twenties before I began to see and understand that even I had gifts; and they were right before my eyes. They were just part of who I was.
What continues to both amaze and surprise me is how God continues to either reveal my gifts to me or give me new ones I will need for what is on the horizon. Will it be for a ministry opportunity or a personal challenge? I never know. I just need to be able to recognize them and then use them to the best of my abilities and to the extent of my faith.
For me, using what He has given is the hardest part. But, I must add, I once considered writing this blog a drudgery. It has now almost become pure joy. Almost.
Writing and usually enjoying it,
Jan
Monday, May 27, 2013
Be Imitators of Christ
Our pastor's sermon series on 1 Corinthians is continuing. Yesterday he mentioned Paul's exhortation to imitate his example just as he imitates Christ's example. (1 Cor 11:1)* That part of the sermon took me back to a Bible study thirty years ago when this same topic came up. During the discussion, a women said that if we are to imitate Christ, we needed to study and observe him just as an actor studies for a role he will play. The actor wants to understand how his character moves, speaks, and treats people. How does he show love and compassion? What makes him angry and how does he show anger? The more the actor knows and understands, the better he can imitate.
The same is true for us as Christians. If we truly aim to imitate Christ, we need to know and understand him. We need to study and learn everything we can so that we are able to pour our heart and soul into acting like him.
Do you remember Rain Man with Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman? As I watched that movie years ago, I was quite surprised when I realized that I had watched the entire thing without being aware that Dustin Hoffman was even in it. I was aware only of Raymond Babbitt, the autistic savant Hoffman portrayed. As I later learned, Hoffman spent a great deal of time observing autistic savants go about their daily routines. He studied their speech patterns and voice inflections, body language, thought processes and demeanor. He then practiced until he could imitate them perfectly. As of result of his hard work, most viewers of the film saw only the character being portrayed and not the actor playing the role.
I believe that is truly what it means to become like Christ, to be imitators of Christ. We are to live our lives in such a way that those around us see only Jesus in our words, deeds, and actions, not our own sinful human nature that demeans, gossips, robs, cheats, judges, and the list goes on. Thankfully I have a lifetime to study and rehearse, but the study and rehearsal are done on stage where I can be seen by everyone. All I can do is improve every day. There are times I blow it so badly that I wish I had an understudy, but I don't.
I have so much to learn.
Jan
*Many translations, including KJV, use the word follow instead of imitate. The Greek word used in this passage is mimetes which means to imitate. To me, follow is too weak a translation for the original Greek word. I guess it is all in ones interpretation of follow.
The same is true for us as Christians. If we truly aim to imitate Christ, we need to know and understand him. We need to study and learn everything we can so that we are able to pour our heart and soul into acting like him.
Do you remember Rain Man with Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman? As I watched that movie years ago, I was quite surprised when I realized that I had watched the entire thing without being aware that Dustin Hoffman was even in it. I was aware only of Raymond Babbitt, the autistic savant Hoffman portrayed. As I later learned, Hoffman spent a great deal of time observing autistic savants go about their daily routines. He studied their speech patterns and voice inflections, body language, thought processes and demeanor. He then practiced until he could imitate them perfectly. As of result of his hard work, most viewers of the film saw only the character being portrayed and not the actor playing the role.
I believe that is truly what it means to become like Christ, to be imitators of Christ. We are to live our lives in such a way that those around us see only Jesus in our words, deeds, and actions, not our own sinful human nature that demeans, gossips, robs, cheats, judges, and the list goes on. Thankfully I have a lifetime to study and rehearse, but the study and rehearsal are done on stage where I can be seen by everyone. All I can do is improve every day. There are times I blow it so badly that I wish I had an understudy, but I don't.
I have so much to learn.
Jan
*Many translations, including KJV, use the word follow instead of imitate. The Greek word used in this passage is mimetes which means to imitate. To me, follow is too weak a translation for the original Greek word. I guess it is all in ones interpretation of follow.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
State Track Meet Memories
What an exciting weekend! We spent much of Friday morning in drizzles. After getting somewhat wet, one person in our group brought out a long roll of painter's plastic which we used to cover our blanket-covered laps. After the drizzles turned into a shower, we poked holes in the plastic to pop our heads through. We now had a mutli-person poncho which stopped our wet blanket/coat problem, but presented a different problem. With our hands under the plastic and the plastic tucked under our shoes, we couldn't hold a cup, wipe our noses, or eat anything. We could only sit there with our hatted heads poking out and smiles on our faces. When the showers turned into heavier rain, we withdrew our heads from the holes and pulled the plastic down a few inches until the head holes became eye holes from which we could see the final 100 meters of the race. At least we could now use our hands on whatever was already under the plastic--like our packs of snacks. We looked pretty funny. In fact, we looked like a long alien cocoon with wriggling pupae inside, but our hats and faces weren't getting any wetter. Besides, we were also warmer because we could no longer feel the icy, cutting wind.
We experienced everything there was to experience. From rain-drenched hats, coats, and blankets to sunburned faces, from bone-chilling wind to sweat-producing heat, from cheers in photo-finish races to moans at missed jumps, from screaming, "Go (insert name)" to laughing and celebrating, "Can you believe he/she/we/they made it?" we had fun, fun, fun!
And the color! What slaps you in the face first at Eastern Washington University is the red astroturf on the stadium infield. On a sunny day the red is practically blinding. On an overcast and rainy day, it still jumps out at you. One amazing thing about the red is the fact that on a sunny day the underbelly and wings of low flying seagulls appear pink from the reflected field. So, when there were moments of inactivity on Saturday, I amused myself by watching the pink gulls.
In addition to the color of the infield, the color in the stands was great also. We sat on metal bleachers opposite the main stadium seating all Saturday morning. That area provided ring side seating for the high jump and triple jump areas. From our seats, we could observe the horde of people opposite us. It was like a Jackson Pollack painting. There were blobs and smears of bright yellow, neon orange and lime green randomly splattered amid the sea of blue, black, and brown coats and athletic uniforms.
And the shoes and socks! It was so much fun seeing the creativity and individuality in footwear choices. Shoes were any and all colors and combinations of colors. In stockings, there were bright yellows, lime greens, neon oranges, blacks, and whites that ranged from full length to anklets. In addition to being fun to look at, it made cheering for certain athletes easier, "Go green sock guy!", as well as picking out our own girls when they were running in a pack on the far side of the field.
Not only did I enjoy watch the pink gulls during lulls in the competition, I loved watching the athletes on the infield. What a mingling of sprinting, jumping, high stepping, stretching, baton passing, and fancy footwork delighted my mind as they worked, concentrated, and warmed up for their soon-to-be events.
Then there were the sights of food and their varied aromas. Hot buttered popcorn---yummmm. Nachos Supreme-aaaaaaaaaaaah. Teriyaki Bowls--ooooooooooooo. Then someone would come by with a tray holding several cups of hot drinks from the outside. Can you say, Starbucks? Now, that was not very fair, especially when we were freezing and wet. In fact, I would say it showed unsportsmanlike conduct.
We enjoyed talking to the people around us. When we weren't cheering for our own team, we cheered for theirs--they cheered for ours. That was sportsmanship at its best.
We were so proud of our team. We took home a total of twelve medals--eight of them split between our two relay teams. The medal total was exciting for us, as quite of few of our athletes are freshmen. The most exciting part was for our 4x200 relay team's performance. In each racing event there were two heats with eight competitors each. The top three in each heat plus the next two fastest runners (8 total) would advance into the finals. Statistically, our girls should not have qualified for finals. Of the sixteen prelim teams, our girls were faster than only a couple other teams. But, as I said in my last post, at State anything can happen. They finished 4th in their heat and fast enough to make the final cut. That meant that no matter where they finished in the final event, they would each take home a medal. They finished eighth.
Sadly, two of our athletes didn't survive preliminary competition, therefore not medalling, but no one went home a loser. Just the fact that qualified for state competition as freshmen was an achievement in itself. Way to go Wildcats.
With my roll of plastic ready for whatever weather come our way next year,
We experienced everything there was to experience. From rain-drenched hats, coats, and blankets to sunburned faces, from bone-chilling wind to sweat-producing heat, from cheers in photo-finish races to moans at missed jumps, from screaming, "Go (insert name)" to laughing and celebrating, "Can you believe he/she/we/they made it?" we had fun, fun, fun!
And the color! What slaps you in the face first at Eastern Washington University is the red astroturf on the stadium infield. On a sunny day the red is practically blinding. On an overcast and rainy day, it still jumps out at you. One amazing thing about the red is the fact that on a sunny day the underbelly and wings of low flying seagulls appear pink from the reflected field. So, when there were moments of inactivity on Saturday, I amused myself by watching the pink gulls.
In addition to the color of the infield, the color in the stands was great also. We sat on metal bleachers opposite the main stadium seating all Saturday morning. That area provided ring side seating for the high jump and triple jump areas. From our seats, we could observe the horde of people opposite us. It was like a Jackson Pollack painting. There were blobs and smears of bright yellow, neon orange and lime green randomly splattered amid the sea of blue, black, and brown coats and athletic uniforms.
And the shoes and socks! It was so much fun seeing the creativity and individuality in footwear choices. Shoes were any and all colors and combinations of colors. In stockings, there were bright yellows, lime greens, neon oranges, blacks, and whites that ranged from full length to anklets. In addition to being fun to look at, it made cheering for certain athletes easier, "Go green sock guy!", as well as picking out our own girls when they were running in a pack on the far side of the field.
Not only did I enjoy watch the pink gulls during lulls in the competition, I loved watching the athletes on the infield. What a mingling of sprinting, jumping, high stepping, stretching, baton passing, and fancy footwork delighted my mind as they worked, concentrated, and warmed up for their soon-to-be events.
Then there were the sights of food and their varied aromas. Hot buttered popcorn---yummmm. Nachos Supreme-aaaaaaaaaaaah. Teriyaki Bowls--ooooooooooooo. Then someone would come by with a tray holding several cups of hot drinks from the outside. Can you say, Starbucks? Now, that was not very fair, especially when we were freezing and wet. In fact, I would say it showed unsportsmanlike conduct.
We enjoyed talking to the people around us. When we weren't cheering for our own team, we cheered for theirs--they cheered for ours. That was sportsmanship at its best.
We were so proud of our team. We took home a total of twelve medals--eight of them split between our two relay teams. The medal total was exciting for us, as quite of few of our athletes are freshmen. The most exciting part was for our 4x200 relay team's performance. In each racing event there were two heats with eight competitors each. The top three in each heat plus the next two fastest runners (8 total) would advance into the finals. Statistically, our girls should not have qualified for finals. Of the sixteen prelim teams, our girls were faster than only a couple other teams. But, as I said in my last post, at State anything can happen. They finished 4th in their heat and fast enough to make the final cut. That meant that no matter where they finished in the final event, they would each take home a medal. They finished eighth.
Sadly, two of our athletes didn't survive preliminary competition, therefore not medalling, but no one went home a loser. Just the fact that qualified for state competition as freshmen was an achievement in itself. Way to go Wildcats.
With my roll of plastic ready for whatever weather come our way next year,
Jan
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Off I Go. Wheee.
This will be short and sweet. My family will be here in less that an hour to pick me up as well as all my gear; and we're heading off for the big State Track Meet. There will be a car full of us. Car isn't really the right word since it has three rows of seats, but it isn't a van either.
Our transportation machine, as it were, will be piloted by my son-in-law. The co-pilot will be his mother and owner of the car/van/?. In the next seat back will be my daughter, daughter-in-law, and moi. The very last seats will be down for all our luggage, snacks, blankets, pillows and whatever else we can fit in. We should have a great time talking, laughing, snacking, and snoozing--no, no, no, not the driver.
We are going only halfway or so tonight. The rest of the distance will be covered first thing in the morning. The rest of the day will be spent sitting on bleachers or stadium seats, and covered in blankets. It's supposed to be cool all day.
This will be the main day of competition for my granddaughters and the rest of the team. Since our 4x400 relay, 800 meter run, and men's high jump are the only events that winning a medal is statistically possible for the team, they probably won't continue into tomorrow's finals in their other events. But, you never know when it comes to sports. Someone can get a real adrenalin boost and surprise everyone including themselves. Or, sadly, someone can pull a muscle, drop a baton, step out of their lane, or just tense up resulting in a poor performance or disqualification. There go the statistics.
No matter what happens, I love seeing these teenagers from the entire state putting heart and soul into what they are doing. There are some amazing athletes out there. What is even more amazing is the ability of this human body that God created. It is so complex and becomes more complex as scientists learn more and more of its inner workings. There is no way it just happened to evolve. No way.
So, off I go. I have made a very difficult decision regarding this trip. I'm leaving my laptop home. That means no blogs until Sunday at the earliest. It also means no games, no facebook, no e-mail, and no watching Bibi the African Gray Parrot talk and eat his day away. But I will have a new toy with me--a stopwatch. By the time we get to the meet tomorrow morning, I should be a stopwatch master because I will be using it to time my son-in-law's speed between mileposts. He doesn't like to go over 55 mph even if the posted speed in 60. We ladies in the back seat will be keeping an eye on him--true backseat drivers at work. Then again, we might be snoozing.
Have a safe Memorial Day weekend, everyone.
Talk again in a few days,
Jan
Our transportation machine, as it were, will be piloted by my son-in-law. The co-pilot will be his mother and owner of the car/van/?. In the next seat back will be my daughter, daughter-in-law, and moi. The very last seats will be down for all our luggage, snacks, blankets, pillows and whatever else we can fit in. We should have a great time talking, laughing, snacking, and snoozing--no, no, no, not the driver.
We are going only halfway or so tonight. The rest of the distance will be covered first thing in the morning. The rest of the day will be spent sitting on bleachers or stadium seats, and covered in blankets. It's supposed to be cool all day.
This will be the main day of competition for my granddaughters and the rest of the team. Since our 4x400 relay, 800 meter run, and men's high jump are the only events that winning a medal is statistically possible for the team, they probably won't continue into tomorrow's finals in their other events. But, you never know when it comes to sports. Someone can get a real adrenalin boost and surprise everyone including themselves. Or, sadly, someone can pull a muscle, drop a baton, step out of their lane, or just tense up resulting in a poor performance or disqualification. There go the statistics.
No matter what happens, I love seeing these teenagers from the entire state putting heart and soul into what they are doing. There are some amazing athletes out there. What is even more amazing is the ability of this human body that God created. It is so complex and becomes more complex as scientists learn more and more of its inner workings. There is no way it just happened to evolve. No way.
So, off I go. I have made a very difficult decision regarding this trip. I'm leaving my laptop home. That means no blogs until Sunday at the earliest. It also means no games, no facebook, no e-mail, and no watching Bibi the African Gray Parrot talk and eat his day away. But I will have a new toy with me--a stopwatch. By the time we get to the meet tomorrow morning, I should be a stopwatch master because I will be using it to time my son-in-law's speed between mileposts. He doesn't like to go over 55 mph even if the posted speed in 60. We ladies in the back seat will be keeping an eye on him--true backseat drivers at work. Then again, we might be snoozing.
Have a safe Memorial Day weekend, everyone.
Talk again in a few days,
Jan
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Surprising Attitude Change
Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh, or as my grandmother used to say, "Oh, fudge." I really, really, really need to go to town today, but I don't want to. Why do I HAVE to go to town? #1- I'm out of fresh fruits and vegetables. #2- I have been completely out of salt, olive oil, oatmeal, peanut butter, eggs, and cinnamon for over a week. I can do without the cinnamon for the rest of the year if necessary, but the other stuff are staples I use several times a week. I guess that's why they are all gone.
So, I need to hop into the car, back out of the garage and head into the "city". That presents another problem. I should have gotten gas when I went to church Sunday, but I didn't want to stop. Besides, the fuel light hadn't come on yet. It came on while I was heading home.
Sunday evening, my daughter-in-law and I headed into town for a class at church . Twelve miles to town and twelve miles home plus twelve when I go back in for groceries. That's 36 miles. I get around 24 miles/gallon. There are still a couple gallons of gas in the tank when the light comes on. Besides, I have gotten 315 miles on a tank of gas without running dry. My mileage indicator shows I have gone 275 on this tank of gas. I'll be fine I figured. No problemo.
With that all figured out, off I go as happy as a clam can be when it isn't clamming season. (That sounded like a Geico ad) Happy as a clam changed as I drove home Sunday night. When I checked the odometer I saw that I had now driven over 300 miles. I still had to take my daughter-in-law home and drive into town sometime during the week to get groceries AND gas. That looked pretty iffy. What had happened to my calculations?
In two simple words, I goofed. Yes, it certainly is 12 miles into town, but I wasn't just going to town. I had to drive quite a few more miles to get to church, then retrace those miles back to town before heading home. Ooooops. I had also picked up my daughter-in-law and was taking her home. Add another ten miles round trip. Double oooooops.
Fortunately I'm not stuck here. I have a half-full 5 gallon gas can in the garage I can use. It's for the lawn tractor and has been sitting there all winter. I suppose putting in a gallon or so will be ok.
It is now 10 o'clock a.m. I don't want to take a shower, fix my hair, make my bed, or get out of my pjs. I don't want to struggle getting the cap off the gas can. I don't want to pour gas into my car and try not to spill any. I don't want to go to the store. I don't want to go to the gas station.
What does all that say about me? I'm acting like a spoiled little four-year-old who has collapsed on the floor screaming, "I don't want, I don't want." Well, I guess I need to go to time out until I can change my attitude. No, that won't work. Time out is what I want. I want to just stay in my room.
This is so funny. My daughter just called. Her family had a mis-communication on who was driving what and who was going were and when. As a result, she is stuck at school without a way to get to her doctor's appointment. She would like me to pick her up in an hour. So, there is the solution to my dilemma, I will go put some gas in the car, jump into the shower, get dressed, fix my hair and drive out to the school. On the way, I will stop at the mini-mart for a few gallons of gas to ensure I can get to town. Then I can get groceries and fill up my tank.
So, no more temper tantrums, no more complaints. I'm on a rescue mission.
Thank you, Lord, for the attitude change.
Jan
So, I need to hop into the car, back out of the garage and head into the "city". That presents another problem. I should have gotten gas when I went to church Sunday, but I didn't want to stop. Besides, the fuel light hadn't come on yet. It came on while I was heading home.
Sunday evening, my daughter-in-law and I headed into town for a class at church . Twelve miles to town and twelve miles home plus twelve when I go back in for groceries. That's 36 miles. I get around 24 miles/gallon. There are still a couple gallons of gas in the tank when the light comes on. Besides, I have gotten 315 miles on a tank of gas without running dry. My mileage indicator shows I have gone 275 on this tank of gas. I'll be fine I figured. No problemo.
With that all figured out, off I go as happy as a clam can be when it isn't clamming season. (That sounded like a Geico ad) Happy as a clam changed as I drove home Sunday night. When I checked the odometer I saw that I had now driven over 300 miles. I still had to take my daughter-in-law home and drive into town sometime during the week to get groceries AND gas. That looked pretty iffy. What had happened to my calculations?
In two simple words, I goofed. Yes, it certainly is 12 miles into town, but I wasn't just going to town. I had to drive quite a few more miles to get to church, then retrace those miles back to town before heading home. Ooooops. I had also picked up my daughter-in-law and was taking her home. Add another ten miles round trip. Double oooooops.
Fortunately I'm not stuck here. I have a half-full 5 gallon gas can in the garage I can use. It's for the lawn tractor and has been sitting there all winter. I suppose putting in a gallon or so will be ok.
It is now 10 o'clock a.m. I don't want to take a shower, fix my hair, make my bed, or get out of my pjs. I don't want to struggle getting the cap off the gas can. I don't want to pour gas into my car and try not to spill any. I don't want to go to the store. I don't want to go to the gas station.
What does all that say about me? I'm acting like a spoiled little four-year-old who has collapsed on the floor screaming, "I don't want, I don't want." Well, I guess I need to go to time out until I can change my attitude. No, that won't work. Time out is what I want. I want to just stay in my room.
This is so funny. My daughter just called. Her family had a mis-communication on who was driving what and who was going were and when. As a result, she is stuck at school without a way to get to her doctor's appointment. She would like me to pick her up in an hour. So, there is the solution to my dilemma, I will go put some gas in the car, jump into the shower, get dressed, fix my hair and drive out to the school. On the way, I will stop at the mini-mart for a few gallons of gas to ensure I can get to town. Then I can get groceries and fill up my tank.
So, no more temper tantrums, no more complaints. I'm on a rescue mission.
Thank you, Lord, for the attitude change.
Jan
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Thank You, Grandson of Mine.
I wasn't going to write any more track related blogs. Sorry for misleading you. Today isn't going to be the only exception either. Since I have grandchildren competing at the state track meet soon, I'm fairly certain there will be at least one more. Our family, a total of 8, will be watching two of our teenagers compete in five different events. Of course we will also be watching all the other events, especial the ones our school is competing in. I am looking forward to a fun weekend filled with running, jumping, throwing, eating, people watching, and sunshine. Hopefully there will be no rain this year, but I am going prepared just in case.
Preparation is mandatory for track meets. In this part of the country we can experience rain, sleet, wind, breezes, sun, clouds, showers, drizzles, gusts, and whatever else mother nature decides to throw our way, and all at the same meet. That means wearing layers of clothing as well as hats. gloves, coats, and rain gear. And don't forget the blankets and cushions--metal bleachers can be extremely cold and hard.
Preparation is also mandatory for the competitors. At the district track meet last week, my grandson was competing with the possibility of making it to state. Six of eight runners would make it. Because the bottom four guys' times were hundredths of seconds from each other, it would be anyone race, and it was going to be close.
My grandson knew exactly how he was going to run the race. He and his coach had discussed it. He wanted to run his first lap in 1:02. He would probably be running last at this point. He then would speed up a little, passing at least one guy to get into position coming off the last corner to kick it home in sixth place. That was the plan. That is what he was mentally prepared for.
First lap. He ran exactly 1:02 and was in last place as planned. Second lap. He sped up, passed one guy as planned. Then, after coming out of the last corner, he kicked it into high gear and moved into sixth place--as planned. All the spectators could see he was giving it all he had. We could also see that the boy he had just passed was also giving it all he had. He was slowly gaining on my grandson--inch by painful inch. The two boys were now running neck and neck, one ahead, then the other. Neither gave up, both leaning at the finish line for a photo finish. Then my grandson collapsed, knocking the other boy down in the process.
After the dust finally settled, the boys slowly got untangled and on their feet again. Neither were badly hurt, but my grandson left quite a bit of skin on the track. Not only were his shoulder, elbow, and knee quite bloodied up, but he had also gotten spiked in the side. Sadly, he failed to qualify for state competition. He missed it by .01 second, but he had gotten his personal record.
We were all disappointed for him and felt so bad about his fall and resulting abrasions. He amazed us, though. When he finally joined us in the stands, he had a huge smile on his face and nothing but positive words on his tongue--no excuses in sight. He later told us that when he was just a few steps from the finish line he knew he was "goin' down." His legs would no longer hold him up. He had given his all.
As I sat behind him wondering why he had such a big smile and positive attitude after missing an opportunity for state competition, a light bulb slowly began to come on. Of course. Why did I not see it sooner? The reasons for his unending grin were many.
He had prepared for and run his perfect race. He had gotten a personal record. He had given his all.
All four bottom seeded runners had gotten personal records, too.
He was smiling for everyone.
As usual in cases like this, the Lord spoke to me. These are some of the reminders I heard:
Thank you, Grandson of mine, for these reminders,
Nana
Preparation is mandatory for track meets. In this part of the country we can experience rain, sleet, wind, breezes, sun, clouds, showers, drizzles, gusts, and whatever else mother nature decides to throw our way, and all at the same meet. That means wearing layers of clothing as well as hats. gloves, coats, and rain gear. And don't forget the blankets and cushions--metal bleachers can be extremely cold and hard.
Preparation is also mandatory for the competitors. At the district track meet last week, my grandson was competing with the possibility of making it to state. Six of eight runners would make it. Because the bottom four guys' times were hundredths of seconds from each other, it would be anyone race, and it was going to be close.
My grandson knew exactly how he was going to run the race. He and his coach had discussed it. He wanted to run his first lap in 1:02. He would probably be running last at this point. He then would speed up a little, passing at least one guy to get into position coming off the last corner to kick it home in sixth place. That was the plan. That is what he was mentally prepared for.
First lap. He ran exactly 1:02 and was in last place as planned. Second lap. He sped up, passed one guy as planned. Then, after coming out of the last corner, he kicked it into high gear and moved into sixth place--as planned. All the spectators could see he was giving it all he had. We could also see that the boy he had just passed was also giving it all he had. He was slowly gaining on my grandson--inch by painful inch. The two boys were now running neck and neck, one ahead, then the other. Neither gave up, both leaning at the finish line for a photo finish. Then my grandson collapsed, knocking the other boy down in the process.
After the dust finally settled, the boys slowly got untangled and on their feet again. Neither were badly hurt, but my grandson left quite a bit of skin on the track. Not only were his shoulder, elbow, and knee quite bloodied up, but he had also gotten spiked in the side. Sadly, he failed to qualify for state competition. He missed it by .01 second, but he had gotten his personal record.
We were all disappointed for him and felt so bad about his fall and resulting abrasions. He amazed us, though. When he finally joined us in the stands, he had a huge smile on his face and nothing but positive words on his tongue--no excuses in sight. He later told us that when he was just a few steps from the finish line he knew he was "goin' down." His legs would no longer hold him up. He had given his all.
As I sat behind him wondering why he had such a big smile and positive attitude after missing an opportunity for state competition, a light bulb slowly began to come on. Of course. Why did I not see it sooner? The reasons for his unending grin were many.
He had prepared for and run his perfect race. He had gotten a personal record. He had given his all.
All four bottom seeded runners had gotten personal records, too.
He was smiling for everyone.
As usual in cases like this, the Lord spoke to me. These are some of the reminders I heard:
- Preparation is essential. Without a plan, doing your best isn't possible.
- Get your plan from the coach.
- Stick to the plan.
- Give it all you have.
- You might get bloodied in the process.
- Make no excuses.
- Celebrate the victories of others.
- Smile.
- Speak positive words.
- You don't have to win to be a winner.
Thank you, Grandson of mine, for these reminders,
Nana
Monday, May 20, 2013
Fact And Truth
Last night's session of Rebuilding the Foundations had some interesting ideas and concepts. The first that caught my attention was the statement that Fact and Truth are not necessarily the same thing. Hmmmm. Our leaders discussed taking a Fact or experience and turning it into a belief that does not line up with God's Truth. That ungodly belief can, in time, become an expectation that influences the way we behave. Our behavior then affects the experiences we have...and we have found ourselves on a Ferris-wheel spinning out of control.
For example, here is a possible scenario based on the fact that my husband molested our granddaughters and the fact that the news is full of reports of similar stories. I could take those facts and develop the idea that all men are uncontrolled sexual jerks--definitely not God's Truth. My developing idea of jerkdom then morphs into an ungodly belief that men really are uncontrolled sexual jerks. From there, my newly formed ungodly belief system could affect me to the point of believing that anyone having an ounce of testosterone in his body could not be trusted anywhere near a female.
So, from the simple fact that some men, including my husband, molest children, I would ultimately talk about and think about men in ways that absolutely do not line up with God's Truth about them. I would expect nothing but the worst from a man. When that happens, I wouldn't see the good in the male sex at all, but only the behavior I expect. Any man I saw with a child would become suspect. I would become a bitter, suspicious, hateful woman who totally believes her ungodly belief. When and if I finally realize I have a problem and need help, this whole messed up mind of mine will not have to deal with the Fact that some men molest children, but instead with finding God's Truth-filled words that will heal my deep seated trust/love/hate issues.
By evening's end, we were all encouraged to look at our beliefs about ourselves, others, and life in general, and then determine if those beliefs are based on God's truths or our own ungodly beliefs. The next step was to forgive whoever it was who influenced the Fact that gave rise to our ungodly belief, forgive ourselves for buying into the ungodly beliefs, renounce the enemy's influence, and declare God's Truth in our life. There is power in proclaiming God's words.
This brings me to the second concept, not unlike the first, the idea a self-curses. In other words, by the words I say, I can pronounce curses upon myself. When I say things like, I can't help it--it's just the way I am, I can't do anything right, I will never be good enough, I'm a loser, no one likes me, I will never be loved for who I am, or I worthless, I am saying things that God would never say to me. I am cursing myself by pronouncing the enemy's words upon myself and putting myself into a form of bondage. I think we have all done some of this from time to time.
As we did with ungodly beliefs, we looked at the words we speak to and of ourselves that are definitely not from God. We prayed for discernment for the origins of our self images (for many of us, these were in early childhood) We forgave those involved as well as ourselves for buying into them. We renounced the enemy and his influence. And we proclaimed the promises of God for our lives. This is where the true power is.
I am a beloved child of God. Now, that is both Fact and God's Truth.
Proverbs 23:7 says, "For as he thinks in his heart, so is he."
Desiring the thoughts in my heart to be God's thoughts,
Jan
For example, here is a possible scenario based on the fact that my husband molested our granddaughters and the fact that the news is full of reports of similar stories. I could take those facts and develop the idea that all men are uncontrolled sexual jerks--definitely not God's Truth. My developing idea of jerkdom then morphs into an ungodly belief that men really are uncontrolled sexual jerks. From there, my newly formed ungodly belief system could affect me to the point of believing that anyone having an ounce of testosterone in his body could not be trusted anywhere near a female.
So, from the simple fact that some men, including my husband, molest children, I would ultimately talk about and think about men in ways that absolutely do not line up with God's Truth about them. I would expect nothing but the worst from a man. When that happens, I wouldn't see the good in the male sex at all, but only the behavior I expect. Any man I saw with a child would become suspect. I would become a bitter, suspicious, hateful woman who totally believes her ungodly belief. When and if I finally realize I have a problem and need help, this whole messed up mind of mine will not have to deal with the Fact that some men molest children, but instead with finding God's Truth-filled words that will heal my deep seated trust/love/hate issues.
By evening's end, we were all encouraged to look at our beliefs about ourselves, others, and life in general, and then determine if those beliefs are based on God's truths or our own ungodly beliefs. The next step was to forgive whoever it was who influenced the Fact that gave rise to our ungodly belief, forgive ourselves for buying into the ungodly beliefs, renounce the enemy's influence, and declare God's Truth in our life. There is power in proclaiming God's words.
This brings me to the second concept, not unlike the first, the idea a self-curses. In other words, by the words I say, I can pronounce curses upon myself. When I say things like, I can't help it--it's just the way I am, I can't do anything right, I will never be good enough, I'm a loser, no one likes me, I will never be loved for who I am, or I worthless, I am saying things that God would never say to me. I am cursing myself by pronouncing the enemy's words upon myself and putting myself into a form of bondage. I think we have all done some of this from time to time.
As we did with ungodly beliefs, we looked at the words we speak to and of ourselves that are definitely not from God. We prayed for discernment for the origins of our self images (for many of us, these were in early childhood) We forgave those involved as well as ourselves for buying into them. We renounced the enemy and his influence. And we proclaimed the promises of God for our lives. This is where the true power is.
I am a beloved child of God. Now, that is both Fact and God's Truth.
Proverbs 23:7 says, "For as he thinks in his heart, so is he."
Desiring the thoughts in my heart to be God's thoughts,
Jan
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Messages Erased
I received several text messages this afternoon. After the last one, I checked to see how many messages my little pink phone had on its memory card. Well the answer is over 200. I usually handle the important things immediately, then erase them. I let the trivial things accumulate. It's too much trouble to mess with messages such as "on my way" followed by my reply, "k". I usually chose to read then ignore. Today I took action and hit "erase all".
After my phone let me know that all messages were erased, this random thought zipped through my mind. That must be what it is like when I confess things to God. He just hits the erase button (on the cross) and the confessed sin is gone. He will remember it no more. I liked that image.
The next image I didn't like as much. It was of my sin card being full of "unimportant" little sins. Just because I don't think they are important and can be ignored, they are important to God and need to be confessed. He wants them all erased, not just the big ones that I confess immediately.
If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:9
Thanking the Lord for his reminder to keep my sin card cleared by taking action on (confessing) the little sins as well as the big,
Jan
After my phone let me know that all messages were erased, this random thought zipped through my mind. That must be what it is like when I confess things to God. He just hits the erase button (on the cross) and the confessed sin is gone. He will remember it no more. I liked that image.
The next image I didn't like as much. It was of my sin card being full of "unimportant" little sins. Just because I don't think they are important and can be ignored, they are important to God and need to be confessed. He wants them all erased, not just the big ones that I confess immediately.
If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:9
Thanking the Lord for his reminder to keep my sin card cleared by taking action on (confessing) the little sins as well as the big,
Jan
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Goodbye, Ngem.
Let me tell you about Ngem--pronounced "Niem". I met her in the late 1970s-early '80s. It seems like only yesterday we picked her up at the airport--her, her husband, and their three grandchildren. The family was quite exhausted, somewhat overwhelmed, and extremely excited. They were in America at last!
Although life in the U.S. was just beginning, memories of life as they had know it in Laos would always remain. There would be the good memories that would always bring laughter ad smiles. But the memories of their daughter's death while fleeing a hospital attack would always bring sorrow, and memories of crossing the Mekong River in the dark of night with three small grandchildren would always bring some degree of fear.
Our church had sponsored the family's move from a refugee camp in Thailand where they had lived for a couple years after escaping from Laos. Because of their ages, the grandparents doubted if they would ever get someone to sponsor them. After all, they didn't speak English, had no job skills, (grandpa was ex-military, and had only one arm), and they had three elementary aged grandchildren to support. Who would want them? Our church did.
For the first several months, Ngem's family lived with my family. We ate together, shopped together, pantomimed together, and the kids played together. We learned to eat spicy foods and Ngem's wonderful egg rolls. Her grand kids learned about Top Ramen which they called, "noodoos", and loved to eat. They learn a little English and we learned a little Lao. Then they moved into their own apartment and the kids enrolled in school. Their adventure had begun in earnest.
Over the ensuing years, Ngem quilted with the church ladies every Wednesday. She loved tying quilts. But most of all, she loved being in a room full of chattering women. Although she understood very few words, she understood laughter, smiles, colorful quilts that Lutheran World Relief would send to refugee camps around the world, and food.
Grandpa did get a job. He graced the local YMCA as a clean-up guy. Having only one arm didn't stop him. Once people got to know Grandpa, they loved him. I think that is because he love them. He loved all Americans, but especially American GIs.
By the time the grandchildren graduated from high school, Ngem and her family had greatly blessed not only my family, but also the church family, and the community.
I have had only occasional contact with them since they moved from here many years ago. The granddaughter and her family live in Texas. One grandson lives in western Washington, and the other grandson and his family live in a town near me.
Ngem and Grandpa were living in Alaska with close friends when she got sick. That was just last week. Monday morning I got a tearful call from the youngest grandson saying that Grandma had died. No one knows for sure what her age was, but she was probably around 90. How old she was is not important. What is important is that she was loved by her family and all who knew her. As her youngest grandson told me, "She and Grandpa gave up everything to give us a good life in America. They taught us to work hard. We owe everything to them, especially Grandma. We will miss her."
Goodbye, Ngem. I am a richer person for having known you.
Jan
Although life in the U.S. was just beginning, memories of life as they had know it in Laos would always remain. There would be the good memories that would always bring laughter ad smiles. But the memories of their daughter's death while fleeing a hospital attack would always bring sorrow, and memories of crossing the Mekong River in the dark of night with three small grandchildren would always bring some degree of fear.
Our church had sponsored the family's move from a refugee camp in Thailand where they had lived for a couple years after escaping from Laos. Because of their ages, the grandparents doubted if they would ever get someone to sponsor them. After all, they didn't speak English, had no job skills, (grandpa was ex-military, and had only one arm), and they had three elementary aged grandchildren to support. Who would want them? Our church did.
For the first several months, Ngem's family lived with my family. We ate together, shopped together, pantomimed together, and the kids played together. We learned to eat spicy foods and Ngem's wonderful egg rolls. Her grand kids learned about Top Ramen which they called, "noodoos", and loved to eat. They learn a little English and we learned a little Lao. Then they moved into their own apartment and the kids enrolled in school. Their adventure had begun in earnest.
Over the ensuing years, Ngem quilted with the church ladies every Wednesday. She loved tying quilts. But most of all, she loved being in a room full of chattering women. Although she understood very few words, she understood laughter, smiles, colorful quilts that Lutheran World Relief would send to refugee camps around the world, and food.
Grandpa did get a job. He graced the local YMCA as a clean-up guy. Having only one arm didn't stop him. Once people got to know Grandpa, they loved him. I think that is because he love them. He loved all Americans, but especially American GIs.
By the time the grandchildren graduated from high school, Ngem and her family had greatly blessed not only my family, but also the church family, and the community.
I have had only occasional contact with them since they moved from here many years ago. The granddaughter and her family live in Texas. One grandson lives in western Washington, and the other grandson and his family live in a town near me.
Ngem and Grandpa were living in Alaska with close friends when she got sick. That was just last week. Monday morning I got a tearful call from the youngest grandson saying that Grandma had died. No one knows for sure what her age was, but she was probably around 90. How old she was is not important. What is important is that she was loved by her family and all who knew her. As her youngest grandson told me, "She and Grandpa gave up everything to give us a good life in America. They taught us to work hard. We owe everything to them, especially Grandma. We will miss her."
Goodbye, Ngem. I am a richer person for having known you.
Jan
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Do I or Don't I?
This morning I was quite proud of myself as I finished off one poached egg, one slice of toasted, wheat bread (with butter), and 1/2 a cantaloupe. My breakfast had been healthy, low cal, and delicious. "Good job, me," I thought while mentally patting myself on the back and putting my dirty plate in the sink to wash later. Then, while exiting the kitchen, I was rudely halted by a visual encounter of the cupcake kind. There it sat, a solitary cupcake with cream cheese frosting, begging, even pleading, to be picked up and lovingly eaten.
Of course I did what any compassionate connoisseur of cupcakes would do, I obliged. Within minutes my taste buds were dancing, and the temptress was out of my life for good. That beauty had been moist, flavorful, and a delight to the eye--everything a cake from a box should have been. All that is left now is a the memory of my culinary thrill and a few crumbs on my robe. I probably should check my face for tidbits, too.
The whole thing was my granddaughter's fault. Really, it was. She is the one who invited me to the National Honor Society Banquet last night. She, well, her mom, was the one who baked the treats. And, when she and my daughter brought me home, she was the one who insisted on escorting me all the way into my kitchen while holding a cupcake in each hand. Then she left. Just like that, she left. Did she take the cupcakes with her? No. She just walked out of my house with a smile, a twinkle, and the words, "I left you a little treat, Nana. Enjoy them."
Enjoy describes to a tee what I did with the first one. There is nothing like unwrapping, then savoring, a cupcake and washing it down with a glass of cold milk before bed. I looked forward to enjoying the second cupcake this evening. Well, that certainly isn't going to happen, is it? I had sabotaged that plan by eight o'clock morning. At least I won't have frosting and sprinkles staring me in the face and whining all day, "Eat me, Nana. Please, please eat me."
So, what did I do here this morning? Did I yield unto temptation or was I pro-active? I suppose the answer to that question is, "Yes, I did and yes, I was."
I now have another dilemma. There are five slices of orange-dark-chocolate sitting in front of me at this very moment. I certainly shouldn't eat them all right now, but they are calling my name. If I ignore them, they could, maybe could, possibly could last me the rest of the week, or at least a couple more days--or not. Will I yield to its temptation and eat it now and thus succumb to instant gratification? Or, will I put a positive spin on my behavior, call it pro-activity, and get the remaining chocolate out of my house right now so it won't tempt me later? Besides, it's not my fault if I chose to eat them all right now. They were a Mother's Day gift from my grand kids. They want me to eat it. It must be their fault.
I can make this candy last. I know I can. I'll have just one little piece now, and another little one later this afternoon, and maybe one before bed. That leaves two for tomorrow.
On second thought, I could have two now and, tw...
Two pieces down, three to go sometime this afternoon. Those grand kids!!
Trying to put a positive spin on yielding to temptation,
Jan
Of course I did what any compassionate connoisseur of cupcakes would do, I obliged. Within minutes my taste buds were dancing, and the temptress was out of my life for good. That beauty had been moist, flavorful, and a delight to the eye--everything a cake from a box should have been. All that is left now is a the memory of my culinary thrill and a few crumbs on my robe. I probably should check my face for tidbits, too.
The whole thing was my granddaughter's fault. Really, it was. She is the one who invited me to the National Honor Society Banquet last night. She, well, her mom, was the one who baked the treats. And, when she and my daughter brought me home, she was the one who insisted on escorting me all the way into my kitchen while holding a cupcake in each hand. Then she left. Just like that, she left. Did she take the cupcakes with her? No. She just walked out of my house with a smile, a twinkle, and the words, "I left you a little treat, Nana. Enjoy them."
Enjoy describes to a tee what I did with the first one. There is nothing like unwrapping, then savoring, a cupcake and washing it down with a glass of cold milk before bed. I looked forward to enjoying the second cupcake this evening. Well, that certainly isn't going to happen, is it? I had sabotaged that plan by eight o'clock morning. At least I won't have frosting and sprinkles staring me in the face and whining all day, "Eat me, Nana. Please, please eat me."
So, what did I do here this morning? Did I yield unto temptation or was I pro-active? I suppose the answer to that question is, "Yes, I did and yes, I was."
I now have another dilemma. There are five slices of orange-dark-chocolate sitting in front of me at this very moment. I certainly shouldn't eat them all right now, but they are calling my name. If I ignore them, they could, maybe could, possibly could last me the rest of the week, or at least a couple more days--or not. Will I yield to its temptation and eat it now and thus succumb to instant gratification? Or, will I put a positive spin on my behavior, call it pro-activity, and get the remaining chocolate out of my house right now so it won't tempt me later? Besides, it's not my fault if I chose to eat them all right now. They were a Mother's Day gift from my grand kids. They want me to eat it. It must be their fault.
I can make this candy last. I know I can. I'll have just one little piece now, and another little one later this afternoon, and maybe one before bed. That leaves two for tomorrow.
On second thought, I could have two now and, tw...
Two pieces down, three to go sometime this afternoon. Those grand kids!!
Trying to put a positive spin on yielding to temptation,
Jan
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
The Joy of Words
While washing up my dishes this morning, I was thinking about using alliteration in my blog. The first thing I ever wrote using this form was the story of the Prodigal Son done with the letter "S". It started off something like this:
"Let me share with you the story of two very special sons, their stooped servant, and their sire, The Squire."
It proceeded on:
"Second son slung the sack of silver 'cross his shoulder, and sauntered down the stone strewed street...He savored scintillating sundaes, sped in shiny Sentras, slept with sexy sirens 'neath satin sheets, and sipped sweet cider through a straw."
I love the sounds of the "s" words.
While in therapy I wrote "Larceny and Loss or Life and Love " which I published on the blog May 28, 2012. In it I said,
"My looking, my listening became lost in the labyrinth of my loneliness. The lilt, the laughter, the lavishness of life I longed for was laced with cries of "Larceny!" I languished in my loss"
For the past fifteen minutes I have tried to discover what spring is like in alliteration. I haven't been able to focusing in on or narrow it down to just one letter. Here are just some ideas that came to mind while I was mulling it over. Spring is pouring, pelting precipitation pounding pink petals. It is soft, silent sprinkles soaking the soggy soil. It is beautiful blossoms blessing my being, and green, growing grass gracing my gaze. Spring is smoother seas, squawking seagulls, and shiny shells scattered across the sandy shore. Spring is giddy, giggling girls gathered in the garden, gabbing about guys. And, it is bantering baseball players batting balls, bounding around bases, bemoaning bad calls, and boasting of base hits and bunts.
It doesn't matter what the season or what the weather because whatever it is, I can use words to create my own world. I can create dancing dandelions and rasping reeds, crying clouds and smiling sunbeams. I guess what I am saying is this. I love language because it can bring anything to life. It can add color and emotion just through the sound of the letters and the meter of the lines. How wonderful is that?
Oh, the joy of words!
Jan
"Let me share with you the story of two very special sons, their stooped servant, and their sire, The Squire."
It proceeded on:
"Second son slung the sack of silver 'cross his shoulder, and sauntered down the stone strewed street...He savored scintillating sundaes, sped in shiny Sentras, slept with sexy sirens 'neath satin sheets, and sipped sweet cider through a straw."
I love the sounds of the "s" words.
While in therapy I wrote "Larceny and Loss or Life and Love " which I published on the blog May 28, 2012. In it I said,
"My looking, my listening became lost in the labyrinth of my loneliness. The lilt, the laughter, the lavishness of life I longed for was laced with cries of "Larceny!" I languished in my loss"
.
On a different occasion I wrote about seductive sunshine stroking my shoulder. Although I love the challenge and the hard work to write this way, I love the results even more. The drawback is the time it takes. Finding the right word isn't too bad, but getting the flow and the rhythm is the challenge. I want it to read smoothly, so I edit. edit, edit.For the past fifteen minutes I have tried to discover what spring is like in alliteration. I haven't been able to focusing in on or narrow it down to just one letter. Here are just some ideas that came to mind while I was mulling it over. Spring is pouring, pelting precipitation pounding pink petals. It is soft, silent sprinkles soaking the soggy soil. It is beautiful blossoms blessing my being, and green, growing grass gracing my gaze. Spring is smoother seas, squawking seagulls, and shiny shells scattered across the sandy shore. Spring is giddy, giggling girls gathered in the garden, gabbing about guys. And, it is bantering baseball players batting balls, bounding around bases, bemoaning bad calls, and boasting of base hits and bunts.
It doesn't matter what the season or what the weather because whatever it is, I can use words to create my own world. I can create dancing dandelions and rasping reeds, crying clouds and smiling sunbeams. I guess what I am saying is this. I love language because it can bring anything to life. It can add color and emotion just through the sound of the letters and the meter of the lines. How wonderful is that?
"Thank you, Lord, for words. You may have confused the peoples' language back in Babel, but thank you, thank you, thank you for not taking it away altogether. It is truly a gift to be treasured. May I use the words at my disposal to praise and exalt you, build others up, express my heart and soul, and celebrate the wonders of your hands. Then there are times, Lord, I am at a loss of words for what I am feeling. Thank you for those times, too."
Jan
Monday, May 13, 2013
God knows About Being a Parent
My husband and I were newlyweds during the autumn of 1964. We lived in a small apartment by the west shore of Lake Union in Seattle, Life was wonderful. Well, sort of. In spite of the wondrous sunshine, cool evening breezes, and abundant wild flowers and blackberries, I felt rotten. The smell of food made my stomach churn. My only desire in life was to sleep. After a month of unabated symptoms, I diagnosed my own ulcer and I went to the doctor.
Well, I was not a very good diagnostician. I didn't have an ulcer or anything even close. I was expecting our first child! So much for telling our families we were not having children for at least two years. We were going to have one nine months after our wedding!
Little did we know what lay ahead of us. We didn't know the joys children would bring. Nor did we know the pain. We didn't know the blessings. We didn't know the costs. But God did. Every step we took, he was beside as. He laughed with us in our joy, cried with us in our pain, and blessed us with wisdom and strength in every decision we made.That's the way God is.
He knew all about being a parent. He had experienced the joys when his son healed the sick and raised the dead. He had experienced the sorrows when his son was rejected by the hometown folks and religious leaders. He had experienced the blessings as Jesus said, "not my will, but thine." And he had experienced the costs when his sinless son died on the cross as a common criminal. God knew about being a parent. He was one.
More correctly, he is one. Not only was he Jesus' father, he is mine, too. Like any child, I cause my father sorrow, pain, disappointment and who knows what else. But my desire is to bring him joy and pleasure. I want him to be proud of me as I give my all to whatever task he has given me. I want to bring honor and blessing to our family name, Redeemed.
At a basketball game several years ago, my grandson made a fantastic play. As the crowd cheered, my granddaughter turned to me with a huge grin on her face and said, "That's my mama's boy!." That is what I envision when we, as God's children, make a fantastic play. I can see Jesus turning to a nearby angel and saying with a huge grin on his face, "That's my Abba's girl."
I realize there is a danger in making my fearful yet wonderfully loving God too human. He is God after all. I am not. I am a mere human. Yet, I am comforted thinking of him in human terms because he knows what it is like to be human. He lived as one of us. He also knows about being a parent.
Well, I was not a very good diagnostician. I didn't have an ulcer or anything even close. I was expecting our first child! So much for telling our families we were not having children for at least two years. We were going to have one nine months after our wedding!
Little did we know what lay ahead of us. We didn't know the joys children would bring. Nor did we know the pain. We didn't know the blessings. We didn't know the costs. But God did. Every step we took, he was beside as. He laughed with us in our joy, cried with us in our pain, and blessed us with wisdom and strength in every decision we made.That's the way God is.
He knew all about being a parent. He had experienced the joys when his son healed the sick and raised the dead. He had experienced the sorrows when his son was rejected by the hometown folks and religious leaders. He had experienced the blessings as Jesus said, "not my will, but thine." And he had experienced the costs when his sinless son died on the cross as a common criminal. God knew about being a parent. He was one.
More correctly, he is one. Not only was he Jesus' father, he is mine, too. Like any child, I cause my father sorrow, pain, disappointment and who knows what else. But my desire is to bring him joy and pleasure. I want him to be proud of me as I give my all to whatever task he has given me. I want to bring honor and blessing to our family name, Redeemed.
At a basketball game several years ago, my grandson made a fantastic play. As the crowd cheered, my granddaughter turned to me with a huge grin on her face and said, "That's my mama's boy!." That is what I envision when we, as God's children, make a fantastic play. I can see Jesus turning to a nearby angel and saying with a huge grin on his face, "That's my Abba's girl."
I realize there is a danger in making my fearful yet wonderfully loving God too human. He is God after all. I am not. I am a mere human. Yet, I am comforted thinking of him in human terms because he knows what it is like to be human. He lived as one of us. He also knows about being a parent.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mothers' Day
I had initially planned to share a poem I had written for my mother's funeral in 2002. Well, scrap that idea. I put it away in a place so safe that I can't find it. It will show up when I am looking for who knows what. So, I will write from scratch while trying to stay awake after a wonderful dinner with family and friends.
My Mommy
My mom had many talents and abilities. It wasn't until my husband, three kids, and I would visit Mom and Dad that I realized what a good cook she really was. Growing up with three siblings in a one income home, meant... Well it meant nothing because none of us knew anything else. We had three meals a day although none of them really stand out in my mind. Food was food, meatloaf was meatloaf, a lettuce wedge with thousand island dressing over it was just that-a--lettuce wedge with thousand island dressing over it. And oh, the canned peas and spinach! They made me gag. Jello was a staple, and spice raisin cookies were a treat. Mom fixed the food, we ate it without comment or complaint, but then complained about doing dishes.
Years had passed and I had a family of my own before I truly realized the work it had taken for Mom to prepare three well balanced meals a day on a limited budget. She did it, and she did it well. She even created a menu that made Sunday nights special. Every week Mom would fix scrambled eggs for Sunday supper as well as date bars from a boxed mix. Then the magical happened. Instead of sitting in the dining room, we all gathered in the living room, and Dad would set up his new TV trays. Then, and only then, would Mom bring out the food. Television had come to our little town. Those were the days of The Ed Sullivan Show, Lawrence Welk, and the invention of Dad's TV trays. So, while we watched Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan on the only channel available, we savored every morsel of our TV tray meal while laughing at the comedy acts or singing with the Lennon Sisters. The black and white programming that streamed into our home was unbelievable, but not nearly as unbelievable as eating anywhere but the dining room table. And the date bars? They were better than everything else except the nights Elvis Presley appeared with Ed..
Mom, thank you for making Sunday nights such a special memory.
Other abilities and traits Mom possessed are too numerous to count, so here are just a few:
- She had a green thumb. Every year she made our home a place of beauty by growing colorful petunias, zinnias, portulaca, pinks, and nasturtiums wherever she could. From the earliest times I can remember until the year she died, she loved her plants and her yard.
- She was competitive. From playing softball as a teenager in Las Vegas in the 1930s to challenging college mates to a game of table tennis, from throwing lawn darts to hitting croquette balls, from playing pinochle to pegging out in cribbage, Mom loved to win.
- Mom was creative. She sewed our clothes when we were growing up. She made doll clothes for my dolls, my sister's dolls, and the granddaughters' dolls. She sewed quilts and knit afghans for everyone she could. Doll house furniture emerged from sheets of balsa wood as she used her small saws and drills. She also painted lovely landscapes. She did all this with arthritic hands.
- She loved to dance as well as have fun. Music was always part of my life growing up. Mom taught us four to sing, "Marsey Doats & Dosey Doats", "Ham and Eggs", as well as "Down in A Meadow in An Itty Bitty Pool." She and Dad played for dances on weekends to make a little extra money. Mom tickled the ivories of an old piano and Dad played a hot trombone. I loved listening to them practice in our living room. I also loved watching them dance. Could they cut the rug! Mom and Dad enjoyed every minute of dancing until her back and leg pain got too bad. She was 80 years old. (Dad is still dancing at 93)
- Mom loved her grand kids. Summer visits were always a highlight for her. Whether we went to their place, or they came to ours, she could hardly wait to meet with family.
Mom, thank you for all the wonderful memories: memories of fun family times, memories of home cooked meals and beautiful flowers, memories of summer visits and family vacations, memories of music and games.Thank you for the memories, but Mom, who were you? What were your hopes and dreams? What were your fears or regrets? What did you love? What made you laugh and cry? What angers did you hide? How deep was your faith? I have no clue.
Moments of sharing have gone. I wasted all those years we had together, 60 to be exact, because I was so busy with my own life that my only conversations with her were about either what she and Dad were doing or what my family and I were doing, She never really got to know my heart and I didn't really get to know hers.
Yearning for a second chance will not change anything. I never took the opportunity to talk to Mom about teenage cares and concerns. I never asked her questions about being female or rearing children. I never talked to my mom because I always kept to myself, observing the world around me, and struggling through and figuring things out for myself. I regret it. I don't want my kids to have similar regrets.
When I started writing this evening, I had hoped to find some additional words I could use to describe my relationship with my mother besides "superficial". I didn't. But I did do some rediscovering as well as just plain discovering. I rediscover many good times and memories that had faded away. In that process, I found something hidden behind a locked door. I found a part of me that is missing her.
I love you, Mom.
Jan
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Who Are They?
I'm sitting in a tire shop while I get some brake work done. Since it will take several hours, I thought I might as well make the most of my time and write. But what? Up to this point, I have written only the previous sentences. On the plus side, I have enjoyed a cup of their coffee and a small bag of popcorn. I have done a crossword puzzle and written a sizable check for the work that is being done on my car.
The people waiting with me include a young boy with a green shirt on his back, tousled hair, and glasses. He is finishing off a bag of popcorn while going back and forth between the window where he can see the tire guys working and the table where his dad, a bearded dude, is sitting. The dad, clad in neon orange, is also drinking the shop's coffee and visiting with another coffee-loving customer. Both of those guys are wearing baseball caps. In the corner of the room is a young man deeply involved with his electronic device, whatever that is. If it starts with an "I", I'm practically clueless. I have to think awhile to sort out i-phones, i-pads, and i-pods. All I know is that he is busy pushing buttons on something.
Who are these people? What are their stories? Are they married, single, divorced? What kind of jobs do they have or are they unemployed, Do they have families? What are their joys and sorrows? Do they know the Lord? I just sit here and watch, then wonder.
And then there are the cars that speed by--cars of all colors, sizes, makes and models, And the trucks--pickup trucks, trucks with campers, trucks with crew cabs, and semis. Each one with invisible people inside heading someplace important on a Saturday morning. Who? Where? Why?
These may seem like silly observations and a waste of time, but just watching and wondering takes me back to times in my life when I asked myself entirely different questions as I watched people, especially people in cars. The question was, "Don't they know the hurt I'm in?" I wondered how they could be laughing, eating, or talking when I was in pain,
The first time was right after my mother's death. That was almost ten years ago. My husband and I were on the last leg of our cross county trip, and just hours from my parents' home in Oregon, when we got the call from my dad. Mom had died, She had been in the hospital for a week with pneumonia. She had also been experiencing much pain from back surgery she had undergone months earlier. We knew death was near, but I don't think anyone is ever ready for the news when it finally comes.
The rest of the trip was spent in relative silence. My husband and I were each deep in our own thoughts. Dealing with things in my usual way, I felt no overwhelming sadness. Sadness? Yes. Overwhelming sadness accompanied by tears? No. Instead, I wondered how my Dad was doing as well as my siblings, especially my sister. Her youngest daughter was getting married in a matter of days. I fell into the big sister-make everything alright frame of mind.
Funny though, in spite of the fact I shed no tears, showed no emotions, I would look at people in the cars around us a wonder, "How can you just speed by like that without a care in the world? Wake up, people, my mother just died!"
Ever since that time, I look at people differently. I may be speeding through life, seemingly without a care in the world, and the person sitting next to me or in the car ahead of me may be in the depths of despair or experiencing overwhelming grief. I would love to know what's going on in their lives because I want them to know that someone cares.
I am so thankful that during those times I felt alone in my distress, I wasn't. I am thankful I was not only in the arms of Jesus, my Lord, but I was also in the arms of Jesus as he revealed himself to me through family and friends who loved and cared for me.
An hour ago, I had no idea I would end up talking about my mom today. Since tomorrow is Mother's Day, I think I will tell you more about her then. Maybe by doing that, I will discover words besides "superficial" to describe our relationship. (see my post "I Tend at Abandon Others" from two days ago).
Have a God day, all
Jan
The people waiting with me include a young boy with a green shirt on his back, tousled hair, and glasses. He is finishing off a bag of popcorn while going back and forth between the window where he can see the tire guys working and the table where his dad, a bearded dude, is sitting. The dad, clad in neon orange, is also drinking the shop's coffee and visiting with another coffee-loving customer. Both of those guys are wearing baseball caps. In the corner of the room is a young man deeply involved with his electronic device, whatever that is. If it starts with an "I", I'm practically clueless. I have to think awhile to sort out i-phones, i-pads, and i-pods. All I know is that he is busy pushing buttons on something.
Who are these people? What are their stories? Are they married, single, divorced? What kind of jobs do they have or are they unemployed, Do they have families? What are their joys and sorrows? Do they know the Lord? I just sit here and watch, then wonder.
And then there are the cars that speed by--cars of all colors, sizes, makes and models, And the trucks--pickup trucks, trucks with campers, trucks with crew cabs, and semis. Each one with invisible people inside heading someplace important on a Saturday morning. Who? Where? Why?
These may seem like silly observations and a waste of time, but just watching and wondering takes me back to times in my life when I asked myself entirely different questions as I watched people, especially people in cars. The question was, "Don't they know the hurt I'm in?" I wondered how they could be laughing, eating, or talking when I was in pain,
The first time was right after my mother's death. That was almost ten years ago. My husband and I were on the last leg of our cross county trip, and just hours from my parents' home in Oregon, when we got the call from my dad. Mom had died, She had been in the hospital for a week with pneumonia. She had also been experiencing much pain from back surgery she had undergone months earlier. We knew death was near, but I don't think anyone is ever ready for the news when it finally comes.
The rest of the trip was spent in relative silence. My husband and I were each deep in our own thoughts. Dealing with things in my usual way, I felt no overwhelming sadness. Sadness? Yes. Overwhelming sadness accompanied by tears? No. Instead, I wondered how my Dad was doing as well as my siblings, especially my sister. Her youngest daughter was getting married in a matter of days. I fell into the big sister-make everything alright frame of mind.
Funny though, in spite of the fact I shed no tears, showed no emotions, I would look at people in the cars around us a wonder, "How can you just speed by like that without a care in the world? Wake up, people, my mother just died!"
Ever since that time, I look at people differently. I may be speeding through life, seemingly without a care in the world, and the person sitting next to me or in the car ahead of me may be in the depths of despair or experiencing overwhelming grief. I would love to know what's going on in their lives because I want them to know that someone cares.
I am so thankful that during those times I felt alone in my distress, I wasn't. I am thankful I was not only in the arms of Jesus, my Lord, but I was also in the arms of Jesus as he revealed himself to me through family and friends who loved and cared for me.
An hour ago, I had no idea I would end up talking about my mom today. Since tomorrow is Mother's Day, I think I will tell you more about her then. Maybe by doing that, I will discover words besides "superficial" to describe our relationship. (see my post "I Tend at Abandon Others" from two days ago).
Have a God day, all
Jan
Friday, May 10, 2013
Good Miserables
I hate, ooops, we don't use that word in our family. I detest, abhor, intensely dislike being cold. I am a happy girl right now because I'm warm. I also have a full tummy, And to top it off, I have a hot cup of coffee at my side. Yesterday afternoon was a different story. In spite of wearing a long sleeved turtleneck shirt, a fuzzy sweater, hooded sweatshirt, knit cap, and hooded winter jacket, I was freezing. So were all the other spectators at the Regional Jr. High Track Meet at the beach. A brisk wind from the west completely cancelled out whatever heat the sun might have been producing.
I would love to say I was miserable, which I was, but having family share my blanket on our claimed section of turf by the finish line alleviated the pain somewhat. So did the fun of texting updates to my daughter and son. "Won the triple jump 32' 1.5"" or "69.9 seconds in the 400. Won again" By 7:00 p.m. I was more than ready to drag myself to my car and head home. The joy from all the teams' strong efforts and my granddaughter's four wins was exhilarating. It warmed my heart. The car's heater warmed my stiff joints and chilled,bones. Yes, I was miserable, but it was a good miserable.
"A good miserable"? You've got to be kidding. That is as oxymoronic as they comes (if oxymoronic wasn't a word before, it is now). But I think there is a lot of truth in "good miserable." For me, it describes enduring the uncomfortable in order to experience the joy found in it. It describes living through the trials while also living in God's presence and grace. It describes working through the pain to achieve the gain. It describes being blessed and stretched at the same time.
There are so many choices to make in life. One of them is finding God's "good" in our perceived "miserable". It is there. The other choice is letting the perceived"miserable" grow until it completely hides God's "good". That can happen too.
Letting God's "good" change my perceived "miserables",
Jan
I would love to say I was miserable, which I was, but having family share my blanket on our claimed section of turf by the finish line alleviated the pain somewhat. So did the fun of texting updates to my daughter and son. "Won the triple jump 32' 1.5"" or "69.9 seconds in the 400. Won again" By 7:00 p.m. I was more than ready to drag myself to my car and head home. The joy from all the teams' strong efforts and my granddaughter's four wins was exhilarating. It warmed my heart. The car's heater warmed my stiff joints and chilled,bones. Yes, I was miserable, but it was a good miserable.
"A good miserable"? You've got to be kidding. That is as oxymoronic as they comes (if oxymoronic wasn't a word before, it is now). But I think there is a lot of truth in "good miserable." For me, it describes enduring the uncomfortable in order to experience the joy found in it. It describes living through the trials while also living in God's presence and grace. It describes working through the pain to achieve the gain. It describes being blessed and stretched at the same time.
There are so many choices to make in life. One of them is finding God's "good" in our perceived "miserable". It is there. The other choice is letting the perceived"miserable" grow until it completely hides God's "good". That can happen too.
Letting God's "good" change my perceived "miserables",
Jan
Thursday, May 9, 2013
I Tend to Abandon Others
I have had several questions going around and around in my head for over a week. The questions are probably getting quite tired and dizzy by now, but I have been ignoring them for the most part. They are questions like these:
- Are there abandonment issues in my family line?
- If so, so what?
- Did my father's leaving during WWII contribute to my fear of close relationships?
- If so, so what?
- I have never left my family, or have I?
Life would be so much easier if I could just say, "I am who I am. This is the way God made me. I'm fine just this way. I don't need to change." But at this point in my life, I can't honestly say those things and believe them with a clear conscience.
When I have allowed myself to consider several aspects of this whole issue, I have made some surprising discoveries. The first came when the questionnaire I was filling out asked me to rate each of my parent's love for me on a scale of 1-10 and tell how that love was shown. I couldn't do it! I knew my parents both loved me, but I couldn't explain how I knew that or how they showed it. We were well fed, clothed, taken on picnics and camping trips, but did those things show love or was it just taking care of another human being? I skipped the question.
I then had to list three words to describe my relationship with each parent. I started with one word for my dad. "Intellectual." For my mom I put, "Superficial." That was it. I could come up with nothing more. My answers, or lack thereof, bothered me. Since I have nothing or anyone to compare parental relationships with, I was at a loss. Since I needed two more words for each parent, it did seem obvious that I was missing quite a bit from relationships with my parents.
I then began to wonder how my own children would answer those questions. I shouldn't have gone there. In my mind, I think they could possibly be in the same boat. This is when I began to realize that I had abandoned, at least to some extent, any emotional ties to my kids. I love them, I want the best for them, I am proud of who they have become, I praise God for his love and grace in their lives, I am blessed by their love for me, but I consciously stay out of their lives.
I rarely call them--they are busy after all. I don't stop by, even though they live only a few miles away--they are busy after all. None of them would ever say I was a meddling mother/mother-in-law. On the other hand, they call me when they want to chat, want to know what's happening with me, or need a sounding board. They stop by sometimes for a kick-back-and-rest visit, or a weekend stay. They invite me over for dinner or to a movie. I often turn them down--they are busy after all, and don't need a grandma hanging around. So, I separate myself from them.
They don't abandon be. I emotionally and physically abandon them. Yes, there is definitely a problem here. So, the Lord and I have some work to do. Forgiveness work. I need to forgive my parents and myself. I also need to ask my kids forgiveness. In addition, I truly want to know what words they would use to describe our relationship and what they would like it to be. For all I know, it might be just fine. This could be perfectly normal. I don't know.
But, what kind of relationship do I want? Do I want more than sitting together at sporting events? I had never thought about it before this week. I need to open that closed door labeled Emotions, and find out what additional repair work is needed. Then I really have to get in the habit of leaving it open.
I do want to know what kind of relationship my kids want with me. I do want to know what kind of relationship I want with them, but what I really need to know is what does God want my family's relationships to be? What does he want it to look like?"
Now for one last discovery. My tendency to cut myself out of the lives of people I love also shows up in my tendency to cut myself off from God, and not allow for an intimate relationship to grow. I am so thankful that he will leave me or forsake me. Hebrews 13:5
Learning more and more about myself everyday. God is good,
Jan
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
My First Year as a Blogger
One hundred sixty eight,169, 170, and today makes 171! That how many Jan's Jottings have been written since April 30, 2012. It doesn't seem possible. This whole experience has been an interesting journey. When I started writing, I was seeing my therapist once a week. I had a writing assignment for each appointment and often found myself frantically trying to write something the hour or two before going. In fact, I often went to McDonalds for a high-fat breakfast, wrote about whatever was required, then e-mailed it to Dr. B. just before driving to her office. Talk about procrastination!
I don't like to think of myself as a procrastinator. It was more about not wanting to consider my emotions. I didn't want to hurt. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to see what was hidden behind the locked doors of my mind, heart, or whatever else was locked. There was fear involved. But, it was still procrastination--putting off the inevitable as long as possible.
As my kids encouraged me to write this blog, I questioned my ability to share my heart with as much transparency as possible, to display whatever personal garbage the Lord wanted me to reveal, to share in complete honesty the pain, sense of guilt, fears, and occasional tears I experienced as well as the joys, blessings, and answered prayers that streamed my way. I wondered if I could do all that and yet protect the identity of my granddaughters. I pray I've been successful.
Writing Jan's Jottings has been hard work. Sometimes, when I looked over material I had written for the therapist, I relived the entire ordeal. While that often brought great sadness, it also brought an awareness where the Lord had brought me. I began to discover that He wasn't going to use dynamite and bulldozers to make huge, overnight changes. He was carefully working with a physician's gentle hands to bring about a slow healing. Even though I was not aware of obvious changes during this time, I was definitely aware of his Tender Loving Care and the little changes He was making. This revelation in and of itself would have been worth writing the blog.
Just as I struggled writing for my therapist, I also struggled writing Jan's Jottings. Somehow I got it in my mind that I needed to have the entire column in my mind before I began. That is why many of my earlier writings are revisions of previous material. Although many were revisions of what I had written for therapy, many were devotions I had written for other occasions. These included almost all the grand-kid stories.
The past few months, as I got more comfortable with my writing, rewriting, then rewriting again, I tried something new. I would just write a sentence or two about whatever was on my mind. "The sun is shining this morning." OK, let's see where this goes. It is at this point that Jan's Jottings began to be fun. Here's why. As I would write one sentence at a time, adding adjectives here, changing verbs there, something would begin to emerge. I didn't know what it was. It wasn't clear to me yet, but the thoughts would keep coming. Before long there would be a definite direction to my babbling. I might not have had a plan when I started, but God did. Many times when I finished a sentence I would have to ask myself, "Where did that come from?" I love it when God surprises me.
I need to be absolutely clear here. I think it would be irresponsible of me, and possible dangerous, to just write whatever pops into my head and say it is of God. Before I ever click on the "Publish" button, I read, re-read, edit for clarity and ask the Lord if this is what he intended for me to say. I ask if it glorifies Him. I also ask myself if what I have written conforms to Ephesians 4:29 "Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is edifying, that fits the occasion, that it may impart grace to those who hear." It is only after yes to each of these questions that I click "Publish."
So, what is in store for this next year? I will answer that question just as I would have answered the same question in the beginning. "I don't know." Many things are happening in my life right now, things I still can't quite put my finger on. If I thought therapy was challenging, the class I'm in now, Restoring The Foundations, will be even more so. Tomorrow I will share more about what's happening there. I will share new insights on abandonment. My blog of last week, "Me? Affected by Abandonment?" was the first step on this new adventure.
I thank all of you who have been with me this past year. It has been my prayer from the beginning that God, in his mysterious ways, will touch lives through Jan's Jottings. I have been asked by several people if it is OK with me if they share this blog on facebook or other social media. Of course it is. Please share however you see fit. All I ask is this. If you know me and my granddaughters, please keep their identity private.
Have a blessed rest of your day,
Jan
I don't like to think of myself as a procrastinator. It was more about not wanting to consider my emotions. I didn't want to hurt. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to see what was hidden behind the locked doors of my mind, heart, or whatever else was locked. There was fear involved. But, it was still procrastination--putting off the inevitable as long as possible.
As my kids encouraged me to write this blog, I questioned my ability to share my heart with as much transparency as possible, to display whatever personal garbage the Lord wanted me to reveal, to share in complete honesty the pain, sense of guilt, fears, and occasional tears I experienced as well as the joys, blessings, and answered prayers that streamed my way. I wondered if I could do all that and yet protect the identity of my granddaughters. I pray I've been successful.
Writing Jan's Jottings has been hard work. Sometimes, when I looked over material I had written for the therapist, I relived the entire ordeal. While that often brought great sadness, it also brought an awareness where the Lord had brought me. I began to discover that He wasn't going to use dynamite and bulldozers to make huge, overnight changes. He was carefully working with a physician's gentle hands to bring about a slow healing. Even though I was not aware of obvious changes during this time, I was definitely aware of his Tender Loving Care and the little changes He was making. This revelation in and of itself would have been worth writing the blog.
Just as I struggled writing for my therapist, I also struggled writing Jan's Jottings. Somehow I got it in my mind that I needed to have the entire column in my mind before I began. That is why many of my earlier writings are revisions of previous material. Although many were revisions of what I had written for therapy, many were devotions I had written for other occasions. These included almost all the grand-kid stories.
The past few months, as I got more comfortable with my writing, rewriting, then rewriting again, I tried something new. I would just write a sentence or two about whatever was on my mind. "The sun is shining this morning." OK, let's see where this goes. It is at this point that Jan's Jottings began to be fun. Here's why. As I would write one sentence at a time, adding adjectives here, changing verbs there, something would begin to emerge. I didn't know what it was. It wasn't clear to me yet, but the thoughts would keep coming. Before long there would be a definite direction to my babbling. I might not have had a plan when I started, but God did. Many times when I finished a sentence I would have to ask myself, "Where did that come from?" I love it when God surprises me.
I need to be absolutely clear here. I think it would be irresponsible of me, and possible dangerous, to just write whatever pops into my head and say it is of God. Before I ever click on the "Publish" button, I read, re-read, edit for clarity and ask the Lord if this is what he intended for me to say. I ask if it glorifies Him. I also ask myself if what I have written conforms to Ephesians 4:29 "Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is edifying, that fits the occasion, that it may impart grace to those who hear." It is only after yes to each of these questions that I click "Publish."
So, what is in store for this next year? I will answer that question just as I would have answered the same question in the beginning. "I don't know." Many things are happening in my life right now, things I still can't quite put my finger on. If I thought therapy was challenging, the class I'm in now, Restoring The Foundations, will be even more so. Tomorrow I will share more about what's happening there. I will share new insights on abandonment. My blog of last week, "Me? Affected by Abandonment?" was the first step on this new adventure.
I thank all of you who have been with me this past year. It has been my prayer from the beginning that God, in his mysterious ways, will touch lives through Jan's Jottings. I have been asked by several people if it is OK with me if they share this blog on facebook or other social media. Of course it is. Please share however you see fit. All I ask is this. If you know me and my granddaughters, please keep their identity private.
Have a blessed rest of your day,
Jan
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Tuesday, Tuesday
It's 8:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. I got the washing machine swish-swishing away right off the bat this morning. It's working on a load of jeans, towels, and sweats right now. After I had put the washer to work, I walked out to the mail box to mail a letter, brought in the garbage can from the roadside, made some entries to my financial spreadsheet, ordered new checks, and am now going to get a blog written before I fix breakfast. I sure hope this goes smoothly since I'm really hungry this morning.
I first noticed my hunger while making my bed. It was after looking outside and not believing my eyes. Yesterday's tightly folded buds are blooming flowers today. Just outside my window are three rhodies--a yellow one flanked by two reds. Behind them are two lilacs that are also blooming. I don't think there is such a thing as a cacophony of color, but that is what first came to mind. Well, since cacophony refers to sound, and the bushes were fairly quiet this morning, I will say that they presented a dazzling riot of color. Then I noticed the apple trees. No longer are there just a few scattered blooms. The trees are solid flowers. The same is true of the pear tree. Spring has certainly arrived. With the nice weather expected to continue, there should be excellent pollination this year. It will sure beat our usual rain.
What does all that have to do with my hunger? Nothing at all. While enjoying the flowers, I was just very aware that I was hungry. So I began envisioning a cheese omelet and cranberry juice. I also thought about my usual steel cut oats with craisins and walnuts. Then there is the possibility of a poached egg on toast or a bowl of Grape Nuts with fresh banana slices. I might even fix myself a cup of coffee this morning. Decisions, decisions, decisions. After all those thoughts of food, I am now really, really hungry.
But, before I eat, let me share some of yesterday's blessings. First off, my daughter's brother-in-law came over and mowed my yard with his fancy-schmancy mower. (Now that I am finally allowing emotions to enter my life, I am a little jealous of him and his machine.) I'm not only thrilled to have the lawn cut to a reasonable height, but also excited that he and my son-in-law have my mower in their possession for a physical exam. Hopefully whatever ails it isn't terminal.
Blessing number two was an afternoon at another track meet. I absolutely love watching the kids (Jr. High this time) compete. I love watching them sit in the grass and be silly. I love talking with the other parents. Even though it was quite cool at the school, my blanket and two sweatshirts kept me reasonably warm. On second thought, it wasn't cool at the school, it was cold. My granddaughter did well, getting first in all four of her events as well as two P.R.s. "You go, girl."
About the only things on my agenda this week are two more track meets. Today is a day at home--all day. Hooray. This will be a "Bless My House" day. I plan to dust, vacuum, straighten, scrub, sweep. I also plan on cooking up a whole chicken as well as a bunch of boneless pork chops. The stewed chicken will be transformed into shredded chicken then frozen for use in salads and hot dishes, and, of course, I'll make soup. The chops will be thinly sliced and marinaded with garlic, ginger root, and soy sauce, then quick sauteed and frozen for use in vegetable stir fry. When all that is done, I will have blessed my house with some TLC and filled my freezer with yummy food for the weeks ahead.
And that, my friends, is my blog for today. So I'm off to throw the clothes in the dryer and start a second load. Then? Food. I'm hungry. It is 9:40 after all.
Looking forward to a day of floral beauty, delicious aromas, and a spic and span home,
Jan
P.S. Jan's Jottings was one year old on April 30. Where did the time go? Stay tuned. I think I will reflect on this whole experience tomorrow.
I first noticed my hunger while making my bed. It was after looking outside and not believing my eyes. Yesterday's tightly folded buds are blooming flowers today. Just outside my window are three rhodies--a yellow one flanked by two reds. Behind them are two lilacs that are also blooming. I don't think there is such a thing as a cacophony of color, but that is what first came to mind. Well, since cacophony refers to sound, and the bushes were fairly quiet this morning, I will say that they presented a dazzling riot of color. Then I noticed the apple trees. No longer are there just a few scattered blooms. The trees are solid flowers. The same is true of the pear tree. Spring has certainly arrived. With the nice weather expected to continue, there should be excellent pollination this year. It will sure beat our usual rain.
What does all that have to do with my hunger? Nothing at all. While enjoying the flowers, I was just very aware that I was hungry. So I began envisioning a cheese omelet and cranberry juice. I also thought about my usual steel cut oats with craisins and walnuts. Then there is the possibility of a poached egg on toast or a bowl of Grape Nuts with fresh banana slices. I might even fix myself a cup of coffee this morning. Decisions, decisions, decisions. After all those thoughts of food, I am now really, really hungry.
But, before I eat, let me share some of yesterday's blessings. First off, my daughter's brother-in-law came over and mowed my yard with his fancy-schmancy mower. (Now that I am finally allowing emotions to enter my life, I am a little jealous of him and his machine.) I'm not only thrilled to have the lawn cut to a reasonable height, but also excited that he and my son-in-law have my mower in their possession for a physical exam. Hopefully whatever ails it isn't terminal.
Blessing number two was an afternoon at another track meet. I absolutely love watching the kids (Jr. High this time) compete. I love watching them sit in the grass and be silly. I love talking with the other parents. Even though it was quite cool at the school, my blanket and two sweatshirts kept me reasonably warm. On second thought, it wasn't cool at the school, it was cold. My granddaughter did well, getting first in all four of her events as well as two P.R.s. "You go, girl."
About the only things on my agenda this week are two more track meets. Today is a day at home--all day. Hooray. This will be a "Bless My House" day. I plan to dust, vacuum, straighten, scrub, sweep. I also plan on cooking up a whole chicken as well as a bunch of boneless pork chops. The stewed chicken will be transformed into shredded chicken then frozen for use in salads and hot dishes, and, of course, I'll make soup. The chops will be thinly sliced and marinaded with garlic, ginger root, and soy sauce, then quick sauteed and frozen for use in vegetable stir fry. When all that is done, I will have blessed my house with some TLC and filled my freezer with yummy food for the weeks ahead.
And that, my friends, is my blog for today. So I'm off to throw the clothes in the dryer and start a second load. Then? Food. I'm hungry. It is 9:40 after all.
Looking forward to a day of floral beauty, delicious aromas, and a spic and span home,
Jan
P.S. Jan's Jottings was one year old on April 30. Where did the time go? Stay tuned. I think I will reflect on this whole experience tomorrow.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Running the Best I Can
Saturday was a beautiful day to attend a track meet. We, the family contingent, all sat on a blanket in the sun watching the high and long jumps for the first one-and-one-half hours, then moved out of the sun's intensifying heat into the coolness and shade of the stands. From there we continued cheering for our team members as well as other athletes--especially in close races. The more intense the race, the louder the yelling. It didn't matter what school they were from. We just cheered to encourage them to push a little harder, give a little more. I think some kids surprised themselves at the strength they found just before the finish line,.
Victors weren't the only ones we cheered for. Even the runners in the middle of the pack received an ear splitting, "Go, go, go!" Family, friends, and spectators alike got vocally involved in the competition. One thing about track, even the kid who has been lapped in the distance races and finishes a minute or more after the winner has crossed the finish line gets a big ovation from the crowd for persevering and finishing the race.
Then come the accolades. No matter what place the athletes finish, coaches give them high-fives, the team members hug them, and people in the stands say, "good job" as the kids return to their bleacher seats. One of the best parts, though, is the huge grin on the face of the teenager, who might not have even placed, who says, "I got a PR!" (personal record) In other words, "I tried my hardest, did my best, and got the best time or distance of my life."
There were a lot of P.R.s for our team. In some events, the heat helped the kids, but in the distance events, the heat made it harder. Our kids are used to running in 40 degree weather, not 70+ degree. But, despite dry mouths, sweaty bodies, and a few dehydration issues, they still got P.R.s.
Whenever I watch these events I always think back to Hebrews 12:1 about running the race with perseverance before a great cloud of witnesses. I love the idea of being cheered on and encouraged by not only my family and friends here on terra firma, but also by family, friends, and other saints who have gone before--that great heavenly cloud of witnesses. Whether I come in first or last, I will have finished the race with perseverance and the crowd saying, "Good job!" When the great race is over, and the awards ceremony is underway, each finisher will receive his prize with the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant!"
In that moment, every drop of sweat mopped from my brow, every pulled muscle and aching joint, every battle with dry mouth and dehydration, each day of extreme exhaustion or self doubt, each dreaded strength building exercise, and each instruction and correction by the Coach will have been well worth it. On that day, every completed lap I've run, every high-five, smile and hug I've received, and every word of encouragement given by the the Coach will become fond memories of a race well run.
In training, and running the best I can,
Jan
Victors weren't the only ones we cheered for. Even the runners in the middle of the pack received an ear splitting, "Go, go, go!" Family, friends, and spectators alike got vocally involved in the competition. One thing about track, even the kid who has been lapped in the distance races and finishes a minute or more after the winner has crossed the finish line gets a big ovation from the crowd for persevering and finishing the race.
Then come the accolades. No matter what place the athletes finish, coaches give them high-fives, the team members hug them, and people in the stands say, "good job" as the kids return to their bleacher seats. One of the best parts, though, is the huge grin on the face of the teenager, who might not have even placed, who says, "I got a PR!" (personal record) In other words, "I tried my hardest, did my best, and got the best time or distance of my life."
There were a lot of P.R.s for our team. In some events, the heat helped the kids, but in the distance events, the heat made it harder. Our kids are used to running in 40 degree weather, not 70+ degree. But, despite dry mouths, sweaty bodies, and a few dehydration issues, they still got P.R.s.
Whenever I watch these events I always think back to Hebrews 12:1 about running the race with perseverance before a great cloud of witnesses. I love the idea of being cheered on and encouraged by not only my family and friends here on terra firma, but also by family, friends, and other saints who have gone before--that great heavenly cloud of witnesses. Whether I come in first or last, I will have finished the race with perseverance and the crowd saying, "Good job!" When the great race is over, and the awards ceremony is underway, each finisher will receive his prize with the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant!"
In that moment, every drop of sweat mopped from my brow, every pulled muscle and aching joint, every battle with dry mouth and dehydration, each day of extreme exhaustion or self doubt, each dreaded strength building exercise, and each instruction and correction by the Coach will have been well worth it. On that day, every completed lap I've run, every high-five, smile and hug I've received, and every word of encouragement given by the the Coach will become fond memories of a race well run.
In training, and running the best I can,
Jan
Friday, May 3, 2013
A Peace-filled Morning
I was so excited this morning to look out my glass bedroom doors and find a young deer breakfasting on the grass a mere fifteen feet away. This time of year, molting deer are pretty scraggly looking, but before too long, they will once again be sleek and smooth. As I watched this shaggy yearling munch away, I caught a glimpse of occasional movement in the distance. Finally I could zero in on the source, another, yet larger, deer quite well camouflaged next to my overgrown fire pit area.
I watched the two of them for about half an hour before the larger one decided it was time for her morning rest. She slowly disappeared from sight as she plopped herself down into the tall grass . After that, all I could make out were her ears that occasionally twitched as she listened for any signs of danger.
The younger one moseyed closer the house before deciding on a morning rest also. Down he plopped among the rhodies and the blueberries. Although there was no tall grass hiding him there, he blended in perfectly with the brown leaves on the ground and the shadows of the shrubs. There he stayed, motionless, except for the constant moving of his ears and occasional turning of his head. Though resting, he was ever watchful and alert.
From the bedroom, I went to the living room, opened the blinds, then gazed out the sun room windows thinking, "I would love to see deer out these windows, too." And, to my amazement, there one was--under the apple tree and munching on grass. I smiled and thought of all the apples this guy would be consuming off the lower branches when August/September roll around.
Heading for the kitchen to fix breakfast, I took in a deep breath and felt my whole being sing, "Peace, wonderful peace." I don't know what there is about wildlife in my yard, but they give me a terrific sense of tranquility, happiness, and contentment.
If what had happened this morning was just a solitary deer enjoying my yard, I would have been overjoyed. But no, I was blessed by a trinity of deer grazing, resting, and forever alert. What a reminder to me to do the same--graze on the Word, rest in his presence, and be forever alert.
Enjoying a peace-filled morning,
Jan
I watched the two of them for about half an hour before the larger one decided it was time for her morning rest. She slowly disappeared from sight as she plopped herself down into the tall grass . After that, all I could make out were her ears that occasionally twitched as she listened for any signs of danger.
The younger one moseyed closer the house before deciding on a morning rest also. Down he plopped among the rhodies and the blueberries. Although there was no tall grass hiding him there, he blended in perfectly with the brown leaves on the ground and the shadows of the shrubs. There he stayed, motionless, except for the constant moving of his ears and occasional turning of his head. Though resting, he was ever watchful and alert.
From the bedroom, I went to the living room, opened the blinds, then gazed out the sun room windows thinking, "I would love to see deer out these windows, too." And, to my amazement, there one was--under the apple tree and munching on grass. I smiled and thought of all the apples this guy would be consuming off the lower branches when August/September roll around.
Heading for the kitchen to fix breakfast, I took in a deep breath and felt my whole being sing, "Peace, wonderful peace." I don't know what there is about wildlife in my yard, but they give me a terrific sense of tranquility, happiness, and contentment.
If what had happened this morning was just a solitary deer enjoying my yard, I would have been overjoyed. But no, I was blessed by a trinity of deer grazing, resting, and forever alert. What a reminder to me to do the same--graze on the Word, rest in his presence, and be forever alert.
Enjoying a peace-filled morning,
Jan
Thursday, May 2, 2013
My Love-filled Day
As Mr. Rogers would say; "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood". The sun is shining, the sky has only a few scattered, filmy clouds, and it is supposed to reach 70 today, maybe. I must make myself a note saying summer came on May 2nd this year. Hopefully it will last longer that three days. At least I think this is summer since spring was her for a few days last month.
I woke up this morning to a text message from one of the grandsons. He asked if I was going to town today. Initially I thought he had sent it to me by mistake since he doesn't live around here. I just told him I wasn't going into town unless absolutely necessary. Well, here I am--in town. This was an absolutely necessary trip because he invited me to join him for lunch. His work usually keep him in the big city, but today it included a side trip to the coast. I am looking forward to visiting with him for awhile.
While waiting, I will save us a place here at McDonalds, and try to get something written since I won't be home the rest of the day. From here I will head straight to my daughter's school to help out in her classroom. That is always fun. Then, after school a car full of family is heading off to a track meet. Hooray. More fun in the sun.
LUNCH TIME!!!: )
SCHOOL TIME!!!: )
TRACK MEET TIME!!!: )
Home again, home again, jiggety jog
Now, where was I. Oh yes, lunch with my grandson. It's been a very long time since I've had one-on-one time with this special young man. After eating burgers and fries plus sharing what the Lord's been doing in our lives, he had to hit the road again. The time went too fast., but what a blessing the hour was.
I will tell you this. Fast-food burgers taste much better when eaten with wonderful company than they do when I eat them by myself.
I'm not going to talk about the track meet except to say my granddaughters did fantastic jobs running 2nd and final legs of the 4x400 meter relay. With sub-districts and districts on the schedule for the next two weeks, I will talk more track later.
Over all, it has been a wonderful day filled with beautiful weather, great times of visiting and laughing with family, seeing exciting races, and yelling for the team members. Over all, it was a love-filled day. I couldn't have asked for anything better.
God is good,
Jan
I woke up this morning to a text message from one of the grandsons. He asked if I was going to town today. Initially I thought he had sent it to me by mistake since he doesn't live around here. I just told him I wasn't going into town unless absolutely necessary. Well, here I am--in town. This was an absolutely necessary trip because he invited me to join him for lunch. His work usually keep him in the big city, but today it included a side trip to the coast. I am looking forward to visiting with him for awhile.
While waiting, I will save us a place here at McDonalds, and try to get something written since I won't be home the rest of the day. From here I will head straight to my daughter's school to help out in her classroom. That is always fun. Then, after school a car full of family is heading off to a track meet. Hooray. More fun in the sun.
LUNCH TIME!!!: )
SCHOOL TIME!!!: )
TRACK MEET TIME!!!: )
Home again, home again, jiggety jog
Now, where was I. Oh yes, lunch with my grandson. It's been a very long time since I've had one-on-one time with this special young man. After eating burgers and fries plus sharing what the Lord's been doing in our lives, he had to hit the road again. The time went too fast., but what a blessing the hour was.
I will tell you this. Fast-food burgers taste much better when eaten with wonderful company than they do when I eat them by myself.
I'm not going to talk about the track meet except to say my granddaughters did fantastic jobs running 2nd and final legs of the 4x400 meter relay. With sub-districts and districts on the schedule for the next two weeks, I will talk more track later.
Over all, it has been a wonderful day filled with beautiful weather, great times of visiting and laughing with family, seeing exciting races, and yelling for the team members. Over all, it was a love-filled day. I couldn't have asked for anything better.
God is good,
Jan
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Me? Affected by Abandonment?
The questionniare I am working on is extremely difficult to fill out, at least for me. I need to really look at myself and my ancestry. I don't like examining issues like: abandonment, anxiety, bitterness/criticalness, bound/hindered emotions, etc. Even worse, I don't like asking myself if I have any of these patterns. Then I have to consider whether or not my parents and/or grandparents exhibited the behaviors. That is not easy.
Take abandonment for example. My maternal grandfather was put up for adoption when he was a young boy. His parents couldn't afford him anymore. Did he have issues with it? I don't know. I do know that he was a very successful Las Vegas businessman.
I was around two and my brother a few months old when my dad went to Minneapolis for some naval training. Mom and I went with him, but my brother was left with grandparents in Nevada. Did he have issues as a result? I think so, but I'll never know because he died last year. Did leaving a baby brother behind cause problems in my life? Maybe.
Then there's my dad. His little sister died when she was eight years old. Did my dad feel abandoned? I don't know. Did the loss affect the attention he got from his parents? I don't know. I do know he has never liked being alone. He even wanted mom with him when he mowed the yard. "Why not bring your book outside and read?"
And me? I have been told that Dad deployed to Okinawa at the end of the war. His ship returned with homecoming troupes. I have also been told that the little girl he came home to was different from the one he left. I had become very quiet and withdrawn during his absence. I don't remember his absence or how long he was gone, but I do remember how excited I was when he returned. Did this period of separation bring about the change? Or, was my mom so busy with a houseful of little kids that I, being the oldest, learned to fend for myself. It's complicated.
So what difference does it make? Maybe a lot, maybe none.
I have always assumed that I was just quiet, withdrawn, not wanting close relationships--bordering on anti-social. That is the way I was, but I could put on a different face when necessary. The question I now ask myself is this, "What is my real face? Which "me" did God create and which "me" developed for protection or image?"
I want to know. I want more insight because I want to be the "me" God created, not the one formed by circumstances or any negative familial influences. If I am completely honest with myself, I know the answer to that question. There is no way I can be a blessing to others or let others be a blessing to me if I live in isolation. God did not create me that way.
Several years ago, when I was still feeling totally betrayed and deeply hurt, I remember seriously questioning developing further relationships with my grandchildren. If I became closer to them, I reasoned, and they became closer to me, my ultimate death would be much harder on them than if I died a stranger. I wanted to save them the pain. Satan was whispering in my ear and I was totally listening. My reasoning was not only sad, it was also sick and completely contrary to being a blessing.
Now that I think I am finished with the abandonment question, which I originally thought had absolutely nothing to do with me or my family, I see a lot of work that needs to be done.
One question down and sixty-five more to go.
In exploration/discovery/healing mode with God,
Jan
Take abandonment for example. My maternal grandfather was put up for adoption when he was a young boy. His parents couldn't afford him anymore. Did he have issues with it? I don't know. I do know that he was a very successful Las Vegas businessman.
I was around two and my brother a few months old when my dad went to Minneapolis for some naval training. Mom and I went with him, but my brother was left with grandparents in Nevada. Did he have issues as a result? I think so, but I'll never know because he died last year. Did leaving a baby brother behind cause problems in my life? Maybe.
Then there's my dad. His little sister died when she was eight years old. Did my dad feel abandoned? I don't know. Did the loss affect the attention he got from his parents? I don't know. I do know he has never liked being alone. He even wanted mom with him when he mowed the yard. "Why not bring your book outside and read?"
And me? I have been told that Dad deployed to Okinawa at the end of the war. His ship returned with homecoming troupes. I have also been told that the little girl he came home to was different from the one he left. I had become very quiet and withdrawn during his absence. I don't remember his absence or how long he was gone, but I do remember how excited I was when he returned. Did this period of separation bring about the change? Or, was my mom so busy with a houseful of little kids that I, being the oldest, learned to fend for myself. It's complicated.
So what difference does it make? Maybe a lot, maybe none.
I have always assumed that I was just quiet, withdrawn, not wanting close relationships--bordering on anti-social. That is the way I was, but I could put on a different face when necessary. The question I now ask myself is this, "What is my real face? Which "me" did God create and which "me" developed for protection or image?"
I want to know. I want more insight because I want to be the "me" God created, not the one formed by circumstances or any negative familial influences. If I am completely honest with myself, I know the answer to that question. There is no way I can be a blessing to others or let others be a blessing to me if I live in isolation. God did not create me that way.
Several years ago, when I was still feeling totally betrayed and deeply hurt, I remember seriously questioning developing further relationships with my grandchildren. If I became closer to them, I reasoned, and they became closer to me, my ultimate death would be much harder on them than if I died a stranger. I wanted to save them the pain. Satan was whispering in my ear and I was totally listening. My reasoning was not only sad, it was also sick and completely contrary to being a blessing.
Now that I think I am finished with the abandonment question, which I originally thought had absolutely nothing to do with me or my family, I see a lot of work that needs to be done.
One question down and sixty-five more to go.
In exploration/discovery/healing mode with God,
Jan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)