Gettin' Busy

There is something to be said about busyness. I'd rather not be involved with it. I like doing busy things, especially with other people. But, when alone, not doing things is what ends up happening. Today is going to be different. Look out, town, here comes someone on a mission.

There are groceries to buy, gas to pump for the car and the mower, and batteries for the doorbell to buy. (No, no, no, the doorbell isn't buying anything. I'm doing all the battery buying.) Preservatives for the decking needs to be checked out, and, and, and there is something else too.  Oh yes, call a friend to see if she wants to meet for coffee.

Now, all I have to do is take a shower, fix my hair, put on "going to town" clothes instead of "sit around the house" clothes, eat breakfast, check the grocery ads, develop a menu, make a grocery list. put the gas cans in the car, and, and. And? I'll remember what it is when I get ten miles down the road.

Before this post comes to an end, here is something worth knowing. Those brownies that sit in the freezer to keep instant gratification from taking over are really delicious when eaten still frozen. I tried several just to make sure.

Gettin' busy.

Have a God day, all
Jan

More About Yesterday's Post

As I promised yesterday, I will share some of the deeper thoughts on my dream Sunday night. They came about as I was writing the possible "hidden" meanings to my crazy adventure through a dreamland buffet line. Those ranged from the serious (cutting back on carbs and eating more salads) to the humorous (don't take culinary advice from strange men). To better understand today's past, please read yesterday's.

Sunday's night dream was very real. My anticipation of good food was real. My frustration and disappointment at not finding what I was looking for was real. I wanted a delicious green salad full of every imaginable delicacy. That meant tomatoes, celery, avocado, red and green peppers, carrots, hard boiled eggs, and feta cheese. If anything else was  available, I knew I would add it to the mix and enjoy every minute of eating it. As for salad dressing, I would use any kind. A wonderful salad is what I wanted, but there wasn't one available for me because I wasn't on a salt free diet.. Disappointment reigned as I turned my attention to protein.

As with the salad, my anticipation for a nice slice of smoked ham or roast beef was high.  Either one would be quite nice. Salmon, halibut, or cod basted with olive oil, lemon juice and garlic would be greeted with open mouth. Even chicken, baked or barbecued, would do. Just put some meat on my plate. What in the world? No trace of mouth watering, juicy, smokey, or tangy  meats was to be found, not even a nose tingling aroma. There was only a pan of indescribable goop staring me in the face.

Are you kidding me Mr. Walking Behind Me Strange Man in my dream? A spoon full of runny goop filled with green peas is your favorite food? I don't think it is mine, but  I'll try it only because I am being nice. Let's get on to the desserts?

The desserts did not disappoint. Cakes, cakes, and more cakes. Huge pieces, gigantic pieces of chocolate, carrot, lemon, and coconut piled high with rich frosting all stared me in the plate. I reached for, but did not take any of them. The sheer size of the servings intimidated me; and I was not going to cut any of them into smaller sizes--not good etiquette I reasoned before waking up.

As you can tell, I love food, including desserts, which I try to avoid, but not very seriously. I will admit, though, to inviting guests over so I can play hostess and serve yummy-for-the-tummy plates full of sweet goodness.

So here are some of the thoughts that flitted around my mind looking for a place to land. I didn't let them stay too long in any one place. I kept brushing them away, all the while knowing they were here to stay. Since I haven't allowed them to take definite shape, I will just bullet point them.

• Are my expectations unrealistic? In other words, will the things I find myself anticipating disappoint and frustrate me when I can't find them?
• Are the things I want, things that aren't for me--I need to cut back? 
• Since I went through the buffet line twice looking for what I wanted, does that mean I should never give up on my dreams. There is always hope.
• Do I overlook what I'm really looking for because I'm so focused on my own desires and appetites I ignore the unappealing opportunities?
• Does my timidity and fear of doing the wrong thing prevent me from enjoying the sweet things of life?
• By staying in the background (I was in the back of the buffet line) do I miss out on the feasts of life?
• Am I so much of a people-pleaser that I take advise from complete strangers so I won't hurt their feelings?
• Do I need to acknowledge that strangers have different tastes than I do. Their favorites and my favorites may be different, but as long as we are both within God's realm of favorite, we need to appreciate our differences..
• At the Lord's banquet table, I won't have to stand in a line. The table will be set and the plates piled high with food. Whether manna, quail, or pea-filled goop, but it will be divine.

Several of the above points are areas I don't think I have a problem with, but it is hard to truly see one's own faults.

Why, I ask myself, spend all this time with a food fantasy dream. A dream is just a dream isn't it? As with the three dreams I spoke about yesterday, this one was vivid and I could recall every detail of it. That doesn't happen with my other dreams. In those, bits and pieces are remembered, but can't be put into any sort of context. Maybe this is a dream I need to pay attention to.

Now I have to let the flitting, fluttering thoughts land so I can sort them out. As of now, there is confusion. With God there is none.

Sifting,
Jan

My Dream of Food

I didn't go to bed until 1 a.m. Don't ask me why. There is no logical reason. I just didn't. As 6:30 a.m. rolled around, I looked at the clock and rolled myself over just to see if I could get a bit more sleep. The next thing I knew I was waking from a crazy dream and looking at a clock that said 8:45! How did I manage that? It has been years since I slept more than an hour after my usual 6:30 a.m. greet-the-day stretch.

So now I've eaten my breakfast of a poached egg, toast and orange juice, checked out Facebook, read the local news online, and thought about all the things I could do today. I've listened to what I hope are birds on the roof over my bedroom. Something is rat-a-tatting up there. I'm thankful I no longer have shake shingles. At least I know the rat-a-tatter isn't finding any insects up there.

I am now trying to figure what I will write about. For "inspiration" I have Bibi the Amazon Gray Parrot talking in the background, I love that live broadcast. She is on a roll this morning. She and her owner have been having quite the conversation. Kellie asks questions and Bibi responds. Then Bibi asks questions and Kellie responds. But most of the time Bibi asks the questions and answers them too.This is what she is saying right now.

"What's your favorite? Strawberry. What shape? Circle. Goin' to go bye-bye. I'll miss you. Want to take a shower? What's your favorite song? Strawberry. What you cooking? Tomato Soup. You're so sweet. Drink your water. An almond, good stuff. How many berries? One, two berry. One, two, three, four, five....... seven?."

On and on Bibi goes. My thinking is also going on and on, but keeps coming back to my seemingly nonsensical dream this morning. Then it retrieves some of the first dreams I remembered after my husbands confession of molesting our granddaughters. Here are three.

ONE

I was walking out to the mailbox when some person in a car handed me a dirty, tattered package. I took it into the house and placed in on the kitchen table where one of my daughters-in-law was talking to my husband. As I turned away, there was an enormous explosion that blew me through a backdoor. After my head cleared, I got up and found myself covered from head to toe in stinking, slimy, filthy water and mud.

No explanation necessary. As a side note, this daughter-in-law was the one who told my husband what it was like to be molested, leading to him saying to me, "What have I done?"

TWO

I was standing on the bank of a river with many other people watching a hot-air balloon that had several people in the connected basket. All of a sudden, something was going wrong. The metal strips that held the basket to the balloon were coming undone and hanging down. Then people started falling out and landing in the river. As the other people screamed and ran to the river, men with boards on their feet walked on the water to retrieve the people, I just stood there and tried to figure out what had happened. Why had the hot-air balloon's basket connections failed? How did it happen? And who were the men with wood on their feet?

I tried explaining my feelings in this dream to my therapist. I had not felt panic, fear, or any concern for the people while this disaster took place before my eyes. I was just trying to figure everything out. None of it made sense to me. I just stood there confused about the basket failure. As I learned and understood over the next months, I had completely shut down emotionally. 

THREE

 Note: I am one of those people who feel keeping her photo albums up to date is important. I love the artsy part of album making.

I was at a retreat for scrap-bookers and checking out an album page that I had previously completed. It had beautiful floral-patterned paper as a background, I was now going to create the facing page so was trying the find the matching background paper. I looked through my assortment of papers. Nothing matched. I looked through my friends' papers. Nothing. It wasn't even available in the catalog. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't come up with duplicate paper. I was almost in tears because I couldn't duplicate what I had previously created.

My interpretation?  Life as I had known it, would never be the same.

Those three dreams, plus a couple others, all came within weeks of each other. They were vivid and clearly remembered. I know I had other dreams after that, but couldn't remember them when I awoke. But through the dreams I did remember, I feel God was showing me: how the surprise attack had made me feel, filthy; that I had shut down toward the world around me, and was trying to make sense of the circumstances by over analyzing everything. I had to let God handle the situation while I pay attention to the people around me; and that I was trying to make my life today looks like my life yesterday. It couldn't be done.

These dreams played an important part in my healing process and my moving on.

 And now my crazy dream this morning.

I am at some sort of recognition luncheon or dinner for foster parents or something of the sort dealing with adults and kids. The room is full of tables, people, and plates of food. I am at the back of a buffet line. Some gentleman is behind me. I have no idea who he is. Anyway, I get my plate and look to see what kind of delicious salads are awaiting me. There aren't any. I then look for the meats--chicken, ribs, ham, roast beef? Nope, nothing. As I make a 90 degree turn at the corner, the man behind me says, "This is my favorite food" as a food server  plops what looks like an uncooked pancake with green peas in it onto his plate. I consider his remark and let her plop some on my plate too. Yuck.

The next section is desserts. There are huge servings of cake--all types of cakes. I hesitate, decide it would be uncouth to cut one in half, then move on. Thinking I must have missed something, I go around the loop of buffet tables again. Maybe more food has been brought out. Nope, nothing. I finally poke my head into the kitchen and ask if they have a green salad of some sort. "No," the cook replies. "Salads are just for salt free diets." Sadly, I was stuck with only some pea filled goop on my plate and a desire for a half piece of cake.

Upon waking I wondered what in the world that all meant, if anything? I don't think it has any deep spiritual meanings. At least I don't see them now. But here are some things I thought about.

* I have been eating way too many sweets and carbohydrates lately, and not enough salads.

*I didn't have much dinner last night. It might not be a good idea to go to bed somewhat hungry.

*I watched a cooking show before going to bed.  Barbecued ribs and baked beans. Bring them on.

* I should watch my salt intake a little better. 

*Don't hang out at the end of the line.

*Don't take the culinary advice of strange gentlemen.

*Or maybe the pea concoction was the start of a chicken pot pie.

Now that I am finished, I might have written about the three dreams before. If I did, I'm sure this is an entirely different approach to them. As for today'a dream, check out tomorrows post. I am seeing some deeper meanings. At least I think I am.

I'm off to check out my freezer. I know I have a whole chicken, some chicken broth, and, oh yes, some frosted brownies

 Letting the Lord speak through my dreams,
Jan

A Need To Remember

I had a great day yesterday working on a 3-D puzzle of a castle with my 11 year old grandson. Talk about a challenge! Puzzles have always been fun, but this one was a challenge. I had to change my whole approach to puzzle solving. Stones are not just stones. Windows are not just windows. The puzzle piece of stone in my hand is for a building, but is it on the north, south, east, or west side? Windows are the same way. Which of the castle buildings do they go in--a church in the inner courtyard, a turret, the castle itself? And if on the turret, which turret and which side of it. Aaaaarrrrg. It was a mind blowing experience. And guess what? I'm going back later today for some more punishment. Maybe my grandson will have it put together by then. Hah, that is just wishful thinking.

Church today was good. The worship time was uplifting, and our associate pastor made several good points. But, there is one I will have to disagree with. I understood the point he was trying to make, but I see it differently than he does.

He talked about asking the Lord to help us forget the past so we can move forward with our lives. I don't think we are to forget our past pains and travails no matter how bad they were. If we forget what we have gone through, how can we praise and thank God for what he has done in our lives? How can we even start to understand other people's pain if we don't remember our own? How can we bear witness to the Lord's faithfulness in our dark, frightening times, if we have only have remembrances of his faithfulness in our good times?

Our problem is not in remembering, it is in dwelling in that memory. II Corinthians 10:5  says, "We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."

When unpleasant thoughts of past experiences come to mind and we let anger, resentments, bitterness, envy or what other thoughts come to mind and eat away at us, we are letting arguments and pretensions set themselves against everything we know about God. Those thoughts are not thoughts coming from the Lord. They are from the enemy. Paul told the Corinthians to "take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ." Christ has the power, and he is at work within us.

Here is how I see working in my own life. In the beginning, when thoughts of what my husband did came to mind, I would brood over them. I would relive every detail of what transpired the night our family heard his confession. I wondered what I was going to do, and how I was going to do what ever it was. Even while going through that process, I knew God had it all handled. I just had to live it all out. That didn't mean I didn't think about it. I probably spent hours every day thinking, asking, and examining everything possible.

Some days I was angry. Some, I felt sorry for myself. Others, I grieved for his victims. And still other days I worried about him. And most of the time I wanted to just forget it ever happened. This was all part of my healing process.*

Now, after five years, I need to remember, not the pain, not the emotions, but God and his faithfulness to me in this journey, our journey. I need to remember his healing work in my heart. I need to remember his financial provision. I need to remember his comforting touch through family and friends. I need to remember.

When those memories return these days, as they often do, I use the opportunity to say, "Thank you, Lord, for bringing me out of that dark place.  You are my healer and provider, my shalom. I praise you for your faithfulness. Thank you for carrying me when I couldn't walk, cradling me when I needed comfort, and holding my hand as I learned to walk on a path I did not understand. You, oh Lord, are my Abba, and all I need." I can then continue to pray for specific people, needs, or situations. I hope you get the picture.

By doing that, I don't feel sorry for poor me, I don't let anger rise up against my husband who caused the whole mess, or I don't worry myself to death for his victims. All my attention if on God.

As I have said many times before and will say again in the future, my desire is for God to get the glory in whatever happens and however it happens. For that to happen, I need to remember not the events, but God.

Sorry Satan, you are nowhere to be seen in this picture.


Not wanting memories removed, just experiencing wounds healing,

Jan

*The way God has worked in this adventurous journey is my testimony. He knows where I came from and where I am going. Therefore he knows what I need for that to happen.The faithfulness, provision, and care I experienced will probably be different than yours. Every person's journey is different, but God is the same.

Reclaimed Furniture

I woke up to sunshine at 6:15 this morning--thought I had died and gone to heaven. The temperature is not expected to reach 70 today, but that is okay. Cool and sunny beats cool and gray any day. So my friends, before I go outside and tackle a project, I will write about the up-coming task. I think that is called procrastination.

Yesterday I spent an hour dancing with my broom and shovel around the concrete slab the hot tub used to rest on.. All the dirt, moss, weeds in the cracks, nails from the roofing project a couple years ago, and pieces of Styrofoam from the hot tub are gone now. All that is left to finish the project is a little pressure washing.

Today this area will be transformed into a lovely sitting area. As soon as this post is written, I will grab a pail of hot soapy water, some rags and sponges, an old toothbrush, and head outside. I have two old, grungy-white lounge chairs, two small foot stools (or tables--take your pick) and a round, grungy-white patio table that should clean up fairly well. They have been sitting around my place, unattended, for over five years.

The lounge chairs were by the fire pit keeping the encroaching blackberries company. The foot stools (tables) were hiding in the tall grass by the now-departed hot tub, and in the side yard was the round table. I occasionally placed food on it for the birds--bread crusts, apple cores, watermelon rinds, etc.

These reclaimed items will soon grace my new sitting area. Will I use it? That remains to be seen. That area does get the late afternoon sun, and is protected from winds blowing from the north, east, and south, but the cold west wind is another story. There is no protection from that direction. At least  it could be very pleasant on calm days, and the furniture will be reclaimed.

I love the idea of "reclaimed". Let me make an analogy here. My lounge chairs, at one time beautiful and serving the purpose they were created for, fell into disuse, were ignored, and finally forgotten. Blackberry vines were beginning to hold them captive, and weeds were growing through the slats. Slugs have crawled over them, and mud from incessant winter rain had built up wherever it could. Those chairs had become a sight for sore eyes. Some would even say, "Toss them out."

They may be scarred. They may be stained. They may be far from beautiful. But they can be cleaned and again serve the purpose they were made for.

That is what God does for us. There are those who are ensnared by addictions, fears, and pride. There are those who are covered by the slime of the world they live in. Others have had so much pounding rain in their lives they are covered with mud that seems impossible to get off. Sadly, we, as people, tend to ignore "those types".

Thankfully, God doesn't ignore them. He does all he can to free them from their snares and rescue them from their slimy worlds. He can clean off caked mud as no one else can. Yes, they may be scarred and stained, but they can still serve the purpose he made them for.

That being said, I think most of us picture people sleeping on the streets, eating in rescue missions, and doing drugs as the ones I've been talking about. But it also includes those who have homes, jobs, educations, and everything else society says we need. We also need to be rescued and cleaned up.

I will use soap and hot water to reclaim my furniture. God used his own blood. to reclaim me.

Cleaning up while being cleaned up,
Jan

God's Guitar

The story I am telling today is about my oldest grandsons when they were around 3 and 5 years old. It was getting close to time for their dad to come home from work, and they were excited. Their plan was for the younger boy (an angel in the soon-to-be-acted drama) to grab Dad and escort him down the hall to their bedroom for a surprise. Here is what happened.

Dad comes through the front door and is greeted by his "angel" son with these words, "I am an angel and I am taking you to heaven!" Poor Dad doesn't even have time to kiss his wife before he is pulled down the hall, shoved into Pretend Heaven, and promptly seated in a bean bag chair where he is met by his oldest son . The words, "I am the angel Gabriel" are loudly proclaimed in as deep a voice as a 5 year old can produce.

 So there Dad sits looking up in bewilderment at  two grinning angels who make another announcement. "We are going to sing for you." So they begin singing as beautifully as they can. First is Jesus Loves Me followed by Jesus Loves the Little Children of The World. Then, without warning, Gabriel gets down on his hand and knees and proceeds to crawl under the younger angel's crib. After wiggling around for a few seconds, he reappears huffing and puffing. With his hands on his hips he exclaims, "I was going to play God's guitar." Then, throwing his hands up into the air he continues, "But it is too heavy."

I'm sure that if our heavenly ears were carefully listening, we could have heard all the heavenly beings laughing out loud. As for my "Gabriel" grandson, when he one day enters into heaven I hope he gets to play God's guitar. Maybe it won't be too heavy then.

*****

I really enjoy writing these posts for my blog. As I have previously mentioned, I am surprised where Holy Spirit takes my thoughts. As many times as I have shared this story with various groups and friends, I have never thought about the truth in it. Does God have a guitar. I don't know. Does heaven have bean bag chairs? I don't know. But, someday we will each find ourselves before the heavenly throne. Will we have taken the opportunity to kiss loved ones before we were whisked away? Will we have told someone we loved them? Will we have told friends and acquaintances what they mean to us?

This is a good reminder for me to act whenever the opportunity arises, and tell my family I love them.  It is so easy to take family for granted. And easier still to assume our love for them is known. Then there is the teacher, grocery store clerk, and janitor. Do they know they are appreciated?

Remembering to say "I love you and thanks",

Jan

Thinking about taking guitar lessons, (not really). God might have a piano.

Where Is Summer?

I'm trying to figure out when it happened--that moment in time when someone stole summer. It must have happened while I was out of town because I remember it was relatively warm when I left home. It can't possibly be my fault. I must admit that I had a lot of stuff in my small bags--things other than clothing. I had books to read, puzzles to solve, snacks to munch on, and my lap-top for use at my sister's house. But honestly,I  didn't have summer. But now? It is almost noon and the temperature outside is a finally up to 53 degrees (11 C). Where is summer?

My daughter and her family headed south after church Sunday in search for some sign that summer was still in the Pacific Northwest.. They ended up in another state before they got some warmth, but at least they found part of their favorite season. They came home yesterday while enjoying sunny skies and 76 degrees. When they got 10 miles from home they hit gray skies and 60 degrees. Summer sure wasn't here. So, why not?

I wish we could ship some of our coolness to other parts of the country that are experiencing high heat. That would be a great exchange. Maybe someday that will be possible, but not today. Besides,the exchange would probably be taxed. For now I will have to settle for wool socks, sweat pants under a pair of baggy jeans, and a sweater to fight off the chill. Maybe if I get myself outside to work awhile I'll get warmed up. Maybe.

This post is not a complaint.  I call it "stating the facts". Now that I've said that, I recall that statement I heard many weeks ago. "The facts and the truth are not necessarily the same thing". And that is the truth. So yes, I have stated many facts, but I have to challenge my statement about not complaining. Yes, I am doing what I dislike other people doing--complaining, griping, being negative.

But you know what? In this part of the country, when the thermometer reaches the high seventies we tend to complain about that too. What picky people we are.

It's time for an attitude adjustment. This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it. I should go outside to rejoice in this beautiful, early autumn. Come to think of it, that might help get my mind off my granddaughter's upcoming race. The starter's pistol will be fired around 2:30 pm. To use an often used phrase, "Be still my beating heart"

Excitedly awaiting race results while experiencing wonderfully cool air before winter comes,
Jan.

My Self-portrait

While writing yesterday's post, I remembered one of my first appointments with my therapist. The memory popped up when I wrote about scheduling today as a paper-work day, a day of filing the pile of paid bills, bank statements, lab test results, and all the other clutter on the counter. I should probably throw most of it away, but I won't. I will file it all neatly away like I always do, each month in its own folder--in case I ever need to check out what has happened in my life. Tax related items are safely stored in its separate file. Everything is very orderly and easy to find.

Now, back to my memory of that appointment. My first assignment was to draw a self-portrait. "Show me how you see yourself?" Dr. B. requested. Since I had started taking a watercolor class, I got out my paints, a sheet of paper, and sat at the table to think before creating my masterpiece.  

I sketched my physical being on the left side of the paper. I was about eight inches tall, wore wide-legged pants,a  long-sleeved, baggy shirt, and tennis shoes. I added glasses to my face and short, curly hair to my head. Then came the color. Light blue pants, dark blue shirt, gray shoes, gray hair, black frames, and peachy skin. My exterior was finished.

But what about the inside? I created two large circles on the right side of my masterpiece. One would contain my mind, the other my heart. What did I find in those secret places? In my mind I discovered a row of filing cabinets that had the drawers pulled out and the contents dumped all over the floor. Papers and photos were mixed together and scattered everywhere. I didn't know where they belonged. It was total confusion. Nothing made sense. How would I ever put it back together?

My heart was quite different. It was almost black, wrapped in barbed wire, and bleeding. But part of the barbed wire was beginning to unwind. In that area, my heart was no longer black. That was where I drew flowers and children. Those were the things that brought me joy.

I had never before given any thought to what I felt, what I thought,or why I did either. I had made this very clear when my therapist gave me the assignment. Needless to say, the finished portrait surprised me, and brought some clarity to what was going on in my mind and the healing that was starting in my heart. Dr. B. was extremely pleased with the insights my masterpiece brought.

That was almost five years ago. If I decided to paint a self-portrait today, my exterior will be the same except for the hair. It is no longer curly. I am sporting a short bob these days. The inside picture will be entirely different, though. The clutter in my mind is pretty well cleaned up. Items might be filed in a different place now, but they are filed where they make sense to me. As for my heart, there are still wounds that haven"t entirely healed. Although they are quite small, they occasionally cause pain, and will bleed at times. Thankfully, most of my heart is filled with: sights of flowers, trees and sunsets; aromas of food, ocean and fresh air; sounds of birds, music and happy voices; the company of people; and the desire to live life as fully as I can.

Did my feeble attempt at portrait painting create a masterpiece? No. We, you and I, are the masterpieces--created by God.

Celebrating that I am a work of art,
Jan

My Full Calendar

All of you are probably wondering what the weather is in my neck of the woods on this fine July morning. Let me tell you even if you aren't the least bit curious. Here it is (drum roll please.)

*****

Patchy drizzle or brief light rain and fog in the morning. Partly sunny in the afternoon. Highs in the 60s to lower 70s. Light wind becoming west 10 to 20 mph in the afternoon.

*****

I had to chuckle a little over the first part of the forecast. I guess if you don't know what patchy drizzle is, it is also known as brief light rain. Or maybe the weatherman didn't know for sure what the day would hold, so decided to increase his odds of accuracy. No matter what, today's drizzle shouldn't carry into tomorrow, but the clouds will. Here is my interpretation of the weather for the rest of the week.

?????

Partial or scattered clouds in the morning. Occasional sun breaks with periods of cloudiness in the afternoon. Cool daytime temperatures followed by cooler temperatures by evening. Breezy the entire week.

?????

In other words, cloudy, cool and breezy for the next seven days.

Now that I have that out of the way, what does the week of July 22-29 hold? I have no idea. My calendar has absolutely nothing on it except the dates, the days of the week, and seven blank squares. That will have to change. 

So, for today, Monday, July 22, 2012 I will draw a picture of an airplane and a runner because my son and granddaughter leave for North Carolina tonight. She will be competing in the Jr. Olympics. That's exciting.

In tomorrow's square I will draw some newspapers. That is the day the paper-delivery-guy will deliver last weeks papers from when I was gone. I will spend the day reading week old news and warding off dementia by solving the puzzles. Whoopee. That is something to celebrate, and will call for a cup of coffee. (Note to self: add a coffee cup to the Tuesday square)

Then for Wednesday I think I will draw a vacuum cleaner (cross out), feather duster (delete), filing cabinet. Yep, that's what I will draw. Since I can't get excited about a house cleaning job, I will become a secretary for the day, and file all the  paperwork that has accumulated this past month. That should be much more exciting that vacuuming. I think I will get all spiffed up for that job--stylish dress, beautiful scarf or necklace, eye-shadow, lipstick, high heels. Oh, I got a bit carried away. I don't wear heels anymore. I don't even own heels anymore. I guess fuzzy socks will have to do--my pink ones with red hearts. I will just have to remember not to put my feet up on the desk. My socks have holes n the heels.

Thursday should be the sunniest day of the week (or least cloudy) so I will draw a picture of me outside. I will be dancing. The ballroom floor will be concrete and my partner looks suspiciously like a push broom. In my mind's eye, I will be gliding where my hot tub once stood or sat. Hummm. does a spa stand or sit? I haven't a clue. A concrete pad is the only remnant of the tub--a dirty, disgusting, 10 foot square slab of concrete encrusted with mud and molding leaves, and adorned with ferns trying to establish a foot hold. (Sorry lacy, little ferns, you have to go.) Maybe I will have to dance a shovel instead of a push broom. Either way, when the ball is over, all that remains will be a beautiful, clean, gray floor, a round, white plastic table brought from under the apple tree, and a white, plastic chair containing me. "I would like a cup of tea, please, Jeeves."

Friday, at last! I must schedule a luncheon. Let's fill the Friday square with a festive table set with beautiful dishes, sparkling glasses, and a bouquet of flowers. On second thought, that is much too difficult to draw, not to mention prepare for. So I will draw a blanket under a tree. Nope. It will be too cold there. I will draw a blanket on the partially sunny grass with a plate piled high with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You can't see the grand kids because they are all busy picking blueberries. huckleberries, salmon berries, and what blackberries they can find. 

A picnic with all the kids is just wishful thinking. Three of them are out of town for the week, and the other two will be with friends. But, the picnic is still on. It will be me, the sandwiches, some iced tea, sun screen, and a good book. Don't you just love summer.

Saturday's square will be filled with question marks.?????? means whatever, whenever, whoever, wherever, why-ever. (I don't think why-ever was a word until now.) but I love a bit of mystery and suspense in my life. A ???? day will be fun.

Then comes Sunday. A day set aside to rejoice, give thanks, and worship my Lord who is beyond comprehension, whose power is unfathomable, whose love is without judgement, and whose deepest desire is that I fulfill the plan he has for me. He will do what ever it takes. I need only follow where he leads, doing what he desires me to do, and living my life to his glory.  

I will draw nothing in the Sunday square because it is already full of God's glory. How would I draw that anyway?

Looking forward to a full calendar this week,

Jan

Happy Birthday, Miss Ra-bug

Well, this is my third day home from my week long travels and I still have clothes to put away and paperwork to file. There are also dirty dishes in my sink. These are left from several things. I made a pie on Friday afternoon. The recipe on Facebook looked interesting. The resulting pie was interesting, but I won't make it again. The frozen lemonade, sweetened condensed milk and whipped topping made it way too sweet, at least for my taste. My grand kids are now in possession of it.

There are dirty dishes from the chili I heated up for lunch yesterday, and the pan from my zucchini/ egg scramble I fixed this morning. After I drink my mango-peach herbal tea, I will have a cup to add to the dirty glasses on the counter. It could be worse. I will get it taken care of after lunch.

I didn't go to church this morning. I took advantage of the electronic age and watched our service on the internet. As usual the sermon was good. For some reason my mind kept wandering to the work done at my place while I was gone. (See yesterday's post) The warmth of that blessing still surrounds me. I am trying to decide how to adequately thank the group of folks that worked so hard--especially the kids.

I also kept thinking about my granddaughter who turned fifteen yesterday. We took time to look through her baby album Friday after dinner with her friends. All the pictures of a rosy cheeked, smiley faced, impish little girl who is now a beautiful young lady brought back wonderful memories as well as lots of laughs.

She is the little girl who took home the most beautiful slug she had ever seen--the one she found in my yard and saved in a plastic bag. She is the one who played on the swing for almost an hour while waiting for her Papa to come push her way up high.

I remember the day she came out from under the deck at her house carrying a plastic bucket full of who-knows-what. After her dad asked what she had, she replied, "Yahts and yahts of shwews." Translation? Lots and lots of shrews. These critters were remnants from the cats' hunting expeditions, all in various stages of "ashes to ashes and dust to dust".

She is the little girl who was walking around the yard talking to something in her hands. It turned out to be a dead bird she was praying for. After being told to put it in the grass on the the field side of the fence, she gave it a big kiss and a gentle toss. Then she went off in search of another adventure.

After church one day she asked why Jesus was taking so long. "What?" asked her mother, completely confused.

"Why is Jesus taking so long?  My teacher said he want to prepare a place for us. What's taking him so long?"

She is a volleyball player, high jumper, 4x400 relay runner,music lover and home-body. Whoa, let me back up a minute. All the things I have just listed about her, are not who she is. They are what she does, what she enjoys, and what comes to mind at the mention of her name, but they are not who she is.

Miss Ra-bug, as we call her, is a very gentle, loving child of God with a giving heart who, at times, can also be rough, negative, and stand-offish. I pray for her often. I pray she will seek out God's plan for her life. I pray that the trauma she went through at her Papa's hands will not leave ugly scars, but rather will equip her to help other girls and women who have gone through similar experiences. She is a very special young woman.

Happy birthday, and many blessings, Miss Ra-bug, Enjoy being 15.

Nana/Jan

Seeing the Hand of God

As I drove down the road to my house yesterday, I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that my yard would once again be overgrown, the mower would still be sitting in the garage waiting for someone with a trailer to take it to the repair shop, a suitcase needed to be unpacked, and laundry needed doing.

I had been gone for over a week. It had been fun, but now vacation was over. Back to reality once again--clothes to wash, meals to prepare, floors to sweep, mop, or vacuum, and a blessed life to live.

As I drove past my house, I was surprised that the grass looked pretty good. Hmmmm, I guess one of my kids brought a mower over. That was nice of them. As I walked past the garage to my entry way, my jaw dropped. The second entry to my house (to a family room/office) which hadn't been used for several years because the steps had rotted, now had no steps. The framework was awaiting new boards. What in the world? I guess my kids had a family project going while I was gone. I was thrilled.

After a couple trips back and forth from the car to the house, I finally rolled my suitcase back to my bedroom so I could unpack. Being a creature of habit, I glanced out a tall, narrow window in my hallway. That's where a long defunct hot tub resides. Moss and ferns grow on the cover, and weeds surround it. It needs to go, but just the thought of trying to get someone to do it is overwhelming.

As I said, I looked out the window as I always do when I walk past. But this time I did a hurried about-face. The hot tub was gone, so were the weeds. I was blown away and beginning to tear up. What had gone on at my house in my absence?

I left my suitcase in the middle of the bedroom floor and walked outside. The amount of work that had been done was unbelievable. Places that hadn't been mowed or whacked down by a weed eater for years were now beautiful. Small trees that had taken root in flower beds were cut down. Blackberries that were growing into the twelve-foot tall rhododendrons were gone. This was more than just my kids working. This was monumental.

I hoped into my car and drove to my daughter's house where she and my three granddaughters greeted be. Even before I could hug them all, I asked, "What happened at my house while I was gone?" Of course they all looked completely innocent and pretended they had no idea what I was talking about.

Here is the story that unfolded. The kids' church youth group spent the week working at various homes in the area as a service project. My house was one of them. For three hours Thursday morning, 20 kids and adults worked they fingers to the bone. Elementary kids raked twigs, pulled weeds, removed moss, and played on the swings. Some teenagers used weed eaters, drove lawn tractors, and pushed push mowers. Others cut the small trees and big berry canes. Adults removed the hot tub, prepared lunch and supervised the project.

I am still in awe of what happened. especially when I realize it was more that a group of youth and teens growing in their faith and learning to serve their community. What I will forever see when I look around my personal sanctuary is the hand of God  made flesh in people who love him and blessed me.

Still in awe,
Jan

Oh, by the way, my mower is at the shop waiting for new belts, an oil change, and blade sharpening. It should be ready later this week. Hurray

Meeting Answered Prayers

This is just a quick posting before I head home from my son's house. It's about a two hour drive if I don't stop, but I will have to pick up some groceries on my way through town. Or not. I could live on  just oatmeal and frozen green beans over the weekend. On second thought, I had better stop and buy some fresh "stuff".

I also have a gift card for a clothing store that I have been carrying around for a couple months. (It's the gift card I have been carrying--not the clothing store) I might stop and shop there a few minutes. Anyway, I'll be home sometime this afternoon.

I want to share this story before I head out. I chuckle every time it comes to mind. It is about a little six year old boy I know. He and his mom were cuddling on the couch one day. After his mom had finished covering his head and face with  playful kisses, he looked at her with a very serious face and said, "Mom, is it true that I won't always live with you?"

With her best reassuring smile on her face she replied,"Yes, that is true, but I will always be your mom, and I will always love you. We just won't always live together."

"But who will give me hugs and kisses?" was his next question. His mom didn't have time to answer before he moaned out his follow-up question. "Oh no! Does that mean I will have to go find myself a wife?"

You've got to love those kids.

I was going to sign off, but I remembered this "Aha" moment I want to share. It is about my older two grandsons. From the time they were mere little tykes, I prayed for the girls the Lord would have them marry. I asked the Lord to protect, to nurture, to raise those yet-unknown girls to be women of integrity and compassion. I prayed they would have a heart for God. I prayed the same for my grandsons. I also prayed for wisdom and strength for the little girls' families as well as for my son and daughter-in-law.

Then, one day, the inevitable  happened! Each boy went and found himself a wife.

What a joy those "aha" moments were. There I was, meeting face to face with heart-held-dreams. I was meeting answered prayer. I thank the Lord for the two wonderful young women he brought into our lives. Not only are they incredible, but so are their families. His answers to not only my prayers, but many other people's prayers, are beyond anything we could have hoped for.

When it is time for my little friend to go find himself a wife, may he be as blessed as my grandsons..
Jan

Dreaming of A Great Train Ride

My train trip to see my dad and sister this last week re-enforced my desire to travel around the country by rail. There is something special about sitting back in a fairly comfortable seat with your feet up on the leg rest, and watching the world glide by. There is no need to frantically look for the nearest rest area. It is unnecessary to estimate when you need to start looking for a gas station . Hungry? Thirsty? There is the little shop downstairs that sells various foods and beverages if you are so inclined. And at meal times there is always the dining car.

Every trip I take, I tell myself that I will avoid the dining car because I think it is a little pricey. I just don't understand $9.00 for a glorified hamburger, handful of chips, dill pickle, and a glass of water. But every trip I succumb to dining not because the food is wonderful, but because I thoroughly enjoy visiting with the three strangers I'm seated with. Yesterday, I had a great time talking with a young man from Southern California who teaches a junior high special education class and loves it. Like my own kids and nephew, he gets excited about touching children's lives and making a difference. In the end, the meal price is worth the opportunity to meet great people and hear their stories. The so-so food is secondary.

Then there is the scenery! Getting off the beaten path opens doors to people and places I would never have the opportunity to experience. On my trip, I was transported across miles and miles of endless, pristine forest land. There were no super highways, no visible back country roads, no roadside litter, no power lines, and very little other evidence of human life. If it weren't for the occasional rail maintenance areas, tunnels, and signal lights, it would have been just wildflowers, evergreens, birds, lakes, streams, and a train full of people each experiencing the magnificence through his or her own life experiences.

In addition to the forest was the farmland with its fields of alfalfa, hops, oats, and other grains. There were horses, sheep, goats, cattle, and the occasional dog. There were farmers mowing their sweet smelling hay, moving their gigantic sprinklers, and stirring up dust as they readied fields for winter wheat.

There was something missing, though--children playing outside. Where were they? At summer school? Out of town? I came up with a couple possibilities. The first was they were held captive inside by electronic devices. The pull of iPads, smart phones, computers, and television can be extremely difficult to overcome, even for farm kids. The second was that these farm were being run by the grandparent generation, not the young parent generation. But that is conjecture. All I really know is the only children I saw when clickety-clacking through two states were the ones on the train.

And the people! There is the older gentleman with waist length, gray hair who looks like he has spent most of his years in the sun, the twenty-something young man with dreadlocks, music streaming into his ears, and a text book of some sort under his arm, the young woman huddled under a blanket and cuddling her fussy child, and the well dressed, manicured woman reading from her e-book. Who are they?  What are their stories?

As I said at the beginning, I would love to travel the country by train. I would love to see the flat land in the central states, the autumn leaves in New England,  the expansive ranches of Texas, and the colorful desert of Arizona. I want to sleep in a train berth, see the night sky without the glare of city lights, see birds and native plants I haven't seen before, and I meet people and hear their stories.

And, I want to write about the sights, sounds, smells, of this great country. I want to express my impressions and emotions as the vista outside the window changes. I want to see, meet, experience and write about  the amazing people God has created and loves. In the process, I want to learn to see as he sees, and love as he loves. Am I being unrealistic? Maybe. But I would love to see what God would do with the experience.

Dreaming of a great train ride,
Jan

Ten Hour Train Ride

Traveling by train is always interesting. I have had fascinating conversations with people I've met over the past few years. One was an FBI profiler (or so she said). There there was a man writing a baseball novel, a husband and wife on an anniversary trip, and last night, a retired naval officer who spent most of his career submerged. Since I have a fascination with submarines and he loved his military assignments, we had a great dinner conversation about life under the sea.

The rest of the trip was spent with my seatmate, a four-year-old blonde girl from Oregon.  At first, she wasn’t sure she wanted to sit by me. Squeezed between her sister and her mother seemed like a much safer place to travel. It took several minutes to convince her I wouldn’t bite, touch her toy, stuffed dog, or even look at her. I would just there and read my book. So, across the aisle she reluctantly came, perched on the edge of her new seat, and just looked at her mom. Finally, mom convinced her to climb all the way onto the seat, put the leg rest up, and get comfortable. With a little help from mom, and the leg rest pulled into position, she curled up and settled in—thumb firmly placed in her mouth along with the dog’s tail.

While I was keeping my word by reading my book, she began looking at me, quick glances at first, and then longer looks. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I looked at her in return. Then I smiled and asked her what her dog’s name was. I could barely make out her quiet little, “Abby”.

“That’s a great name!” I replied. “My granddaughters have a dog with the same name.” Then I returned to my book while she kept looking at me—checking out this strange lady sitting next to her. Was I safe or wasn’t I ?

After more time had passed, her mother produced a dot-to-dot book for numbers 1-10, and pencil. Blondie glanced at me and I glanced back. “Are you old enough to know your numbers?” I inquired. She nodded her head while drawing a line from 1 to 2. “How old are you?” was my next question. She held up 4 fingers and drew a line from 2-3, then came 3-4, 4-5, and 5-7.  Not sure where to go next, she turned the page and started all over again with 1-2. After each move she made, she glanced my way, checked me out, and went back to her book.

More time passed before mom pulled a note pad from her goodie bag in exchange for the dot-to-dot book. Little blondie glanced my way again and finally said her first sentence. “I am going to write my ABCs.” A huge grin followed.

“I can make an A.”

“That is a very good A.”

“Here is a C.”

“Good job.” It was backward, but it was a C.

Then she made a straight line and drew a great big circle right on top of it. I thought she was drawing a tree until she announced, “There is an I.” Of course it was—dot above it and all.

An H, a P, and “The really hard one,” a D followed. She was very proud of her accomplishment, turned the page and started all over again, only this time I had to guess the letters.

From here we moved on to the game of Auto Bingo. Mom supplied a card with all sorts of items to look for and mark off. Blondie was now talking almost non-stop. We looked for cows, horses, trucks, mailboxes, birds. We crossed off rivers, lakes, and trains. She was very pleased with the great job we were doing, and I was thoroughly enjoying this 4 year-old’s company, so back into my bag went my book, not to be read again—at least not on this leg of the trip.

By the time Blondie, her mother, and sister went to the dining car for dinner we had talked about her favorite part of preschool (playing with Legos), her grandparents she was going to visit, her shiny shoes with flowers on them, and her name, which was a candy. It took me quite a few guesses to move from Baby Ruth through Hershey, Joy, and Peanut-Butter (giggle-giggle) to finally guess Reeses. Bingo! Her name was Reese.

Before my seatmate and her family returned from their dinner, I went for mine. When I finally returned to my seat an hour later, miss bundle-of-energy was anxiously waiting for me. As I stepped around a blanket and Abby Dog, her mom said, “You are her favorite person and best friend on the whole train. She could hardly wait for you to come back.”  

I love being surprised by God. I didn’t need Ibuprofen to keep away the aches and pains I thought I would get from sitting so long. The Lord provided a little blonde girl instead. I had over ten hours to see the world through her eyes as we looked for specific things on her Auto Bingo Card, and saw everything else there was to see while we were at it. We laughed over silly things her dad says, and celebrated her victories such as learning her left foot from her right, how to sing songs even I didn’t know, and writing her ABCs—at least some of them.

As I got off the train along with Reese and her mom and her sister, at our common destination, I thought, “Lord, you are so full of surprises.” That was immediately followed by, “Who knows, I might have unknowingly been an answer to Reese’s mother’s prayer—a mother traveling alone with two little girls on a ten hour train ride.”

Isn’t God good?

Jan

Going On The Train

"All Aboard!"

That is what I will be hearing in a couple hours. Well, not really. Train conductors don't say that any more. I will have to say it in my mind as I leave the station.

I'm excited about this trip, but at the same time, I'm sort of dreading it. I am going to southern Oregon to visit my dad and my sister and brother-in-law. That part is exciting. Sitting on a train for 10 1/2 hours is the part I am dreading. It wasn't so bad when I first started taking the train several years ago, but now that I am starting to have knee discomfort when sitting for long periods of time...  I don't want to think about it.

There I go again, complaining about something I have some control over. As much as I dislike taking pills of any kind, I probably should be proactive and take Ibuprofen before I go. OK. That is taken care of.

I enjoy traveling by train. The scenery is wonderful. I even like checking out all the graffiti on the way through Portland, OR. Sitting in the observation car is fun, especially when there are volunteer tour guides on board. I have three books along for reading material, two puzzle books, and my laptop. Oh yes, I also have a light weight blanket in case the air conditioning is blowing right on me. I am ready for my adventure.

I don't know if I will get any posts written while I am in Oregon. Last time there, my sister couldn't remember her password for her internet connection. I could write in Word, then have a family member take me to McDonalds so I can use their WiFi connection. Than with a quick copy, paste, and publish I will have something sent out to all of you.

If not, see you next Thursday.

Traveling with Amtrak and Jesus,
Jan

Laughing in The Lord's Healing

Memories are good even if they bring back sad times. They show you how far you have come. At least that was my experience last night. I was sitting in a very large, very comfortable chair at my son't house while dog sitting Big Dog and Pup. I had my legs up on the ottoman, a paperback novel in my hands and a purring gray cat on my chest. Her paws were holding my face as she tried to lick my chin. I laughed out loud, not because it tickled, but because she reminded me of pet sitting four years ago.

My kids were on a camping trip that summer. All I had to do was feed the dog twice a day and check on the cats. By the third day, the cats were clamoring for attention. They were used to having laps to sits on, hands to pet them, and kids to play with. I decided to sit a few minutes and keep them company. It wasn't long until I had an extremely happy kitty on my lap. She purred, she kneaded, she rubbed. She curled around my neck. She circled my lap. She smelled my hair, my ears, my nose and mouth. She licked my chin, my hands, and cheeks. She spent the next minutes giving love and receiving it. I petted her where she wanted to be petted, scratched her where she wanted scratching, and talked to her. Finally, with her face against my cheek, and paws around my neck, she settled in, purring gently into my ear.

I cried.

As happened so often those first years my husband was in prison, I was caught off guard by emotions I didn't know were there. I was never ready for tears when they came. This day was no exception. The sudden flow of tears released a longing in me--a longing for companionship, for love. Until I experienced the cat's almost frantic need for attention and love, I hadn't realized how deep my need also was. Cutting myself off from people had taken its toll on me. I came to the realization that I needed attention and care as much as the cat did.

My kids encouraged me to get a pet, but I declined. It wasn't because I don't like animals. I do like them, but after weighing the pros and cons, the deciding factor was this. I didn't want to loose anything else that I had grown to love. First it was my husband. Then it was my little dachshund, my constant companion and chair-mate who always sat on my lap, the one who let my tears wet his black, shiny fur. He was no longer with me because my neighbor's dog had attacked him on my porch and I had to put him down. There was no way I wanted to become emotionally attached to anyone or anything. The pain of separation, whether from a human (my husband) or an animal, was just too great.

I still haven't gotten a furry companion, and probably won't any time soon. It isn't so much the fear of loss now. It's more the problem of their care when I leave for a day or two. Maybe someday I will.

So why I did I laughed as the cat licked my chin last night? That long ago memory, for sure, but mainly the realization that I was thoroughly enjoying her company as much as she was enjoying mine. This time, I had not been surprised by tears of sorrow, alone-ness, and need. I had been surprised by a joy and a freedom that the Lord's healing has silently, slowly, livingly brought.

Laughing in the Lord's healing,
Jan

Big Dog And Pup

I usually don't complain. But, I'm sorry, I have to vent. Allow me just a moment, please. I don't like being cold, especially in my own home. Here it is, the middle of July. It is 54 degrees and windy outside and 65 inside. I am wearing fuzzy slippers, warm pants, long sleeved shirt, my  bathrobe, plus a blanket on my lap. Part of me says, "For crying out loud, go turn on the furnace, woman!" The other part of me says, "The sun might come out this afternoon. It should warm up by bedtime. Tough it out, ol' girl." Oooooooh. I don't like this. There you go. My complaint for the day.

That whole complaint is quite ridiculous if I really think about it. Why should I complain about something I have control over? I can solve the problem by simply turning on the furnace. So excuse me a moment while I go push my magic heat button.

There, the deed is done. Warm air is coming out of the floor vents--sssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, and the electric meter is happily spinning away--$$$$$$$.

Yesterday afternoon I went to my son's house to spend the night with the dogs. I unhooked Pup from her chain so she could run around and spend time with Big Dog. Every few minutes I would check on the two of them. They are not in a fenced yard. They are on property that is surrounded by a forest inhabited by bald eagles, cougars, coyotes, raccoon, 'possums, and porcupines. After the first hour of continual checking I was satisfied that Pup and Big Dog would continue staying on either the front porch or in the front yard. They were just happy someone was home with them. GOOD DOGS!

With everything under control, I settled myself into the comfy chair to read my book. With a couple chapters under my belt, I opened the front door to see what the dogs were up to. They weren't there. Neither were they in the front yard. I walk up the driveway and around to the back yard. Nope, no dogs there. Ooooops, this isn't good. BAD DOGS!

I know that Big Dog loves visiting the neighboring houses, and is forest-smart. I also know that Pup loves to trot along, having no idea what's happening. Where Big Dog goes Pup follows, tail wagging the whole way.  Where, oh where, have the little dogs gone? So, I call Big Dog--several times. I call Pup--a couple times. I whistle--once. Then here comes Big Dog bounding up the driveway. She is just prancing away and so happy I called her. As she reaches me, she immediately sits down, knowing she will get her head scratched and her sides patted. Being with me makes her one happy, happy dog . But, where is Pup???

Around the corner she comes as fast as her little puppy legs can carry her, in hot pursuit of Big Dog. As she approaches me, she pays no attention to my presence. She just wants to play with Big Dog. Finally, getting the message that it isn't playtime, she sits between Big Dog's front legs. Being with her furry mentor makes her one happy, happy pup.

If someone had taken a picture of us they would have seen a smiling gray-haired lady bent over and petting that tail-wagging, furry, Big Dog who sits contentedly by her side. And there, between Big Dog's legs sits tail-wagging, furry Pup. She is also content in a wiggly sort of way. But if you look very, very closely, you will see that the smiling, happy lady has someone standing beside her.  See, he has his hand on her shoulder. Yep, that is Jesus standing beside me. What a great family photo.

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

As I started this post about the dogs, I was going to talk about recognizing the master's voice. I thought about the image of sitting at the master's feet. I considered writing about following the master wherever he goes, but as I got to that point of this post it all changed. I don't know why that happened. The Lord has his reasons. Enjoy.

Looking forward to another night with Big Dog and Pup. Jesus is already here, 

Jan

Fish From A Fishmonger

Twenty minutes of sitting here, thinking, and listening to the chatting of Bibi, my USTREAM parrot pal, has done absolutely nothing to stimulate my creative thinking. Neither has a glass of grapefruit juice. One thing is for certain, staying up until midnight watching Food Network Star didn't help my morning alertness, especially when I had to be up at at 'em for an early appointment in town.

So while I contemplate the pros and cons of fixing a cup of coffee that I know will foul up my heart beats, I will continue listening to Bibi whistle for the dogs, imitate running water, count to six in English and Chinese, ask to step up, put in her request for strawberry yogurt, sing "Hello my honey-hello by baby", and say hello in several languages including Hebrew. "Shalom".

Just the word "shalom" transports me back to 1960-61 when I lived in Israel for nine months. I was a mere eighteen year old girl accompanying a great-aunt who would be teaching at an Orthodox Jewish university there. I was not only young, naive, and Christian,  I also knew only one word of Hebrew. "Shalom". In contrast, my great-aunt was a short, white-haired, 65+ year old Jewish immigrant who came to America in the 19-teens, and spoke German, Russian, and Polish--all fluently.

What an interesting year I had. We lived in the professors' housing at Bar-Ilan University which was located in a suburb of Tel-Aviv, called Ramat Gan. A young couple with two little children lived across the hall from us. I learned most of my Hebrew from their three year old daughter, Tova. That resulted in my becoming fluent in "baby talk". Of course the adults all got a kick out of that, but Tova and I had a great time conversing. We understood each other quite well.

The University was quite diverse. There were French students who sat in science classes, listened to Hebrew lectures, took notes in French, and read English textbooks. My aunt taught criminology classes in English, but being multilingual was a great advantage in communicating with her students. Then there was me. I took an English Literature class taught by an American professor, and filled with students from New York state. So much for learning Hebrew that wasn't "baby talk".

But let me tell you about buying fish at the nearby market. My aunt and I would walk across a large weedy field, then across a road to a single story, three sided building of some sort. The front was all open. Inside was a counter, a large tank full of swimming carp, a stack of newspapers, a heavy stick, and the Hassidic proprietor and his wife.

The proprietor, like all Hassidic Jewish men, wore a long black coat, black pants and shoes,  and a large brimmed, black hat. He had a full black beard and long, curled sideburns tucked behind his ears. I was fascinated. His wife wore a dress and kept her head covered with a scarf, as did all the women.

Anyway, after my aunt exchanged pleasantries with the owner, she in German-he in Yiddish, she would point to a darting fish in the metal tank. He would grab it with his bare hands, bash its head with the wooden stick, gut it, wrap it in newspaper, and hand it to my aunt in exchange for the proper amount of money. Then, off we would go. I swear that the fish wiggled all the way home. It probably didn't, but I sure though it did.

By our second week, getting fish was my job.  I never looked forward to walking to the fishmongers for a fresh carp. In fact, I dreaded it. There was something about choosing a fish and seeing its life ended that really bothered me.  I never had any trouble eating it, though,

My aunt would steam the fish and lay it out on a nice platter for our mid-day meal. So there it would lie in all its glory--poor little fishy with a pretty plate for a bed and a lettuce leaf over its head. My aunt didn't like it looking at her.

Living in a country as diverse as Israel was an eye-opener me. Before being exposed to our Hassidic community across the road, I was used to men wearing Levis, cowboy boots, western style shirts, leather belts with big silver or turquoise buckles, and ten-gallon hats. The only time beards were sported was during Nevada Days celebrations. The women at home wore scarves only to keep their curlers from falling out or to keep the hot, dry, desert wind from blowing their hair all over the place.

As for fish, ours at home came from a tuna can, not a carp tank.

Little did I know how the Lord would use that year living among Orthodox Jewish people in the Promised Land. What I thought would be a year living with a great-aunt I hardly knew, in a country I didn't know, listening to languages I didn't know, spoken by people of cultures and a religion I didn't know became an eye-opening, life changing experience. I received such an understanding of Biblical times and life styles. As I grew in my own faith, I could understand more and more the conflict between Christ and the orthodoxy of the Pharisees. The way God works in our lives is amazing, isn't it?

Wondering how God will use today in my tomorrows,
Jan

Survivng The Weekend

Eight a.m. Monday morning!!! I am going to get a short post written before driving back home. I want to leave here by ten o'clock. That will get me home by noon. At least that is my plan at the moment.

I am thrilled to report that I survived the 4th of July with family and friends. I didn't eat myself to death, fry myself to a crisp in the sun, or sit so long I couldn't get up. Those are all good things. I did get a stiff neck watching seemingly unending fireworks. I did get damp sitting in a 10:30 p.m. drizzle, and I did indulge in ice cream, rhubarb crisp, and fresh peach cobbler. Sorry, couldn't help myself. Isn't that a lame excuse?

The Jr. Olympic Regional Track Meet was so much fun. There is something thrilling about watching five and six year old kids running their hearts out. They were so cute. Even more exciting was watching my 11 year old grandson and 14 year old granddaughters compete.  One of the girls and her dad will be heading off to North Carolina in a couple weeks. Her 4 x 800 relay team qualified for the National meet. That will be a great experience for them.

Big family get-togethers and weekends full of activities are fun, but somehow or other God sort of gets pushed out of the picture. We thanked Him for our meals, I did pray for my grand-kids to do their best at the track meet. I could have gone to church Saturday evening with my daughter and son-in-law, but chose not to--too tired. Ha, what a lame excuse. I am so thankful that my Lord is never too tired for me.

So now life will return to normal--sort of. I will be babysitting my son's two dogs for a few days while the family is off on a camping trip. One of the dogs is the one I wrote about in my July 13, 2012 post titled "A Dog Tale". Those few days should be interesting, especially with a puppy to keep an eye on.

Part of returning to normal is returning to some serious quiet time and self-examination. I want to get to the roots of my fears and confidence issues that keep me from being who I can be. I don't want to leave this earth not accomplishing what there is for me to accomplish. I don't want to be satisfied with lame excuses for not trying new things. Or for that matter, I don't want my lame excuses to keep me from improving what I already have abilities for. That is a tendency I need to get rid of. 

Self-examination is something my head truly would prefer to leave undone, but in my heart I know I must pursue it. I also know it is just a baby step that must be followed up with change.  Now we are getting into the area of work--hard work.

On one hand, I love my life just the way it is. I am blessed. But on the other hand, I wish I were totally content with it.  I'm not. I know the Lord has so much more for me. I have a restlessness in my soul for the work that is ahead. I hope you are ready to continue with me. I would like the company.

Well, folks, It is almost 9 a.m. I need re-read this post and do some editing, then eat some breakfast, fix my hair, pack up my stuff, load it into the car and head out. 

Praying for a safe trip home,

Jan

Family Time

My Dad used to say, "I love work so much I can look at it all day!" Of course, we would all crack up laughing. We knew he wasn't one to sit around if he saw work to be done.  He would take care of it, often enlisting our help. If we responded with a "why" or a facial expression that needed no words, we heard his other famous quote, "When I say jump, I don't want to hear 'Why?' I want 't hear 'How high!"

I have no idea why I wrote all that trivia when I was only going to write the first sentence and follow it up with this. "I love my family so much I can sit around and watch them all day!" That is exactly what I am doing right now. We are all gathered at a son's home. We have finished up a wonderful meal of burritos and salads. The kitchen is all cleaned up, and a strawberry-rhubarb crisp is baking in the oven.

The evening activities are beginning. My daughter, her mother-in-law, and a grandson and his wife are playing Hand and Foot (a card game) at the dining room table and having a great time. Outside I can hear the laughter and noise as my two sons, their wives, two grandsons and two grand-daughters play a lawn game called Kubb. That leaves my son-in-law and me sitting on the sofa working on our lap tops.

I love hearing the laughter. I love the sound of animated conversations. I love the cacophonous noise. I love it all--especially when it's accompanied by the wonderful aroma of dessert and the thought of a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.

I love my family.

Watching, listening, and thanking God for them,
Jan

Freedom Is Never Free

Happy Fourth of July! This is a day many people love to celebrate with gatherings of family and friends, barbecues on the patio, and games in the yard. Others picnic at the beach, lake, or river where they swim, float on inner tubes, or sunbathe. Still others take in a sporting event like car races or baseball games. Then, as the sky gets dark, the fireworks get popping!

Whether at professionally synchronized shows or backyard displays, children and adults alike "ooooh" and "aaaah" at the beauty above their heads while protecting their ears from the concussive BOOMS. It's Independence Day and thus we celebrate.

The question I have to ask myself is this, "What are we celebrating?" Sitting here two hundred and thirty plus years after our country gained its independence, do I, do many of us, give a thought to what we are really celebrating and what it truly cost? What did a life cost? What was the cost of pain, suffering, dismemberment. Were were they worth? More than money can ever buy.

So, what am I trying to say? I don't know. I guess it is something like this. I take my freedom as a person living in a free country for granted. That is just the way my life is. The sacrifices made two centuries age, the determination in the hearts and souls of all at war, and the blood that was shed have become no more that words in the pages of history books.

Don't get me wrong. I am so very thankful for the men and women who made this country great. I am thankful for this day of celebration. But, at times it grieves me that I can forget so easily what it cost. Our freedom was not free.

Remembering my American freedom, bought with shed blood. Remembering my freedom in Christ, also bought with shed blood.
Jan

Celebrations and Growth

It's only Tuesday and I'm already tired thinking about this busy weekend. It will be fun. It will be exciting, and it will be mostly outside. I will enjoy visiting with people I know as well as complete strangers. But these next few days I will be around more people than I'm used to (which is one--me). I find that exhausting. Let me clarify. Being around me isn't exhausting. Being around lots of other people is.

I really am looking forward to spending the 4th of July with family at a nearby lake. That should be relaxing. The 5th I will be at a son's home. That will be quiet and relaxing--I think. But then comes the 6th & 7th--two whole days in the grandstands with hundreds of people for the Jr. Olympic track and field competitions. Some of my grand-kids, along with all the other qualifying athletes from Alaska, Idaho, Montana, Oregon, and Washington, will be running, jumping, and throwing their very best in hopes of making it to Nationals.

Since I was able to make it through two days of  State High School competition, I should be able to do two days again. At time like these I wish I were an extrovert, but I am not. I will just have to ignore the crowds, enjoy my family, and cheer for the young athletes. GO KIDS.

I really am celebrating all this activity. My plate is full of blessings. As I have been writing, I was remembering those first few holidays after my husband's imprisonment. My desire was to be alone--completely alone. I didn't want to go to my kids homes for barbecues. I didn't want to watch fireworks displays. I didn't want to have company or be company.

Loneliness wasn't a problem for me. It was the alone-ness. Whether in a crowd or in a small group, I no longer had my husband by my side. I was alone. I began to understand more of what people go through when a spouse dies. Alone-ness and loneliness are two completely different things.

So, in the beginning, I made the choice to experience and grow in "alone" by myself. That way I could cry, mourn, or feel sorry for myself without others crashing my private party. My tears would remain unseen. I wouldn't have to disguise my sadness. After all, I didn't want to throw a wet blanket on someone else's  festivities. And my standard, "I'm doing fine", could remain unsaid. That was then, but this is now.

 I thank God that I no longer struggle being "one" in a group of couples. I am still aware of it, but it does not initiate the "flight" urge in me. I was even caught by surprise recently when asked if my husband was with me. Ooops, I had forgotten I had one--that is a whole other issue.

So life goes on. Changes occur, growth happens, alone-ness fades, and celebrations are again anticipated with excitement. Isn't the Lord good?

Celebrating July 4th with thanksgiving,
Jan

Arizona Tragedy

Today's news from the Arizona forest/brush fire is so sad. The thought of nineteen young men who were top-notch fire fighters, hot-shots, perishing when the fire turned on them is unbelievable. They even used their emergency protection, but all for naught. The fire was too much.

This tragedy hammered home the truth that life is fragile. Even though we, being the smart people we are, continue developing unbelievably lightweight materials that can withstand extreme temperatures, we can't guarantee lives will not be lost. We develop lightweight materials that can stop bullets and protect our skulls from impacts. We build cars with airbags all around, cars that can withstand high-speed head on collisions, and cars that can park themselves, warn us of pedestrians and oncoming traffic. We discover cures for diseases and invent robotic body parts. We do all this plus shoot people into space. We do it all, but cannot prevent the loss of lives.

Loss of lives sounds so sterile and cold. These were not "lives". These nineteen were sons, husbands, dads, friends, community leaders, and schoolboys' heroes. They held jobs, had hobbies, laughed, cried, loved, and played. And they were brave.

Anyone who willingly looks a raging fire in the face is brave.  Those who withstand the heat, the smoke and the flames are brave. Sadly, all the specialized training and state of the art equipment are useless when the wind suddenly, and without warning, changes direction. All they have left is quick thinking. In this case, after they did all they could do, it was not enough.

So many lives have been changed in the blink of an eye. Those families will need all the support they can get. I pray they are in a community whose shoulders are ready to be cried on, whose arms are ready to prepare meals, whose feet and willing to go that extra mile, whose ears are ready to listen and listen and listen, and whose tongues are able to remain still when necessary.

I pray they have churches who are ready to be Jesus more that ever before.

Lord, I hurt for the families of the men who died. Help them in their grief. You know their needs. You know their thoughts and fears. You know the tough decisions that will have to be made and the changes to their daily live that will take place. You know it all, and you are already working it out.

All these people are loved by you, Lord. Let them meet you face-to-face in the midst of this disaster. It is my prayer that you hold them in your arms and assure them that you will never let them go. Hold them close, whisper softly, and sing over them at night.

In Jesus' Name. Amen 

 

Hurting, yet trusting,
Jan