Could I-Would l Still Be Thankful?

As I was getting ready for church this morning I was thinking about what I was going to eat for breakfast and thanking God for my options. I could fix a poached egg and slice of toast. That is always tasty. My usual bowl of oatmeal, or a bowl of cold cereal would be fairly easy. A piece of toast and peanut butter would be the easiest. I decided on the latter not only because it was easy, but I could also eat it in the car.

With that big decision made, I had this thought bombard me from out of nowhere. If I didn't have any options for breakfast, and didn't even know where my next meal was coming from, Could I-Would I, still be thankful? That lead to similar thoughts and questions. What about a warm, comfy bed to sleep in and a house with windows, doors, and trustworthy roof over my head? Then there is running water and indoor plumbing, central heating and gas log. What if I had none of those? Could I-Would I still be thankful?

With all that still running around in my mind, I put peanut butter on my toast and headed out the door. Within forty-five minutes, I was sitting in the sanctuary and worshiping with the rest of the believers. As often happens in worship, I was amazed at the work of the Spirit. A guest speaker for this evening shared a short video before Pastor's sermon. The subject of the video? The ministry of Haiti Alive. The statistics relating to poverty and unsanitary conditions are heart breaking. The number of orphans and children rescued from slavery is unbelievable. The destruction caused by the Haiti earthquake was once again brought home. Could I-Would I be truly thankful in that situation?

But also on that video were the joy-filled, hope-filled faces of children and adults alike. There was footage of schools and hospitals being rebuilt to U.S. earthquake building codes, community gardens being planted, and a larger orphanage being planned. Haiti Alive is doing all this in the face of total destruction from the earthquake. God is alive and working in the lives of the people, the community, and the country.

Pastor's sermon, plus the video, put everything into greater focus for me. It wasn't necessarily the sermon he preached, but it was the sermon I heard.

Thanking God for the blessings I have brings Him pleasure. He likes that I acknowledge and thank him for what he gives me.  But my thankfulness must not be based on those material blessings alone. My possessions and I will pass away. My thankfulness should be based on Christ's death, physical resurrection, and promised return. That is where my joy is, my hope, and my purpose in life.That is my true blessing. That is what lasts forever.

Through God's love, favor and grace, I have been given everything I need in abundance. I must use it however he purposes.

By the way, my toast was still on the counter when I got home, so I ate it for lunch.

Jan

Weeding Competition Update

If you read yesterday's post, you know I was thinking about making a game out of weeding. Well, the competition was on. My first opponent was the Tall Grass Team. Every pulled weed I shot into the wheelbarrow was worth two points. Every one I missed, Tall Grass got the points. By the time I finished, I was ahead by a narrow margin and moved on to the next round.

My opponent in round two was the Mighty Blackberries. Even though I was playing as hard as I could, it was a losing battle. But, in a matter of minutes, the game changed. The Mighty berries unleashed their thorns. They were out for blood. First they attacked my arms, then my neck. Finally, to add insult to injury, they grabbed my hat and threw it on the ground. That last move was seen by the ref, and ruled a flagrant foul. On the next play, just as I was ready to cut one of their members off at the ground, more thorns were exposed and more blood was drawn. The ref saw this foul, too. With that, the Might Blackberries were thrown out of the game for unnecessary roughness.

I am the winner for now--by default, but still a winner. I will live to battle them another day--after I get off the disabled list. Watch out Mighty Blackberries! I'm coming for you. In the meantime, I have to recruit more team members.

Thanking God for his luxurious day of sunshine and warmth,
Jan

Summer in The City Pool

Summer is on its way. Who knows how long it will last, but beginning today, we will have a week of hot weather. Hot for us is different than hot in the rest of the country. Hot here is in the high eighties. That is toooooo hot for me. I prefer the low to mid seventies. At the present time it is sixty-nine degrees, and it is only 10:30 a.m. That is the warmest it has been in weeks.

I know it might sound like I'm complaining, but I'm not--not really--well, sort of. I'm merely stating the facts. Funny thing is I grew up in 100 degree summers and thought nothing of it. My brothers, sister and I would walk and run the couple miles to the city pool and spend the afternoon playing in the water. We had a family pass--30 swims for $1.00. What a deal.

I so clearly remember climbing the front steps of the building, walking up to the check-in counter and being assaulted by the eye-burning, nose stinging chlorine that hung out in there. After the four of us had found our pass in the card file on the counter, had it punched, and received a couple wire baskets for our clothes, my brothers went off to the right and my sister and I went to the left.

Locker rooms here we come! It didn't take much to change into our bathing suits because we wore them under our clothes. Into the basket went our shirts, shorts, and shoes. Then back to the check-out counter went the baskets (remember the basket number, kids). Back into the locker room we scurried, through the cold shower, and outside onto the burning-hot pavement, blinding sun, and a pool filled with yelling, splashing kids, and the slight aroma of chlorine.

We waded into the water from the baby end of the pool, ducked under the floats dividing shallow from deep, then down we went--into the depths of the sea to swim with sharks and mermaids, search for treasures, and keep an eye out for pirates. Oh the joys of summer in the city pool.

Where did all that go. How do some of us lose that joy and sense of adventure as we get older? My grown sons still love to play. Whether running barefoot in a smattering of snow, inventing games to play in the yard, or dancing around the living room, they and their kids have fun.

Where did I lose all that? I don't know, but I want to find it. Part of me says I never had it, but after writing about summers at the pool I realize it was there. I did play way back then.

I need to play again. Just the other day my doctor asked what I was doing for fun. I didn't have an answer. I guess I had better find a positive one. So I'm wondering if finishing the weeding in my front flowerbed can be fun. I could challenge myself to throw the weeds into the wheelbarrow from five feet away instead of flinging them onto the grass. Two points per weed--three points for an over-the-shoulder shot, and four points for making it with my eye closed. If I get 100 points within the hour, I will treat my self with...well, with something.

 On second thought, all that sounds like too much work. I will just go out there, pull the weeds, throw them onto the grass, pick them up later, and treat myself with...well, something. How about a glass of iced tea. I'd better make some.

My grand-kids love driving the mower. They think it is great fun. That must be what I do for enjoyment.

Going out to play in the yard, but making some sun tea first,
Jan

Walking By Faith

I read a book years ago called Fearfully and Wonderfully Made by Philip Yancey and Dr. Paul Brand. The book explains how wonderfully our body is made and how miraculously it works. I loved all the book, but one part, in particular, caught my attention.  It was the section on the eyes.

Part of this section told of people who had lost their sight as infants or were born sightless because of cornea and lens problems, but had healthy optic nerves. Through transplants and/or implants, they recovered the ability to see. Doctors had not expect the resulting emotional and psychological impact.

(A deer just walked past my glass bedroom door---exterior door!)

The subjects' world, which had consisted of either darkness or shadows, suddenly became a world of shapes, sizes, colors, and confusion. If shown a collection of balls, apples, oranges, and other spherical objects, they could not identify anything until they could touch and smell the items. Likewise, it was impossible to go up and down steps without their canes or guide dogs. They did not recognize depth or understand uneven surfaces by sight.

These people were now living in an alien world--a world that no longer made sense. If they were going to live in it successfully, they had to learn everything just as an infant would. Transition was very difficult. Some chose not to make the change, but to continue using canes and wearing dark glasses.

This section of the book came to mind during a recent conversation about the blessings of tithing.  In the black and white financial world, it makes no sense to give away 10% of my income. The facts are as plain as day, I cannot afford it. The money is not there. So, in the eyes of the world, I would be walking with my eyes wide open, by sight, if I chose not to tithe.

But I choose to walk as the Lord leads, in the light that the world does not understand--a spiritual light. So I give to him at least 10% of what I receive--money the world says I don't have. But somehow, in the mysteries of heavenly math, I end up with enough money to meet my needs, and sometimes more. It doesn't make sense. I don't understand it--and never will. And after almost fifty years of giving, I am still learning heavenly math.

The same is true with trusting God--I'm still learning. Discovering God's faithfulness? I'm still learning. Understanding my worth as His child? I'm still learning.

I guess what I am trying to say is this. Walking by faith and not by sight means stepping out of the recognizable, understandable world of physical sight into the mind-boggling, incomprehensible world of spiritual sight. The transition into this crazy, exciting, occasionally scary, always blessed world can be difficult, but is worth every step of the walk.

I'm not sure where I'm going or how I'm getting there, but it's in God's realm.

Walking my faith and not my sight (most of the time),
Jan

Lost Robot

One hour and counting. That is how long I've been sitting here trying to decide what to write.

I've written enough about rain lately--its pouring right now.

I've written about loving the sun-shiny periods every day. That is coming this afternoon.

I've written about slugs--I hope they are slow in finding my new flowers in the front porch planter.

I've written about moles. They can eat all the slugs they want. I'll work around their hills of dirt in the yard.

Weed-eating? Done that. Well, I've written about it, but have done only a small part the actual work.

Mowing? I've said enough about that, except this. I wish there were a robotic mower like the roomba vacuum cleaner--just turn it on and let it go. On second thought, mine would probably head out through the trees, mow the neighbors field and cause their horses to stampede, or else get stuck in a blackberry thicket somewhere---who knows where. Then I would have to call in a machete search and rescue team.

Hmmm, I wonder if dogs can be trained to find lost robots?

Lost robots? That could almost describe me over the past few years. Get up, make the bed, take a shower (or not), get dressed (or not), eat breakfast, do dishes, wash clothes, pay bills, look at work to be done,  ignore the work, get on computer, stay on computer, eat lunch, eat dinner, do more dishes, watch favorite programs, go to bed, sleep. Repeat.

Day after day, same old-same old, all was done without purpose, thought, or emotion--just like a robot. That is how it seemed anyway, but that is not how it really was. While I thought I was going through a lot of motions without experiencing any emotions, the Holy Spirit was hard at work. It was my emotionless motions vs God's emotion-filled motions. God's robot finder-fixer was transforming me from my robotic state back to human form--a form that could once again feel.  Love was as work and things were a-happenin'. It was good.

My days are so different now. I do the very same things I did before, but have found enjoyment in them. Hot soapy dishwater full of dishes is fun. I can stand at the sink, enjoy the view from the window, and thank God for dishes to wash and food to put on them. I can look at work to be done and not be overwhelmed by it. An hour of work today means on hour less in the coming days.

And the joy!! I am no longer an emotionless robot. I see beauty is everything, hear music everywhere, smell the wonders of flowers and freshly mowed grass, feel the wind, rain, and sun on my face, and delight in the tastes of sweet, salty, savory, and sour. Aaaah, the senses God has given so we can more fully experience his creation.

So, do real dogs search out lost robots and return them? I don't know.

Does God's Hound of Heaven search out and return the Lord lost children? Absolutely. He also mends them.

Have a God day,
Jan

Crossroads With A Trap

I'm making this a McDonald's morning. That means sitting here with my tummy full of egg, sausage and muffin (no cheese) and cup of coffee by by side. My purple mouse is on my right, next to the coffee. My pink cell phone is on my left. I'm ready for whatever it is that I am going to write. Here goes.

As I drove into town I had twenty minutes to enjoy the different shades of gray in the sky, the many shades of green in the trees, and the joy I received from all of it. What a perfect opportunity to praise and thank God for all he has given me, plus the beauty of the area in which I live. Then we had a little chat. I had the chat actually--a chat with lots of questions about what I was going to write today. This blog post is the result of that little conversation.

This past month I have felt like I am at a crossroads. The Lord still has a lot of spiritual and emotional work for me to do, but I am no longer sitting in my home wondering what the future holds. I don't spend a majority of my time on my computer anymore. What had been a necessary tool to maintain my sanity, or so I thought,  has become a form of relaxation. What had provided a means of escape by keeping my mind on things of little consequence when I didn't want to make hard decisions, and my emotions at bay when I didn't want to admit I might even have some, is no longer needed. But, during those many months of "idleness", my subconscious mind was hard at work and healing was taking place.

Then came the blog, which has played a big roll in helping me process and work through so much stuff.  God used the entire writing process to help me separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. His hand in my healing became more and more clear as I continued to write.

Now, I am on my computer because I want to be--not because I feel it is my source of sanity. I am on it because I am thoroughly enjoying writing.

Back to my blog--in the beginning, my readers were a handful of family plus friends who already knew about our situation and were just as shocked as we were by my husband's actions. Now, as I watch in amazement at how the readership is growing, I find myself asking God, "What in the world is going on?" And I do mean in the world because the biggest growth is in Eastern Europe and Russia.

The crossroads I mentioned at the beginning of this blog post was the point at which I almost fell into a deadly trap. With you readers from so many different places I began asking myself questions like this. "What are you looking for? What do you want to read? What blesses you? Who are you? What are your stories? What do I need to change?

Do you see the trap I almost fell into? I was questioning the path God was leading me down, and was beginning to consider taking the path of people pleasing. Thankfully, I was able to recognize the Shepherd's still, small voice in the midst of the noisy sheep and goats in my mind.

That voice was saying, "Jan, I want you to write what I want you to write, not what you think people want to hear. Some days we'll be serious, and some days funny. There will be days you will praise me and days you will give thanks. I know who is reading: what they want, what they need, what makes them laugh, and what touches their hearts. Just write what you hear me saying. Some days you will even have to write what is painful for you to say or admit, but it will be healing for a reader."

 Whoa. OK, God. Will do.

I also heard God speak through one of my daughters-in-law. "Are you praying for your readers?"

So, to all who read Jan's Jottings, our loving Father knows who you are, why you read, and what you need. He wants to use this blog in ways I cannot even fathom. All I can do is be faithful in writing what I think He wants me to write; and I can pray for you.

May you enjoy His peace, comfort, healing, and laughter,
Jan

My Great Idea

What seemed like a good, even great, idea when I woke up this morning isn't as great right now. Don't get me wrong, it is still an OK idea, but not great. You see, I opened my eyes around 6:30 a.m and was greeted by a very pretty pink rhododendron peeking into my bedroom. I love how it greets me every morning from its position twenty feet or so from my glass french doors. I always smile at its beauty, say "Good morning, Lord," then ease myself out of bed, make my way to the door, check for any deer that might be grazing, and take note of the weather.

Today there is no sign of deer and the weather is either misty or drizzly. I haven't decided which yet.

So, my wonderful idea was to make myself some oatmeal with craisins, put some coffee into a mug with a lid, and enjoy breakfast in bed while I checked out Facebook, wrote my blog, and delighted in the beauty of my backyard. The breakfast part went well, but my coffee is still sitting on my nightstand. I enjoyed seeing the pictures posted on Facebook from the Jr. Olympic Track meet. (all three grand-kids are going to the Regional meet in two weeks), and I am enjoying the pink rhodie whenever I glance up, although some of the flowers are starting to fall. It's only a matter of days until I will have to enjoy the flowers as they adorn the grass instead of the shrub. But writing while sitting in bed is another story.

How in the world to you get comfortable? First off, I have four nice, fluffy pillows stacked behind my body. Next, I have my laptop on a hard tray so that my duvet doesn't block the laptop's air flow. Then I have the tray on a small throw pillow to make the tray more comfortable on my legs. That all works fairly well, but now what? It seems I have a problem.

My back doesn't like being straight up while my legs are straight out. While it complains about my body's 90 degree angle, I decide to bend my knees. Aaah, that's better. Well it's better for my back, but now my laptop slides toward me and the mouse plops onto the bed. "No, mousie! Don't fall onto the floor! Whew." Now it's hard to type with the keyboard at a 45 degree angle.

OK. I'll keep my legs bent, but balance the laptop between my chest and my knees. That doesn't work. How in the world do you type with your hands under your chin? You don't. So back down go the legs. Back down goes the laptop, and back down go my hands. Maybe I will be more comfortable if I cross my legs. No, I'm not supposed to do that--varicose veins, you know. I'll just cross my ankles.

By now, with all my ankle crossing, knee bending, laptop maneuvering, and mouse fetching, I am no longer sitting straight up, but have scooted down so my torso is at a 45 degree angle and my pajamas are all twisted. And, if that weren't enough, the phone, which is on the other side of the room, is ringing. I forgot to put it on the nightstand with my cell phone and coffee.

You know what? After I answer the phone, I think I will just finish my coffee, which is now cold, enjoy my view of the yard, then get up. I can always finish this blog at the table. I sure hope I can remember what I originally planned to write about today.

Trying to remember,
Jan

Spiritual Gardening Tips of The Day

Saturday was beautiful, sunny and warm all day. It could have produced a sunburn, but I did all my weed-eating in the shade, then I tackled my roadside flowerbed after it got shady as well. Over all, I got quite a bit done. YEAH!

My grandson did additional weed-eating when he got here, then mowed my entire field. To finish up, he mowed part of the backyard I hadn't tackled yet. DOUBLE YEAH! .

Now, God is watering everything for me. TRIPLE YEAH.

Yesterday, as I sat on the low rock wall around my flowerbed, pulling a variety of weeds, and dead-heading the daffodils, I kept stopping to enjoy my progress. It was looking good. When I started weeding around a big sign in the flowerbed, I was amazed at all the little-bitty blackberries sprouting up. It didn't take much to figure why they were all growing in that particular location. It seems that crows and other birds love sitting on the sign post to scout out the territory. In the process, they are leaving a mess on the top of the post as well as depositing seeds on the ground below--a veritable blackberry invasion in the making.

Those little seedlings were easy to pull up, thus stopping a potential thorny thicket. From there, I scooted over a few feet to start pulling up the grass that was taking over the iris and lavender. This is not your typical lawn grass. This grass grows several feet tall--sort of like wheat. It is not the type of grass that can just be given a tug and it comes up roots and all. This is the type that has a huge, spreading root mass. Pulling only removes the grass from the roots. Presto-chango, the grass seems to have gone, but it really hasn't.

The same was true for some blackberries that had gotten quite well established. If I couldn't pull then up, I cut them off at ground level. They will be back in a few weeks.

Then there are the pests. Some sap sucking  insects, called frog hoppers, have built bubble nests on the stems and leaves of many plants. I need to spray then off! Down on the ground where it is dark, damp, and cool I found both slugs and snails that I need to get rid of. Maybe I should just learn to eat the shelled leaf munchers. I think not. I will probably use a bird and mammal friendly bait to get rid of them.

As of this morning, what I weeded looks great, at least from a distance, but once God is done watering everything, then blessing us with more sunshine, the grass will be green and growing well again. What I really have to do is dig up the grass and blackberries, roots and all, not just take the tops off. I could use an herbicide, but don't like using that stuff. Either spraying or digging is hard work which needs to be done. I'm not looking forward to it. but the results will be wonderful.

In a way, that flowerbed is a personal look into life. We all have weeds and other unwanted things growing--things that are very unsightly when they pop to the surface, and potentially dangerous when ignored. Some of us just let them grow without giving a thought to the damage they are doing. Take the"I'm Worthless" weed for example. It is terribly damaging. If allowed to continue growing, it can completely choke out the beautiful "I'm God's Child" plant. Some folks try fighting this weed with man-made sin-icides like alcohol, drugs, or food. For a short period of time these remedies seem like they have worked, but they really haven't. Once the sin-icide has worn off, the I'm Worthless" weed comes back stronger than ever.

Spiritual Gardening Tips of the Day

Learn to recognize the weeds for what they are and not be duped by their oft-time beauty. (The Holy Bible is the best, and in my eyes, the only, resource for correctly identifying weeds)

Get completely rid of the "I'm Worthless", "I'm Stupid", I'm a Failure" weeds and any others by digging out their roots, soaking them in The Lamb's blood, then exposing them to pure heavenly light. Several exposures to light may be necessary.

Stay on top of the weeding, and never be satisfied with removing only the above-ground portion. The roots must be completely eradicated before a garden can be as thriving as it was designed to be. 

Most pests will disappear with the scent of prayers rising up as incense and the sound of voices raised in praise. 

The "I'm God's Child" plant thrives on heavenly light, living water, daily manna, and being grafted into the Vine. 

The "I'm God's Child" plant, when mature, is richly clothed with compassion, humility, kindness, forgiveness, love, patience, and gentleness. Col 3:12 

It's fruit is similar: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control. Col 5:22,23 

Remember, weeding, feeding, watering and fertilizing is year round work, but keep at it.   

Labor intensive root digging pays big dividends--a beautiful garden of flourishing plants. 

When discouraged, seek help and guidance from those whose gardens are producing well.

Finding many roots to dig,
Jan

Saturday Ramblings

What beautiful clear night we had last night. The full moon lighted up the entire yard and made it look like a perfectly maintained park. Now that it is a sunny Saturday morning, the yard and flowerbeds are displaying their true nature.They have an abundance of dandelions, buttercups, reed canary grass, and huge mossy places where grass should be. Oh well, it is still green. It is still mowed, and it is slowly getting all the edges trimmed with the weed-eater.

Speaking of weed-eaters, I went out three times yesterday to tackled more grass and weeds. I got all the stuff under an apple tree whacked down--all except a lone calla lily that is beautiful right now. That took two half-hour sessions. Then I chomped away on the weeds next to my garage as well as the blackberries on the driveway side of the pump house. I really felt good about all I had accomplished.

I might have felt good at the end of the day, but in the middle of the night I questioned my zealousness. My elbows and wrists were killing me. Thankfully, I feel fine today and am ready to head out again after I get this written. By lunch time, there will be no more long grass around the maple tree or along the deck. At least that is what my big plan is right now--after I get some spaghetti sauce started..

Meanwhile, back to last night's the full moon. I first noticed it as I sat in my bedroom watching a program on my laptop. The brilliant yellow orb was just appearing through the hemlocks that surround my yard. I was fascinated by the silhouetted shapes of the dancing tree branches. The moon looked like a heavenly maiden whose face was covered with gently moving, black lace. Over the course of the evening she started playing hide and seek with me--now you see me, now you don't. Then I went to bed, leaving her to play alone.

This is one of those days I wish I could clone myself. There are three places I would like to be. One is in town for the big summer celebration. There will be pirates, dancing, a parade, kids in costumes, mock sea battles, lots of music, lots of people, and food, food, food. A couple grand-kids will be working at their church youth group's concession stand off and on during the day.

That's why I won't be in the pirate mix. My grand-son is using my car while the rest of his family is at a Jr. Olympic qualification meet. That is the second place I would like to be because I have three grand-kids there. I really hope they place high enough to compete again in two weeks. I will be able to go to that meet.

And of course, the third place is right here working in my yard, and trying to get as much done as possible before it starts raining again--possibly tonight, or tomorrow, or... I will have help later today when my grandson comes over to finish up some jobs for me. The best part, though, is having dinner together. What could be more special than sharing spaghetti with a handsome sixteen-year old.

Since it's impossible to be three places at once, I will check the track meet results in Facebook posts, hear about the pirates and festivities from my grandson, and still get work done outside.  It can't get much better than that.

Thank you, Lord, for this cool, breezy-yet-sunny day in the Pacific Northwest.

Rejoicing and blessed,
Jan

From Mad-Sad to Scads-of-Glad

I have put off writing as long as I can today. I've cleaned my kitchen, including drying my dishes AND putting them away. I have read yesterday's paper and done the crossword and Sudoku puzzles. I have used the weed eater until the battery ran down. I have reconciled my bank statement against my Excel spread sheet. And, I have eaten lunch. I have no more excuses for not facing today for what it is--my 49th wedding anniversary.

I didn't think it would be a big deal. After all, this is the fifth year I have "celebrated" while my husband sits in prison. I should be used to it by now. But I'm not. In fact, it is getting harder because my emotions are no longer buried where I can't find them. They are much closer to the surface. That means today I am both mad and sad. So, what do I do about it?

I guess the best thing to do is see them for what they are, and ask the Lord's help in finding a constructive way to deal with them. First is the anger. It isn't a yelling, foot-stomping type of anger. I have never dealt with anything that way.

The first two years or so I didn't even think I was angry, just a little ticked. I tried not to think about my anniversaries as all. That way no emotions could arise--if I had any in me, which I doubted. That was a little hard because my dad would send me anniversary cards; so would my husband. Those guys were just creatures of habit and doing what they had always done I reasoned. That way I didn't have to really think about the taboo word of the day--anniversary.

The next few years my anger caused me to question why I married at all. I felt I would have been much better off if I had remained single. My dad no longer sent cards. That was good. But by husband still did. His cards really angered me. How dare he, especially after what he had done?

Now, at the five year mark, my anger has become the mad-sad feeling I have today. It makes me feel sorry for myself and wanting to throw a pity party. Oooooh poor me, boo-hoo, sob-sob, snort, blow, and wipe my eyes.

I'm sad because there will be no special celebration dinner, no time alone with each other, no time discussing possible trips, no shared popcorn at a movie. I know that seems selfish, but that is what I'm feeling.

As I write this, I feel bad that my sadness is more for me than for my husband. He is much more of a romantic than I am, so this day for him is probably much more difficult. At least I have my kids around, he doesn't.

My kids, our kids. Wow, The Lord just used those words to shown me the constructive way to deal with my mad-sad. I need to change mad-sad into scads-of-glad.  I have been blessed beyond belief these past 49 years. I have three wonderful children with wonderful spouses, and nine amazing grandchildren (counting my married grandsons' wives) They are all are strong in their Christian faith and serving the Lord in amazing ways. I have a husband who showed his children, by example, how to love unconditionally, help those in need, tithe, experience the outdoors, and honor their wives.

Honor their wives might sound completely absurd coming from me, but it isn't. Despite what my husband did, and considering how hard and far he fell, he was a good husband who honored me. He never hesitated to wash dishes, vacuum, or do a load of clothes if I was busy, overwhelmed with three little ones, or sick. He enjoyed surprising me with an occasional breakfast in bed. He loved fixing breakfast for the family, and he made sure I had alone time when I needed it.  We also had date times. Whether a movie, a meal out, or just a walk, he made sure the two us had time alone, away from the kids. My son's learned well.

So today, my 49th wedding anniversary, I can truly thank God for what I have been given. Though the last years have been a roller coaster ride, I prefer merry-go-rounds, I still have been abundantly blessed through them.

Now that I am finished writing, I sit here quite surprised where this went. I was truly on the verge of tears when I started, and have finished up feeling so blessed.

Thanking God for 49 years of marriage, and scads-of-glad,
Jan

...Because You Said You Would

My granddaughter was an active little bundle of hops, skips, jumps, spins, and songs all wrapped up in holey-kneed pants and a dirt-smudged shirt. Complete with sparkling blue eyes and long blond hair, she kept asking her grandpa to come outside and push her on the big, big swing.

Well, her grandpa was busy writing a letter on his computer. He had to get it finished and sent as soon as possible. Finally, after the four-year-old bundle of energy had interrupted him for the third or fourth time, he told her to go on outside and play on the swing. He assured her he would be out as soon as he finished his letter. So, out she went...and waited.

While Grandpa typed, I kept checking on the young one. Knowing her, she was as apt to try following one of the flocks of migrating geese flying overhead as she was to disappear into the bushes while trying to catch a garter snake. Thankfully, she sat on the swing--sort of. While she sat there, she would twist around and around until her little legs could barely touch the ground. Then, while she rapidly unwound, the air was filled with her bubbly laughter. Occasionally she would lean backward as far as possible, trying to let her hair touch the ground. Following each successful attempt, she would laugh--probably because it had grass caught in it. Then for awhile, she just sat there, swinging her legs back and forth, singing as loudly as she could, and yelling "Hi" to the birds. She was one happy little girl waiting for her grandpa who still hadn't come.

Finally, with the letter finished and sent off, her grandpa headed out to the back yard. He was immediately greeted by squeals of delight as his granddaughter ran to him and proclaimed, "Papa, I knew you would come." Then she beamed and added, "because you said you would."

As I thought about my granddaughter's reaction to her Papa's arrival as well as the way she waited I had to ask myself these questions. "When I pray and don't get an answer right away, why can't I wait with a song on my lips and laughter in my voice? Why can't I wait while enjoying those moments and the world around me?

After all, I know God will answer...because He said he would.

Learning how to wait and trust,
Jan

You Know You're... When...

I had to have some blood work done this morning. Since it had to be a fasting blood draw, an early trip to town was called for. I also had a dental appointment. To make things as easy as possible on myself, I went to town early so I could get a bite to eat after giving up my blood and before submitting my teeth to examination and cleaning. Since I wanted something to do while I ate, I took last might's unread paper with me. After reading the first few pages, I flipped to page A11 and chuckled. A11 was not the comics. It was the weather forecast.  Here it is, including high and low temperatures.

Today

63   Rather cloudy with a shower   52

Wed.

62   Rather cloudy with a shower   52

Thurs.

61   Mostly cloudy, showers around   52

Fri.

64   Times of clouds and sun   49

Sat.

64   Partial sunshine   53

After my chuckle had changed into a smile, I thought "you know you're in the Pacific Northwest when the forecast is like this." That isn't true of course, but it got me thinking about other events in our lives that cause us to think along the same lines, things like these:

You know you're getting old when no one asks if you are a senior citizen anymore.

(What? Do you really think I'm older than 55/65?)

You know it's time to clean out your kitchen cupboards when the expiration date on the baking powder is 2005

You know it is time to clean under the couch cushions when there is more money there than in your coin purse. 

(how did all the popcorn get there?)

You know it is time to weed out your clothes closet when the granddaughters come over to find outfits for the school's "good old days" event at school.

You know you are not tech savvy when you don't know an ipad from an ipod from an iphone. 

(an eyeball I know)

You know you need more exercise when you decide to park next to the grocery cart return so you don't have to walk as far to put your cart away.

You know it is springtime in the Pacific Northwest when people start wearing sandals without socks.

You know you are looking at a tourist if  they are using an umbrella.

You know you're getting old when your body is obeying the laws of gravity--every part is falling down. 

You know it's time to go outside when its 63 degrees and rather cloudy instead of 52 with a shower.

I'm heading out

 Have a God day, everybody,

Jan

Social Media and Never-Seen-Before Friends

Tweets, Twitter accounts, Snap Chat, texting, Face Book, iPhones, cell phones, Vines, Pintrest and e-mails are invading every part of our lives these days, not to mention You Tube. I have to laugh when I think that just a few years ago the items listed above either were non-existent or had entirely different meanings. I'm sure this list is minute compared to the many communication possibilities found in cyberspace. Sadly, I am slowly losing my grip, as weak as it was, on the world of electronics. I have a cell phone, and think I am a fairly high-tech grandma because I can use the calendar, alarm clock, and stopwatch.

At a track meet this spring, two high school girls were sitting on a blanket in the grass and texting while waiting for their next event. Being the curious person I am, I finally asked one of them (a granddaughter, by the way) who she was talking to. She laughed as she told me it was her friend right next to her. They were having a private conversation.

I could probably become paranoid if I were around texter-tweeter-snapchatter teens very often. Whenever I saw fingers flying frantically on a keyboard or a girl making funny faces and sending the picture who knows where, I would think, I bet they are telling their friends about me. "My Grandma looks so silly--her hair is sticking out all weird LOLOLOLO."

Then there is the world of Face Book. I have an account. I think the recipes friends post look yummy. The jokes are usually funny. The animal pictures are adorable. I love seeing family pictures of weddings, graduations, vacations, and birthdays. The thing is, I don't want the world knowing and seeing that much about me. Even though I do have blocks on my wall (I guess that is what you call it) I don't want to tell all my friends and family that I'm excited about going to the big city or the beach or the mall, or a ballgame, and will be back later. All I need is to come home to a burglarized house. As an aside, For safety measures I always let my family know when I am going anywhere that will take more than a few hours.

There is one aspect of social media, though, that I have an entirely different view of. It is one that I hadn't realized had such a huge impact until I experienced it myself. In the early spring of 2010 I discovered websites of nesting birds. First came the eagles, then the owls, Molly and McGee to be exact.

Day after day, month after month, I sat in my recliner and watched in utter amazement and fascination as these birds raise their families. I watched the owls rear three clutches during hot California days as well as freezing nights. I watched the eagles during sunny, breezy days and torrential rain storms. During that time, my personal life felt like one big storm, too. Still not in therapy and still not coping with my husband's crimes, I was avoiding people as well as life in general. I must admit, though, I was not aware how much this was happening. I just sat in my chair and watched the birds.

During this time, I learned so much as I took it all in. Just before an approaching storm, I saw the eagles change the configuration of their nest by making the sides higher. I saw them change the usual diet of fish to freshly killed birds when the river was too muddied to fish. I watched mom and dad take turns sitting on the nest, hunting for food, and feeding the eaglets from dawn to dusk.

Molly and McGee, the barn owls, took up most of my time, especially nights. In contrast to the eagles, Molly took charge of the home. She sat on the eggs, straighten the owl box and fluffed up the nesting material. She fed the owlets, tended to a baby's sore eye by cleaning it, stood watch over a dying new-hatch, and at dusk, called impatiently for McGee to start bringing in food for the next day.

McGee slept all day in a nearby palm tree, but at night he hunted tirelessly. Gophers, mice, and small rabbits were all fair game. The larger the owlets got, the more food he brought in, not only for the little ones, but also for Molly. He worked so hard providing for his family.

As I watched,  I also read comments and conversations in the chat room next to the video feed. I never entered into the conversations. I just a lurked--watched but didn't talk. By the time the eaglets and owlets fledged, I had gotten to know the other eagle and owl watchers. I knew their chat room names; their favorite TV shows, music, foods, sports teams, and movies; their health problems; their senses of humor; their political leanings and world views; and the ups and downs of their jobs. To me, they were my friends. I laughed at their funny comments and prayed for their  concerns, but I never saw their faces, met their families, drank coffee in their homes, or shared a barbecued burger in their back yard. None of them even knew I existed. That was fine with me. I didn't want anyone to know I existed, that included those who did know I existed. Yet, they were my friends, my never-seen-friends.

But now, I no longer need nesting birds and chat rooms to fill my need for human contact. As a result I no longer have any idea who is nesting and where, although I did read that McGee disappeared (probably hit by a car) last year while Molly was sitting on their fourth clutch of eggs--one had hatched. In desperation and despite the freezing night air, she had to leave the nest to find food for the owlet and herself. By the time she finally returned, the baby had died and the eggs had gotten too cold to be viable. I also saw in the news a year or so ago that the mother eagle had been hit by an airplane, and the fairly large eaglets were relocated to a sanctuary because just one parents wouldn't be able to feed all of them.

During this time of withdrawal from the human race, I also discovered Bibi, the African Gray Parrot, who lives with her human family in southern Illinois. Whenever I am working around the house or reading these days, I have her website up and running on my laptop. I have mentioned her in previous blogs. She keeps me amused with her noises, requests for food, demands for attention, animal imitations, and ability to make her desires known--"I want to go to bed". She is one smart bird.

She also has a large following of people who talk off and on in the chat room as well as lurkers like me. But here is what is interesting. Bibi is on a road trip now, visiting her fans. The visits are aired live whenever possible. Sometimes they are visiting on someone's front porch. Other times they are sitting around a kitchen table or in a living room. There are even times she is sight seeing or eating out. During it all, Bibi's chat room friends from around the world are there together, enjoying the conversations, the laughter, and the thrill of seeing Bibi visit another fan.

Over the course of the visits, a common denominator appeared. Bibi and her family were life savers. Not only had Bibi brightened their dark days, she had given them something to look forward to. And it wasn't just Bibi. It was the friends in the chat room as well. Even though none of them had ever met, they cared about each other, encouraged each other, laughed, cried, and celebrated with each other. No one had any idea what kinds of homes the others lived in, how old they were for sure, what their weight was, or if their hair was bleached, dyed, or white. They just knew each others thoughts, words, and shared love for an African Gray Parrot. They were never-seen-before friends.

It was through the live broadcasts of Bibi's visits these past weeks that I began to realize more clearly the part this area of media played in my own recovery. It provided the human contact I needed even though it was just virtual contact. It let me see other people's lives--people who had hurts and heartaches too, my never-seen-before friends. They brought smiles to my face and laughter to my soul. Silly birds! Silly friends.

I can honestly say that God used the mysteries of the electronic age to show me the mysteries of his ways. I saw the majesty and tenderness of eagles as a reminder that God was even more so. As I watched Mollie Owl treat her owlet's eye, then both parents encourage their young to fly, I became more and more aware that God was treating me, feeding me, and encouraging me to fly once again.

I am thankful I have family and friends I can touch and see--people I can visit and who visit me. My heart aches for those who don't. I pray that people who are home bound by either emotional or physical problems will find healing, hope, and joy through some healthy form of social media. But even more, I pray God will reveal himself to them even if it begins with the awe and wonder of birds.

Amazed at how God works,
Jan

That Wasn't Very Smart, Was It?

I hope you don't mind another kid story from the past. My oldest son was probably around five years old at the time and had his bedroom on the second floor of our home. He was a good kid with an infectious grin that quite often covered a multitude of sins. This particular night the grin didn't work too well.

I has home alone with the three kids which included an infant. My husband was bowling in a church league; and I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. The two youngest children were already sound asleep when I tucked the oldest into bed, kissed him goodnight, headed down stairs, and turned off the light. As I closed the door at the bottom of the stairs, I sighed a big sigh and headed for the rocking chair and my book. Aaah, peace and quiet at last.

I no sooner opened my book than I heard, "Thump, thump, thump." What in the world? After a few minutes of intermittent noise I realized the sound was coming from behind the door to my son's room. I got up, walked to the door, and opened it. There he sat at the bottom of the stairs, kicking the door. I gave him one of those looks only an irritated mother can give. In response, he gave me a huge grin. I smiled back, set him on his feet, and up the stairs we marched. I tucked him back into bed, gave him another kiss, told him goodnight and went back down stairs. Just before closing the door I said, "I don't want you coming down again, young man!"

I had barely finished reading a page of my book when I heard it again, "Thump, thump, thump." I figured I would just ignore him. He would tire of his little game fairly soon, or so I thought. Wrong. He would stop for awhile, then start again.

Not wanting to get up, I used my mamma's-not-happy-right-now voice and said, "Young man, get yourself back upstairs and into bed right this minute. Do you hear me?" The thumping stopped, but I didn't hear any footsteps on the stairs. Then, within minutes I hears a very quiet, thump, thump. That did it. I hightailed it into the kitchen, grabbed my one and only wooden spoon, and marched to the stairway door. After standing there a second or two to rehearse my plan of attack, I threw open the door, took one look at my son, then brought the spoon down as hard as I could on the stairs right next to him.

 Bam!

I had not expected the spoon to snap in two, but it did. I also had not expected my son's reaction. He smiled sweetly at me and said in his little angelic voice, "That wasn't very smart, was it?" I still was in shock over breaking my one-and-only wooden spoon, so was unprepared to respond to his smarty comment. Before I could find the right words to say, these words came out of his mouth, "The devil likes it when you get angry!"

I stood there dumbfounded and holding a spoon handle in my right hand. How do I deal with this? My son was right after all. Thankfully the Lord was right there giving me the words, although I didn't fully realize it at the time. I looked right into the eyes of my son, ignored his heartwarming smile, and gently responded, "The devil also like it when you disobey your mother."

What ensued was our conversation about children who disobey their parents, parents who lose their tempers, and what behaviors please God. We both said " I'm sorry" and "forgive me" before I tucked him into bed again, kissed him again, and headed down the stairs--again. As I closed the I said, "Love you."

The rest of the evening I read my book in peace and quiet. All three of my children were finally asleep.

This experience has come to mind over and over again during the past forty years, not as a memory of a disobedient child and his angry mother, but as a reminder of how God can use the words of a child to touch a mother's heart.

Jan

A Letter to My Heavenly Father

Dear Dad,

Happy Father's day! I know I don't tell you this often enough, but I love you. I pray you have a wonderful day filled with praises and adoration from all the kids.

I am so thankful you adopted me. I couldn't have asked for a better father.

You were always there to pick me up and dust me off when I fell, and hold me when I was scared. You always were great at drying my tears, and kissing my hurts. I don't think I will ever outgrow my need for your comfort and care. Thanks for being there, Dad.

As I grew up, Dad, you had so much you wanted to teach me. You tried to teach and showed me how to love others, even those who didn't love me. You tried to teach me how to share all that you gave me, and how to understanding other people's pain and sorrow. You tried to teach me when to listen and when to speak. You tried to teach me to notice and enjoy everything you made--the sounds, the colors, the aromas, the sizes and shapes, all of it.

I know you tried whatever and however you could. Jesus helped you so much. He was a great example for me. As a result, I did learn much over the years, really I did. But Dad, I have to be honest. I wasn't always listening when you were talking to me. I'm extremely thankful that you have never given up trying because I'm finally becoming a more eager student. It's about time isn't it?

Remember how you often encouraged me to ventured into new areas and try new things. You would also warn me about challenges and potential dangers, especially if I were attempting things on my own. Yet, you let me go ahead and make my own mistakes. I'm sure you would cringe and wish I were making different choices. It amazes me, Dad, that after everything you still loved me--me, your stiff-necked daughter.

It amazed me that you never got angry when I questioned your authority or asked why you let things happen. I didn't do it often, Dad, but when I did, you not only listened and understood, you also quieted me with your love*. I thank you for that.

I love all these things you did, and am thankful for them, but what I love most is when you rejoice over me with your singing*, especially when I go to bed at night.

You're the strongest, mightiest, most loving dad a daughter could ever have.

Love Ya,
Jan
*Zephaniah 3:17

Aaaaaaeeeeeeeeiiiiii! Help!

I'm inspired. Now I just have to keep motivated to accomplish what I want. Yesterday my daughter and I had a fun-filled time over a delicious lunch at a restaurant not too far from my home. We then walked through their wonderful garden of native plants as well as sculptures by local artists. I came home with lots of ideas for my yard. The main problem is the restaurant has a full time gardener. I don't.

If I lack in a full time gardener, I don't lack an abundance of grand kids who like being outside, like to earn money, and are good workers. They even work for home made chocolate chip cookies. This means I will gladly bake while they pull weeds. I will happily pay them a few dollars for cut back blackberries.

To get started I bought some slug/snail bait this morning. One of the hostas I have growing on my front porch has seen better days. Either a slug or snail feasted on it the other night. For some reason, the second hosta was untouched. Maybe the slimy creatures are waiting to dine on it some other night. Well, not if I can help it.

So here is my schedule for a beautiful, sunny day in the Pacific Northwest. I went to town at 6:30 a.m. to buy some groceries and miscellaneous supplies for the flowerbed and yard work. I am taking my car to a fundraiser car wash for the Jr. Olympics at 10:30. (I have three grand kids competing over the next few weeks) Then, with a clean car, I am heading home, putting on my grungy work clothes and going outside to work. Ironically, my grand kids are either out of town or had other commitments.

Where will I start? Do I:
Mow?
Spray weeds in the lawn?
Weed the flowerbed by the front door?
Weed the flowerbed by the pump house?
Finish weed-eating under the spruce tree?
Weed-eat around the swings?
Weed-eat the grass that is encroaching on the road by the un-mowed field?
Prune the Rhododendrons?

Aaaaeeeeeiiiiii. Help! I'm already tired.

Well, I'm off the the car wash--after I get a chicken cooking in the slow-cooker.

Rejoicing in God's abundance and celebrating a brand new day,
Jan

Wanting to Want What God Wants

This week I began watching an eight week sermon series by Andy Stanley who is pastor of North Point Community Church in Atlanta, Georgia. Every evening I log onto his website, click on Messages, then select the series called Follow. It is basic teaching on being a Christ follower--what it is and what it isn't. I have found each of them very thought provoking and challenging. Yesterday's message really hit home. I think he had been reading my mind.

Pastor Stanley, talking about those difficult times when what we want is different from what God wants for us, asked if we could honestly tell God this. "I want to want what you want me to want more than I want to want what I want." Most of us say, "I want to want what you want me to want, but I don't really want it. I want what I want."

There is a certain area in my life that fits into this category. It is an area I struggle with and try to ignore as much as possible.  It is an area I made a decision about over a year ago, but have not acted on. I hesitate even admitting it or writing about it, but since I want the Lord to use this blog to speak to others going through similar difficult situations, I will pour out my struggle and reveal my human frailties. It might make sense. It might not, but here goes.

After my husband was sent to prison, the question that rattled around in my mushy brain concerned divorce. Do I or don't I. Is child molestation grounds, in God's eyes, for divorce or is it part of "for better or for worse"?

I was troubled, confused, and felt betrayed. I honestly didn't think there could be anything worse, yet my husband and I had made a covenant before God--a forever covenant--until death do us part. Well, there had already been a death, the death of our relationship. I already felt widowed even though my husband was very much alive. His Social Security was gone, just as if he had died. The house maintenance and yard work was stacking up, just as if he had died. I even felt like I had died, but knew I hadn't. I still got hungry, still needed sleep, and still walked around. In fact, I walked well, but aimlessly at times, like a stranger in my own home, not knowing where to go or what to do. And as I walked, I would cry. There had indeed been a death.

When I was finally able to put me feelings into words, I described myself as trying to keep my head above water in a raging sea while having a weight tied to my legs, a weight that pulled me down deeper and deeper. I was trying desperately to keep from drowning. That heavy weight, I felt, was my husband. Only God's promise that he would never let go kept me from going completely under.

I talked to my pastor. He, though against divorce, felt that in my situation divorce would be allowable. My husband, by his actions, had abdicated his roll as my husband, my provider, my protector. He had broken the covenant. BUT! There was a word I don't like. But, as pastor stressed, I needed to be absolutely certain what God's plan was. He told me if the plan included divorce, I would feel a release from my vows. I would know that was what God wanted for me, for my husband, and for our relationship. I needed to be absolutely certain because divorce, once done, couldn't be undone.

I occasionally prayed about the relationship, but mainly I ignored the issue. After all, I had at least eight years before he was released. In the back of my mind I just wanted to get rid of the past and start all over again with a clean slate. I didn't want to know what God wanted. It might be something entirely different than I wanted.

There was another line of reasoning that I still mull over from time to time. It goes like this. I have grandchildren in my life and will probably have great-grandchildren around within a few years, therefore if I were single and dating a man, then discovered he had molested children, I would immediately break off the relationship.  With that line of thought, divorcing my husband fit perfectly.

I felt I was getting a clearer answer, so I told my kids that was the way I was leaning. I told friends that was what I felt I should do. I told my Dad, too. He said, "It's about time."

But I still wasn't sure that was what God wanted. It might have been only what I wanted.

So here I still sit five years later wanting to pray for God's clarity, guidance, and assurance in this matter, yet not wanting to receive God's clarity, guidance, and assurance. The answer I get might not be what I want. That line of thinking is completely silly since I don't even know what I want.

From the beginning I have been telling God that I know he has a plan in all this. I have told him I want to be a light to those also struggling. I want people to see how He is faithful, trustworthy,and loving. Yet there is part of me that adds an unspoken caveat to my prayers--a part of me that says, "And don't tell me how to do it. I have my own ideas; and they are good ones."

I do pray this, "God, I truly want what you desire for me." I do pray this because I know God's desires for me are the best. The problem is I still can't listen for his voice with an open heart and mind. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I chose not to listen with openness. So I wait. And while I wait, God is also waiting, patiently waiting, until I am ready and willing to give up my selfish, self-serving will for his perfect will.

I do not know what the future holds. The scary part now is I feel myself softening. I don't want to. I'm not ready to "after what he did to me and our family," but it's happening. And, I have to admit that I miss him. That is something new.

Now, is that God or the enemy? I don't really know at this point. Or do I? All I know for sure is I have not yet felt the Lord's release from my marriage vows.

Struggling with actually casting off my wants and putting on what the Lord wants for me; and not just going through the motions,

Jan

A Little Bit of This and That From Kids

~~~

The first time I ever taught Sunday school was over 40 years ago. (It's hard to believe some of those cute little three-year-olds could be grandparents by now.) On the Sunday I have in mind, we were talking about God creating the heavens and the earth. To help them understand there was "nothing" before God created, I closed the curtains, turned off the lights, had the tots close there eyes really, really, tight, and sit really, really, really still. Then I asked them to imagination what it might have been like.

After a few seconds, that was all the longer they could sit still, I told them, "Open your eyes. Now tell us what it was like." I expected to get answers like "Really dark." I expected answers like, "Scary!" But I didn't expect the first answer I got, A little boy shouted out, "There was nothing there but Love!"

He blew me away.

~~~

At my parents home many years ago, one of my grandsons wanted to help his great-grandpa mow the lawn. My dad finally consented by letting  the 4 year old hold onto the middle of the handlebars while he pushed at the ends. After several laps around the yard, my grandson stopped and asked to do it by himself. Dad told him he wasn't tall enough yet. With that, my grandson patted himself on the top of his head and proclaimed, "My head is all the way up here," and pointing to the grass he added, "my feet go all the down to the ground. That's how big I am. I can mow"

Don't you love kids? They know they can do anything.

~~~

 I'm not even sure this granddaughter was in school yet when she went through a stage of writing songs. One called Wind Up Jesus into Your Heart was inspired by kite flyers at the beach. The lyrics of another, inspired by my huge magnolia tree, went, "Giving Tree, Giving Tree, give me all you have for me." She told me it was about God being like a tree.

When chatting with her one day, I asked if she had written any music recently. She immediately set me straight. "No, Nana, everything is music! The rain is music. The leaves are music. The sound of my feet on the gravel is music. Songs are different."

And no, she hadn't written any new "songs".

~~~

Today may we:

Experience Love all around us.

Do all things through Christ who strengthens us.  

Listen to the music.

Jan

Freddie Field Mouse

While spending hours over the last few weeks mowing my large grassy field, then spending more hours picking up the dried grass, I occasionally saw mice running away at break neck speed, then disappearing under the blackberry bushes. Thinking about the fleeing mice and my love of alliteration, I decided to see what I could do with a field mouse story. Enjoy. 

Freddie Field Mouse was not a common mouse. He was first and foremost a fanciful fellow. But, he was also fearless and ferocious. He had nary a frown on his face nor fear in his four little feet. Instead, he had a favorite feathered fedora he always wore, and friends with which to frolic.There were two flopping frogs, three friendly field mice, and a four-day-old fawn named Fawn. They were his best friends, his forever friends. 

They frolicked at Flip-flop In The Frisbee (which they found in the phlox). They fearlessly played Fight the Football (which the farmer's family had lost in the fesque), not a game for the faint of heart. But their favorite game was Fake-out the Furry Feline. Her name was Flower, but they called her, in very unfriendly voices, 'Fraidy-cat. She didn't really fear frogs, fawns, and field mice. She was just a phenomenal actress who liked playing their frivolous game. Flower was usually found napping on the front walk, next to the four-leaf-clover.

It seems wherever Freddie went and whatever Freddie did, his friends were with him. Being fleet of foot, ferocious, and flamboyant, Freddie led them into the field, into the forest, and even up to the farmhouse to frighten 'Fraidy-Cat. They were family and they had fun. But, deep down inside they feared being found by either the farming family, the feral feline who was not a 'fraidy-cat, or the flying foes--the hawks, the owls, and the eagles. 

Then came that fateful day, the Fifth of Friday I think it was. Freddie Field Mouse, the two floppy frogs, and  his three little field mice friends were playing Flip-flop In The Frisbee. Fawn had recently moved it from the phlox to the tall, tall fescue. But today, fawn napped by her mother's flank in the forest while Freddie and the rest of her friends flip-flop as free as they pleased. The grass was so tall, they no longer feared being found. 

Fawn's mother heard it first. Her ears fluttered. Her eyes flashed. Her tail flicked. Then, in a flash, off she flew with Fawn following after. Finally, hidden by the ferns and the firs, fawn stopped to face the fescue, her friends, and the foe.  She feared her friends' fate.

Within seconds, Freddie and his five friends heard it too. It sounded fierce, and it made the field shake. Then they saw it. From across the field came a red, ferocious, fiendish machine--the mower his father had always warned him about. Only this wasn't the fairy tale he had fancied it to be. It was fact, not fable; and it was coming toward him and his friends. 

Frantic and frightened, they fidgeted, squeaked and croaked  in falsetto voices, then froze. They couldn't fathom what the approaching force meant. Freddy Field Mouse was no longer very fearless, ferocious, or flamboyant. His fingers fiddled with his feathered fedora, his fear-less feet shook, and his forehead furrowed as he figured and figured how to fend for them. What was it to be--fight or flight? 

Unknown to Freddie and his frozen-in-the-grass, hiding-in-the-ferns friends, someone else was also focusing on the fearsome, fiendish, machine and figuring what to do. There, lying by the four-leaf-clover, was Flower the 'fraidy-cat feline! Her furry tail flinched as she also figured and figured. She must not falter. She must not fail. She must find her fun-loving friends and free them.  

Finally, full of faith in her plan to fight, she forced herself onto her feet and flew into the field. Faster and faster, nothing fazing her, forgetting all fear, she flashed through the fescue toward the red, fiendish, mowing machine. Closer and close the fiend came toward the place her friends had been frolicking. Focusing on her fantastic plan, she forced herself in front of the mower. 

Silence followed.  

The ferocious mower stopped. The fierce earthshaking stopped. The funny-hatted, female farmer yelled. "Foolish Flower, you frightened me. What a fiasco. This could have been fatal!" 

As she fetched Flower and scratched the feline's furry ears, Flower said just one thing. "Meow!" 

Upon translating "Meow" from Felinese to Field-mousian,  Freddie flipped his feathered fedora back onto his now frown-less forehead and forcefully yelled, "Flee! Flee to the ferns in the forest!" 

In the flutter of an eyelash, two floppy frogs, three frantic mice, and Freddie Field Mouse fled to the forest, and the ferns, and the firs, and their friend, Fawn.   

The friends still play Flip-flop In The Frisbee. Fawn moved it from the fescue to the ferns. They no longer frolic at Fight The Football, not since the farmer's family found it in the fescue. They play a different game now, one they just formed and called Find Flower In The Ferns. It's named for Flower, who is no longer taunted as 'Fraidy-cat, but fondly called Ferociously Fear-less Feline instead. 

Flower, now fancied-up in Freddie's feathered fedora, and hiding in the ferns, is their new Forever-Best-Friend. 

A friend,
Jan

Do Rain. Don't Rain. Do Rain. Don't Rain.

The weather sure has cooperated with yard work the past weeks. I needed at least 7-10 rainless days for the grass I had cut to dry out. If I tried picking it up before it was dry enough, it would jam up in the chute going to the three large grass collectors in the rear of the mower. That is a real pain.

Last night I decided all systems were go and I could tackle the grass gathering project first thing this morning. Then I checked the weather report. Rain today! NO. Well, I woke up to sunshine and was so excited. I could at least get started and pray the rains held off. Thankfully they did.

Now, if it doesn't rain, I will be a little upset. It means I spent three hours going around in circles, being jostled, jerked, and bounced as I drove my mower around the field in a marathon session. It means I had to dump the grass collectors every two laps around the field for three hours straight! I could have done it over several days if it weren't going to rain. But I had to get it done today otherwise I'd have to wait until after it quit raining on Saturday. And then wait until the grass dries out again--sometime next week. By then it would be long again. I had to get it done today, and I did.

Come on rain! I'm ready for you. The grass is picked up.

Well, it's noon now and the sun is still shining! At least it is if you look to the north. That is where the sky is blue and the scattered clouds look like fluffy popcorn. Looking south is another story. In that direction, the sky is filled with dark clouds, and the wind is picking up. It is starting to look a little ominous--not hail storm ominous, just heavy rain ominous.

Come on rain, the yard could use a drink. The flowers can use a drink, and so can the trees.

This afternoon I am going to the school track to walk while the high school Cross Country Team works out. I hope it doesn't rain.

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm 118:24

Being a rainfall schizophrenic,

Jan

Dream Revelation

When talking with Jesus this morning, I remembered a dream I had when my three kids were all under the age of eight. At that time we lived in a small apple-cherry-pear-peach farming community in central Washington. I was involved in a Bible study/prayer group made up of moms from several different denominations. We had been challenged to memorize the first chapter of Ephesians. I took on the challenge with gusto. That meant chasing the kids out of the house every morning so they wouldn't bother me, and I could work on my memorization in peace and quiet. Some days went just fine, but on other days I would get a little upset with my children because they kept running into the house every few minutes to get a drink, use the bathroom, tell me something exciting, or tattle on each other.

One day I had reached the end of my rope. When my daughter rushed in "again" chattering and exclaiming something at the top of her lungs, I raised my voice, which I seldom did, and told her to get back outside and not come back in until I called them for lunch.

After all, I was memorizing scripture wasn't I? I didn't need interruptions.

That night I had a dream that really opened my eyes to what I was doing. In this dream, I saw Jesus very clearly--not all of him, just his torso. He had dark eyes, shortish dark hair, and dark skin. He was moving slowly, sort of floating, from left to right across the horizon. I watched in amazement. There was no doubt in my mind about who I was seeing. Then, without warning, my daughter burst into my field of vision. She was crying and talking about on owl that had been hurt. She wanted me to come help it. I was instantly irritated with her because she was blocking my view. All I could see was her blond hair, her tear-filled eyes, and her runny nose. Without thinking, I pushed her aside so I wouldn't lose sight of Jesus.

It worked! With my sobbing daughter no longer blocking my view, I now saw Jesus much more clearly.

His eyes were now also filled with tears.

I can't explain the sadness I felt when I woke up a few minutes later. But I can explain the revelation I had. I had been so consumed with memorizing God's word, I had pushed my children aside in what I believed was justifiable anger. I was so consumed with memorizing Jesus, I forgot to be Him.

Lord, help me remember to be you.

Jan

"Where Are You?"

This blog will be different than others I have done. Up to this point I have never shared my sermon notes and what the sermon caused me to examine in my own life. But, I am going to do that today because that is what is on my heart.

We had an excellent guest pastor at church this morning. He was funny, down to earth, and left me with a lot to think about. He asked three questions. So, here are the questions and some points he made:

• What is sin?

Broken relationships--between God and man--between man and man.

God came because he wants to be with us--to mend our broken relationships.

God can mend relationships, but trust is earned. 

• What is the nature of God?

God's nature is loving-kindness--"For my own name's sake I delay my wrath; for the sake of my praise I hold it back from you, so as not to cut you off." Isaiah 48:9

He wants to restore, not get even.

We think of God as one who punishes, but sin creates its own punishment--broken relationships cause more broken relationships.

Godlessness is being without God. Ignoring him?

Coveting is desiring things of the world instead of desiring things of God. 

• Where are you? (First question in the Bible)

God called for Adam, "Where are you?"---Adam answered, "I heard you in the garden. I was afraid. I was naked so I hid."

God wanted a relationship.

Two things jumped out for me during the message. Of course, the first was about broken relationships. In the case of my husband, I still wonder what a mended relationship looks like, and what it means. I also wonder how he could ever earn my trust again--or can he? This whole area needs to move beyond my continual wondering. Wondering is not very constructive. Instead, I should be asking God what his plan is in healing the broken relationship--what my role is. Trust, that is another issue--one that certainly needs prayer, too.

This brought me to the next question. The one God asked Adam, "Where are you?"  In answering that, I I also asked myself the question, "What do I covet?" The answer plays a big part in my relationship with Jesus.

I really didn't think I coveted things. I have no desire to have what others have: a new car, fancy clothes, new furniture, new house, or latest electronic gadget. BUT! But what about desiring to read my book, spend time on the computer, do a puzzle of some sort, mow the yard, etc before spending time with God?

Yep, I think the pastor/speaker was right on. These are all forms of coveting. When I do these things, I am saying that my desires for my things are stronger and more important than my desire for Him at that moment. He has just become an item on my list of things to do. Many time He keeps being moved to the bottom of the list.

I can picture Jesus saying, "Jan, where are you? I want to hear about your day. Did you see the deer in your yard this morning? Wasn't that an awesome sunrise? I want to give you an idea for your blog. And there is a letter I want you to write and a phone call to make.  We need to talk about your relationship with your husband. I want to share the plans I have for you. Maybe we can sing. Then I just want to sit with you, hold your hand, and enjoy the silence. Where are you, my love?"

Then I see myself saying, "Don't worry, Jesus, I haven't forgotten you. I'm just too busy right now. As soon as I finish reading the last chapter of my book, read this e-mail, check out face book...as soon as I get the mail...as soon as I grab a bite to eat..."

Before I know it the day is over, I'm tired, and I go to bed. "Catch you tomorrow, Jesus, when I'm not so busy."

How healthy is a relationship like that?

No matter what I am doing, I really do want to be aware of God walking in the garden and desiring me to join him. I want to drop everything to spend time with him--to listen, to share, and to be quiet together. I also want to be aware when I need Him so I can stop wondering and start seeking. But first, I I will have to be aware of those "things" I covet.

"Things", in and of themselves, are not necessarily bad, but when they begin interfering with Jesus' and my relationship, I need to put them aside. When I can finally put "things" on my to-do-list instead of Jesus, then, and only then, have they become merely parts of my life and not what I covet.

I hear you, Lord, and I'm waiting,
Jan

Obstacle? What Obstacle?

There are two big events in our area every June, important events. They are fund raisers for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. A local fifth grade student, and best friend of my grandson, was diagnosed with the disease when he was only a few years old. His elementary school just had a very successful finish to its annual Penny Drive. And today was the big four mile walk-a-thon. The community turned out in full support.

I wasn't going to go. No I wasn't. There was absolutely no way I could walk the four miles that were planned. Yes, it is for a great cause.  Yes, my kids and grand kids would be participating. Yes, I would get a free tee shirt when I registered, free juice and water at the halfway point, and free lunch at the finish line. Yea, I know, I know, I know! But there is no way I can do it. I haven't walked that far since...well, since... who knows when? I certainly don't know and I really don't care. All I know and care about is four miles is toooooo far.

I will never know why I got into my car and drove to the community center where everything would take place. I just did. Then I registered knowing full well I would walk only a mile, turn around, go back to the starting point, get in my car, and head home. That would be more that enough walking for one day. Forget about the lunch and forget about the beverage break. At least I would have a new tee shirt. That became my plan.

So after registering, I put on my new "Walk Today" shirt, talked to folks as they milled around, and waited for the event to start. My family all showed up as did school kids, teachers, friends, and community supporters. After a few brief instructions, the herd of 100 men, women, and children stampeded off.

It wasn't really a stampede, just a filtering out of chattering, excited people anticipating a fun filled, sunny morning of fresh air and sea breezes. I stayed toward the rear of the pack because I knew I would be turning around fairly soon.

What a gorgeous morning it was--perfect for walking. The sun was out, the sky was clear, the temperature was in the low 50s, and the light breeze kept me from getting too warm. I was loving it. I loved looking at the cranberry bogs on both sides of the road. I loved seeing the flowers. I loved the sound of gurgling drainage ditches. I loved the gently swaying firs. But the thing I loved most was seeing all the people as they slowly spread out along the road. I knew I might be turning around soon, but I could tell all those folks were on a mission.

I could see the couples walking side by side, talking to each other and laughing. I could see small groups of women, some younger, some older, chatting away. There were moms with children in tow, and men with kids on their shoulders. There were men just walking along--sometimes alone, sometimes with others. Then there were groups of little boys running, shoving each other, and laughing. A couple uni-cyclists made their way through the crowd. And, of course, there were the clusters of giggling girls. And me.

Those were just the people. There were also dogs along for the jaunt. From bull dog to shepherd to puppy, the five or so leashed dogs either trotted beside their owners or were carried (as in "puppy") by the giggling teenage girls. And the horses, three I think, ridden by a mom and two young girls, clip-clopped along! What a glorious parade we all made.

In the midst of enjoying myself, I slowly realized I had probably passed the one mile mark. A majority of people had already crossed the highway and were headed for the beach. I still had folks behind me, though, and still felt pretty good, so decided I might as well get to the ocean. I mean, as long as I am already this close.

The walk along the beach was even better than the walk along the bogs. A dark bank of clouds on the horizon gave the impression of mountains in the distance. The misty morning haze that hadn't burned off yet gave a mystical feel to the setting. Trucks and other vehicles scattered along the beach were evidence of still-unseen people either walking or playing in the surf. And there, as I looked a long way down the beach, I could make out our string of walkers. I think they were gathering at the water/juice oasis. (I still had a long way to go)

I plodded on, only now I was no longer alone. One of my granddaughters had run up to me with her dog in tow. She said the pooch could keep me company, but I think the dog was slowing my granddaughter and her friends down. I gladly took the dog. If he slowed my granddaughter down, I now had an excuse for my slowing pace.

So doggy and I continued on. I checked out all the different bird tracks, shoe tracks, tire tracks, and dog tracks. Doggy sniffed at the clam shells, crab shells, seaweed, and people until we reached the refreshment stop where I chugged down a small bottle of Ocean Spray Cranberry juice.

OH NO!  I suddenly realized I had trekked more than two miles. There was no turning back now. We were in this for the long haul. I looked at the panting fur at the end of the leash I held and said, "Come on, Dog, we must keep pushing on. Only ten hours of daylight left." I grabbed an extra bottle of water, in case of emergency, and off we trudged.

Not only had I walked more than two miles, but my body was also growing more and more aware of that fact. My left knee was a little sore. My right hip was complaining, and my back was stiffening up. But all in all, I was doing pretty well.

"Come on ole girl, you can do this," was now the mantra I repeated as Dog and I passed by a sand castle under construction.

At this point, the GPS in my brain kicked in. "Walk down the beach another half mile, turn left, walk up the beach approach road until sand turns to gravel, then pavement, cross the highway."

"Almost there, almost there!" I kept telling Dog.

"Gotta keep Dog encouraged." I told myself. Who was I kidding with that line?

The GPS in my head clicked on once more and said, "Turn left toward the community center."

 Dog's leash tightened as she pulled and thought, "Speed it up a little, Grandma.

The part of me that 1 1/2 hours ago had decided to walk only one mile was  now shouting out, "Left foot, right foot, straighten up, pick up the pace, you have this in the bag. Go girl, go."

Then I spotted potential rescuers walking my way. My daughter and son-in-law were coming to see where I was and if I needed a ride.

"Surprise, you two! No I don't. I can certainly walk this last 100 yards, thank you. Four miles, woot, woot! And I'm not even last. (high 5s all around)

GPS--"You have reached your destination!"

Me--"Food. Where's the food?"

What had been completely impossible when I got up this morning is now an accomplishment to be celebrated. Four miles might not have been Mt. Everest, but it had been an obstacle never the less--an obstacle that I blasted away.

I pray that in the not so distant future, Cystic Fibrosis will no longer be a disease/obstacle to be blasted away, but a disease that has a cure and can be prevented.

At this moment, I personally have another obstacle staring me in the face. For the past three hours, I have not moved from my bedroom rocking chair. I have been writing, editing, and writing some more. Oh, I hope I can move!

"Come on, ole girl. You can do this."

Stiffening up, tired, and happy,
Jan

Why Am I Up At Six?

As I was standing at my kitchen sink early this morning... Wait a minute. That's how I started my blog a few days ago. Oh well, I guess that means I spend a lot of time at my kitchen sink. Anyway, as I was standing at my kitchen sink early this morning, I was thinking about how quiet and peaceful six a.m. was. That made me laugh. Every time of day is quiet and peaceful around here. Six a.m., ten a.m, or two in the afternoon are all the same, almost.

The only difference in audio stimulation is in the avian activity. In other words,birds get pretty noisy around here. Then, of course, there is the occasional lawnmower, chainsaw, or airplane putting in their two-cents' worth.. Other than that, if I want noise, I have to provide it myself. I usually don't.

I digressed. Where was I? Oh yes. I was standing at my kitchen sink early this morning, enjoying the peace and quiet, and wondering why washing up last night's dishes felt different at six a.m. than it does at ten a.m. I will admit I had more to wash that I normally do because I had had family over for dinner.  But it didn't take long to figure out why this morning was different. It was the lighting. There wasn't nearly as much natural light that early in the morning. The sky was gray, but that was normal. It just wasn't very bright yet. It was sort of like being wrapped up in a cocoon.

Cocoons are good. They provide rest and a time to undergo change. The only change I wanted was going from washing dishes to crawling back into bed. I was tired. I wanted a cocoon-rest, pleeeease.

Why was I up so early (early for me, that is)? It was because of my own personal choices. I chose to tell my son to just put the dishes in the sink--I'd wash them later. I chose to not wash dishes later. I also chose not to straighten up the living room as I had planned to do.  I watched a couple shows on Hulu instead. AND, last week I chose to have the heat-pump guy come at eight this morning to do the annual check-up on my heating system, and clean the electrostatic filters. That's what precipitated this whole affair.

As I was standing at my kitchen sink, all those choices, which seemed good at the time I made them, were bonking me on the head (bashing, actually) and saying, "What were you thinking? It's six o'clock in the morning!"

So, I was up! I felt like I didn't have a choice any more. After all, I didn't want the heat-pump guy to see dirty dishes in my sink and bread crumbs on my counters. I didn't want him to see the little rat's nest I create in my living room as the week progresses, the rat nest that consists of books piled all over my couch, newspapers opened to the crossword puzzles and dropped on the floor, and magazines, pens, necklaces, fingernail polish, and an empty water bottle scattered helter-skelter on top of my coffee table. That just wouldn't do. So, I was doing what I should have done yesterday. Cleaning.

Now my kitchen is clean (dishes washed, dried, put away, and counters wiped down), my living room in all neat and tidy (newspapers recycled whether the puzzles were finished or not), my heat-pump got a clean bill of health (great for a 12 year old piece of machinery--thank you, Lord), my blog is done, and it's only 10:30. What do I do now? I can't work outside because it is raining. That leaves me lots of other choices. Nap? Read? Get out my Greek flash cards? Nap? Resurrect my water colors? Watch for deer? Nap? And, oh yes, eat!

Choices, choices, choices, what a luxury. I just don't want to make any choice that will cause me to be cleaning at six tomorrow morning.

Trying to decide what to do today. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
Jan
jansjournal@hotmail.com

Thoughts on 1 Peter 2

This morning I was going through a yellow note pad from a year or two ago. During that period I was reading a few verses of 1 Peter every day, then journaling any thoughts, insights, or questions I had. For today's blog, I am going to edit one of those pages for clarity, and share it with you. 

1 Peter 2:4-5

New International Version (NIV)

The Living Stone and a Chosen People

4 As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him— 5 you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house[a] to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

The living Stone, what is that? First, what is a plain old "dead" stone? It is relatively strong because it is a stone. It is relatively solid because it is a stone. It moves only under the influence of another force. It knows and feels nothing. It is a stone, after all. But a stone can crack. It can crumble. It can become sand. That is a stone--a "dead" stone.

I picture a "living" stone as one that is forever indestructible. It cannot crumble or be broken. It senses, it moves, it supports. Peter says Jesus is the living Stone. Jesus is also the Way. That is what he says about himself. Putting those two ideas together says to me that I walk upon a path made of living Stone. I am glad.

I really don't want to walk a path of "dead" stone because it can shift under my feet, causing me to stumble and fall. It can slowly erode away, becoming a sand trap. It can also wash away in a storm. 

I want to walk on a living Stone path that will always provide a firm footing, one I know will always be steady and trustworthy. But walking on stones is hard on the feet, especially bare ones. Walking on sand is so tempting and feels so good, at least until the sandpaper effect kicks in.

Jesus doesn't want us walking in our bare feet. He wants us to put on shoes. He even provides our footwear. They may not be the latest Nike or New Balance shoes on the market. In fact, they are the centuries old, tried and true, ever dependable Gospel of Peace sandals with a lifetime guarantee. And, they are free, a gift from the Way, the living Stone. I just have to put them on and walk.

This verse also compares me to a living stone that is being built into a spiritual house! Well, that must mean I am part of an ongoing construction project. I am being chipped away at.  The junk rock, the "dead" rock is being removed so I will fit where I am needed. I am becoming stronger and more unbreakable. More and more I am able to sense and support the stones around me. I am also able to moving on my own accord.

Here is the image I get when it comes to moving. I, a living stone--strong and unbreakable, shod with the strong yet gentle Gospel of Peace, am walking confidently down the path of living Stone. With every step I take, every strike of my foot--living stone on living Stone, my shoes generate a spark, a spark that can start a fire.

So as we living stones become the living temple, a Holy priesthood that is walking together, stone upon living Stone,  we will generate sparks the Lord can use to set the world ablaze, on Holy Spirit fire for Him.

Lord, help me stay under the Stone Worker's chisel so I can become a more complete living stone. And, Lord, you know I don't like to wear shoes on my natural feet. I need your constant remind to at least keep my spiritual feet shod with the shoes you bought me.

Trying to remain shod,
Jan 

jansjournal @hotmail.com