Remember to Remember

Do I remember to remember who I am and from whence I came--
   parents who loved me, a family who cared,
   Grandmother S's violet bedroom, and Grand-dad's hobby horses,
   small towns, summer picnics, and the calf Dad won?

   Holiday dinners, alkali flats, and sagebrush,
   snow, long woolen stockings, and earthquakes,
   alkali flats, Sand Mountain, and Lake Tahoe?
 

Do I remember to remember what made me me--
   marbles at recess, racing through dried leaves,
   library visits, sprained ankles, and skinned knees,
   paper dolls, tether-ball, and hide and seek?

   Grandmother D's birthday poems, playing school,
   watching airplanes land, playing with lizards,
   babysitting for silver dollars, wearing glasses and riding bikes?


Do I remember to remember what shaped my life--
   cooking Wednesday dinners when Mom worked,
   learning to read maps, and help others,
   dinner time laughter, and playground tears?

   marriage and moves,
   children, church, and school activities,
   grand-kids, jobs, and visiting prisons?


Do I remember to remember I am here--
    that I matter, that there is no other me,
    that I am who I am because of others,
    that I am a child of God?

Every glance in a mirror, every sight of a photograph
    should create a wellspring of praise because I am someone,
    shaped by environment, nourished by people,
    loved by God, and redeemed by the Lord.

Do I remember to remember?

Loving the Lord today,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family

All is well in Licorice's new room. She's content; the kittens are content. I'm a happy gal.

 
   

Pride Bit Me--Again

Remember yesterday? I was excited about going to the prayer meeting. I was excited about visiting with my friend and enjoying a cup of tea together. Well, what a person plans and what actually happens are not always the same. Yesterday is a perfect example.

Beep, beep, beep, I dial my friend. No one answers. I fix my hair, put on clean clothes, and call again. No answer. Oh well, I will try after I get to town. I wade through the dried leaves on my porch, push the button to open the garage door, and back my car out of the garage. Since the battery in the garage door opener doesn't always work, I get out of my car, close the garage door from the inside, climb back into my car, and shift into reverse. Old Betsy promptly dies.

What in the world? She has a full tank of gas. What else could she want? I try starting her again. No success. She is truly dead. So much for well laid plans. Gone is the prayer meeting and gone is the visit with my friend. God must have something else in mind.

As of today, I have no idea what was on God's mind. I knew what was on mine, though, because I knew exactly why the car wouldn't re-start. It was my pride. I've known for months that I need to make an appointment with the auto doc. Betsy has an electrical problem. Every time I get in, shut the door, fasten my seat belt, and start her up, the open-door icon and the dome light stay on. Even when I finally park in a parking lot or in my garage, the light stays on. How long? I don't know, but it is a couple hours at least.

AND, if that isn't enough, when I turn old Betsy off and don't take the keys out of the ignition a "ding, ding, ding" warning bell assails my ears. I can't get gas without removing the keys. I can't park by the river to enjoy the scenery and my lunch without removing the keys. If I want to turn the car off, then turn the key to auxiliary power so I can finish listening to the news, I can't do it without that  dang "ding, ding, ding."

I feared that over time the light (bulb, not trivial) problem might drain the battery. Over time is no longer over time. The time was yesterday. Why didn't I take her for a check up? I don't like making phone calls. I don't like trying to explain something I don't understand. I don't like spending money. Besides, it probably wasn't anything that important anyway.

Is that pride, or what?

So, because of "my pride or what", I not only have to call the auto shop for an appointment and tell them my problem, I now must also call one of my kids to give me a jump start.

Will I ever learn?

Ironically, pride was the subject of Pastor's sermon Sunday.

Did God cause my battery to die? Of course he didn't. But he sure spoke loudly and clearly.

Eating humble pie and being thankful I have a car that died in the driveway and not on the highway,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family

Licorice was very upset with my family relocation plan for her, but I think the playroom is finally configured to her specifications. The drawers under the daybed have been removed so she and the kittens have a dark, hiding place, yet the little ones have lots of room to explore, play, and not be under foot. Yeah.

She had better not try moving them back to my room tonight, or else. Or else what? Don't ask me.

Come Out and Play

Clear blue skies say,"Come out. Come out and walk." Brilliant orange and yellow leaves say, "Come out. Come out and laugh."  Frost coated grass says, "Put on another shirt and have a cup of tea." The frost is winning out for now. I donned another shirt, but the tea hasn't materialized yet.

I might get some tea when I'm in town for a prayer meeting. Aha! I have a great idea. After the meeting I will share a nice hot beverage with a friend I haven't talk to for several months, and get caught up on life.

Did you catch the irony in my last sentence. Friend and haven't talked to shouldn't be in the same sentence. I think about her every time I go to town, but never act on those thoughts. Our kids grew up together. We both love reading. We attended the same church until she moved across the country. Now, she is back in town, and her husband died of cancer, yet I don't call. I don't stop by. Why?

I don't know. This tendency of mine is one I've had for years. I guess it isn't really a tendency if I've done it for years. Is it a habit, a fault, or a problem? Is it an "I don't care" attitude or selfishness? I do care about her. I wonder how she is doing, how she is coping. Sadly, I don't let her know I care. That is uncalled for.

I know how I feel when I don't hear from anyone for days on end. I know people care, but I would love to hear their voices or see their faces. Actually, that is my problem. My phone makes calls as well as receives them. My car can take me places other than church, the grocery store, and the school track. I have no reason for a pity party. (note to family, this is not aimed at you)

On the positive side, I am attending a prayer meeting. That gets me out of the house and with other people. Just as attending my first Bible study at a new church was a big step, this prayer meeting is also a big step for me.

If I am going to take that step today, I had better get my shoes on, brush my teeth, comb my hair, and head out. But, I will take time to call my friend first.

We will answer the call of the blue sky by walking down memory lane. We will answer the call of the gorgeous leaves by laughing together. We will also answer the call of the frosty grass and enjoy a cup of tea.

Answering the Lord by telling a friend I love her,

Jan, Licorice Kitty and family

The kittens think my dust ruffle and duvet cover are a climbing wall. Oh my!

Foghorns and Photos

A deep oooooooooo ricocheted around my mind as I muddled myself into consciousness this morning. Ooooooooooo. I didn't want to open my eyes. I knew it was still dark outside. I could hear Licorice Kitty purring to her kittens. I visualized my curtains dancing with the warm air from the heater vent. Oooooooooo. After a minute or so of more ooooooooooos, I came to several decisions.

First off, fog, fog, fog. Fog has been the morning norm the past weeks, and must be the harbor conditions this morning, too. I didn't want to open my eyes to confirm my suspicions. It was too early to attempt such an effort, and I didn't even know what time it was. I did knew, though, that the ooooooooooooo was one of two things. It was either the foghorn by the jetty or else a tug boat's horn as it escorted a ship in or took one out of the harbor.

Oooooooooo, the horn sounded yet again. This time I didn't hear tug boats or foghorns on harbor. I heard a fog horn from sixty-five years ago. That deep, haunting sound is the only memory I have of childhood days in Seattle. The rest of my Seattle memories stare at me from two-inch square photographs: my brother and I sitting on a sidewalk outside a shingled building (our home below the Aurora Street Bridge, I think), my dad dressed in his Naval whites, me poking my head out from between my mothers knees (she never did like that butt shot), and my dad tossing me into the air.

That is it. Those few black and white photos are all I know about the few months we called Seattle home--those photos and the eerie sound of a fog horn by Lake Union. Oooooooooooo.

While I'm talking about eerie here, moments ago I looked up from my laptop to see what Licorice was doing. I knew she had jumped onto my bed while I typed. All I could see were a pair of yellow eyes staring back at me. She was curled up on a black, leather coat that my granddaughter hadn't put away after looking for a retro-Halloween costume.

I wish my camera battery had been charged. A photo of my white headboard, white pillows, white duvet cover, long,black coat draped across the corner of the bed, and the big, yellow eyes of an invisible cat staring at me would have been stunning.

Can a moment in time be stunning? I hope so because a new week of adventure lies ahead. This week I'm going to look for those special Jesus moments to share. You know the ones like the phone call you either make or receive that blesses you both, the beauty of God's promise in a rainbow, the joy of his presence in quiet times. Those are the things of life that often pass me by without a thought. I don't want to miss them this week. I would love to experience some "stunning".

Have a God day, you all,

Jan, Licorice Kitty, and three chubby kittens sleeping in a row, in different directions, with one chubby fur-ball on top of them all.

Saturday Morning--Plus "The Shoebox of Bones"

Saturday morning is almost over. The kittens are contentedly playing on the three feet of carpet between my bed and the wall. Lunch time is quickly approaching, and I haven't done anything constructive yet--at least not anything considered constructive by most folks. I have spent the last one-and-one-half hours reading the short, creative pieces written by my classmates in my Beginning Writer class.

The stories are creative as well as diverse. Fighting sisters from another planet, warring meercats, ice fishing old folks, suicides, murders, humorous tales, sad stories, they are all available to be read. Our instructor has her work cut out for her as she comments on them all.

I really wanted to start the next lessons of my new class, but felt I should write for the blog first. I also need to fix up a place in the playroom for the kittens. That means picking up small lego pieces, plastic army men and valiant knights, as well as stuffed animals before I can vacuum. There is only one problem with that location. It is right off the entry way. I'm afraid Licorice Kitty will make a quick escape if several people come in the front door at the same time. But, on the other hand, she is still quite leery of strangers, so will probably stay out of sight. Who knows? I certainly don't.

As for the kittens, they will need to be corralled. Here is my plan as of this moment. What used to be a closet now contains a long, built-in desk top with storage under one end. I think I can block off the under-desk area so that Licorice and kids have plenty of room to move around, but not enough room to get into trouble. The room has plenty of natural light, which is also good. I'll give it a try, later, after I finish this posting, and after I write some exercises for my class, and after I eat lunch.

One big question has been bugging me all day. Do I post my creative piece I wrote for my class? The original is 500 words long, as requested by the instructor. After reading a couple of her comments, the little changes she suggested will probably add another ten to fifteen words.

Tell you what. I will post it on the very end, after I sign off. Read if you wish. It's different from anything I've written before.

Getting ready to get busy,

Jan, Licorice Kitty and kittens

The Shoebox of Bones

“Allie, look at those long legs. I think you will be a model when you grow up,” Grandma told her ten-year-old granddaughter as they snuggled on the couch.

Allie giggled. “Grandma, models don’t wear glasses or have skinned up knees. Models don’t have messy hair or freckles. I’m not going to be a model. I am going be a dinosaurologist when I grow up, and I have a shoebox of bones to prove it.” With that, she pulled her box closer to her side and crossed her arms.

Several hours later, when all the baking mess in the kitchen was cleaned up, Allie’s mother said, “Allie, you make the best chocolate chip cookies in the entire neighborhood.” Leaning forward she whispered in Allie’s ear, “You’re going to be the best mom in the whole world when you grow up.” Then she pinched her young daughter’s rosy cheeks and smiled.

Allie’s return smile quickly changed into a frown as she replied, “No, I’m not, Mommy.  I don’t like cleaning my room. I don’t even like babies, especially ones with runny noses. Grooooss.” Then, reaching under the kitchen chair, she grabbed her battered shoe box and declared loudly, “I’m going to be a dinosaurologist when I grow up, and I have bones to prove it.”

 “Allie”, Dad said after dinner, “do you want to help me figure out how much yellow paint we need for your bedroom?”

“Yeees,” Allie shrieked, and grabbed him around his waist. “I love figuring out stuff with the best dad in the whole world.” 

After holding the end of the tape measure while Dad measured her room, and after helping figuring square footage, Allie beamed when Dad told her, “Your math is right on the money. One gallon should do it, Allie. No wonder your teacher says you’re so smart.  I bet you will be a teacher when you grow up.” He reached over and tousled her already messy hair.

“Dad, I’m not going to be a teacher.” A faint little smile crossed her lips before she added, “My knees shake if I have to answer questions in class.” Then, her eyes brightened and she fetched her battered treasure. “Besides, I’m going to be a dinosaurologist, and I have a shoebox of bones to prove it.”

Allie McDonald Remembered

Yesterday, Allie McDonald, lifelong resident of Old Town, was laid to rest. According to her daughter Julie Smith, “Mom, the best chocolate chip cookie baker in town, always stopped whatever she was doing if any of us needed help. She was the best mom ever.

“My mother used to say Mom would be a model when she grew up, and Grandma was right. Mom’s face was never in Vogue magazine, but it was reflected on the faces of all she met. With her gentle spirit, she modeled how to love chocolate chip cookies, children, life, and even dinosaurs.”

Mrs. McDonald’s youngest son James remembered his mother as, “the best friend a Brontosaurus ever had.” He then added, “Her stories of the dinosaurs she loved mesmerized generations of school children visiting the Natural History Museum she loved working at. Mom did more than show visitors around, though; she also taught everything she knew about dinosaurs.  

“Today our family is presenting the museum with these gifts in her memory, a plaque which reads,  Allie McDonald—Mother*Teacher*Role Model*Dinosaurologist, plus her most treasured possession.  In this battered shoebox are the bones she dug up in the gulley behind her childhood home. To you and me, they are chicken-leg and thigh bones, pork ribs, T bones and round steak bones, but to a little, ten-year-old girl, they belonged to dinosaurs. They created in her the dream of being, as she called it, a dinosaurologist. So, here is her shoebox of bones to prove it.” 

Oh, to Dance in The Rain

Well, folks, I've done it again--jumped into the deep end of the pool. Only this time I may have weights around my ankles.  After finishing up my Beginning Writers class this morning, I immediately checked out other classes that could refine my writing and fine tune my grammar. As of this afternoon, I am now enrolled in two classes that started a couple weeks ago.

The first lessons of Grammar Refresher weren't that difficult. They were excellent practices in the use of apostrophes, understanding homophones, subjects and predicates, and recognizing parts of speech. It made me realize what great English teachers I had in high school. I have now caught up on all four assignments, and am free until Tuesday.

Basic Writing has the same instructor I had for Beginning Writers. I have read through the first lesson, taken the quiz, but not done the exercises. That is tomorrow's activity. So, I will be doing some free writing while trying to keep my inner critic at bay. I think I have said it before, but I will say it again. I want to edit and re-edit sentences as I write them instead of writing freely and letting the thoughts flow. Write first, edit later.

This free writing idea is almost completely foreign when applied to walking with the Lord. I can't go around doing whatever comes to mind, or saying whatever I think or feel, than edit my actions and words later. Each decision I make, action I take, and word I say must be checked out first by my inner critic, the Holy Spirit. Editing poor decisions after the fact cannot erase harm that might have been done. Even my mind must be reigned in when it begins going astray. Fears need to be recognized and fought off. The list goes on. Thankfully, when practiced regularly, the correct actions become part of who I am, but there are still times poor choices sneak out.

Unfortunately, I have another inner critic. This is the one I need to tune out instead of listen to. This one succeeds too often in preventing the freedom and desires I feel in my spirit from being expressed outwardly. I hesitate jumping with abandon into a swimming pool when there is no reason to remain in the lounge chair. I hesitate walking into a wind storm to experience its power  as it tries to blow me over, or into a rain storm to feel the pelting rain on my face. Sometimes I really want to act crazy and run (walk would be more accurate) through mud puddles, but that inner critic whispers to me, "What will people think? What if you fall? What if, why, who..."

I know the Holy Spirit in me can do more than edit my actions and reactions before they are accomplished. He can also shut out/up the enemy's voice. Who knows, when the rains come again the neighbors might see me puddle jumping.

That reminds me of a time fifteen years ago when my toddler granddaughter stood looking out the door at the pouring rain. She let her mother know, in no uncertain terms, she wanted her clothes off so she could go outside. Mom obliged. That excited, little, naked girl ran outside, turned around a few time in the downpour, and made a beeline back to the house. "Cold," was her only response as an ear to ear grin filled her excited face. She had, in those few seconds, experienced a freedom and excitement many of us deny ourselves. At least I do.

I think singing, walking, or even dancing in the rain would be wonderful ways to celebrate the Lord. My inner critic is editing out the nudity part. I think I know which critic it is, but I might be wrong.

Keeping my eyes open for puddles to splash in,

Jan, Licorice Kitty, and family

The kittens found their way out from under the bed this evening. As Licorice bathed them all, they batted at her and at each other. Playtime is starting. I have to get serious about finding a new place for them. I think the playroom can be kitten proofed.

Slow Growth

I asked the Lord for ideas for the blog today. I have an entire day for his ideas to get through to me. In the back of my mind I figured that the League Cross Country meet this afternoon would be wonderful fodder for creativity--and it might well be.

But as I sat looking out my bedroom window watching the wispy fog drift by and beads of condensation drip from the eaves, I thought how little my actual view changes. The lilac and rhodies, the apple, hazlenut, and maple trees, and the Douglas firs greet me every single day without fail. I like the fact that no matter what weather we have, the vegetation remains the same. The boughs and branches still sway with the wind and descend with each bird that land on them. I always know what I will see because it never changes.

Duh, yes it does! It changes all the time. Yellow and orange leaves fall to the ground. Dropped needles and cones nestle in the grass under the fir trees. The rhodies that barely came to the bottom of the window ten years ago, are now half way up. The little lilac wasn't around five years ago. It seeded itself by my window. The firs are so much taller and the branches longer that when we moved here. Everything has grown, but it was so slow I hadn't really noticed.

Everything that has life grows and changes, including me. I'm certainly nothing like the skinny, acne-faced teenager I was in the olden days. But let's not talk about the physical changes like added pounds (pumpkin ice cream will do it every time) or about my liver spotted hands and wrinkly skin. Let's talk about spiritual growth.

Yesterday was a perfect example. I almost didn't go the my Bible study because the topic was Marriage and Home. Different women were sharing on subjects such as: husbands, children and schedules, homes, empty nests, work, blended families, etc. Part of me said the morning would be too painful. Part of me said the topic wasn't relevant. Part of me said GO, so I did.

Afterwards, a woman I have come to respect and love put her arm around me and ask, "Are you OK after listening to everything?"

I was more that OK. I had been blessed. As each woman shared her love of Christ, the importance of seeking God's heart in all areas of life, and how he blessed, healed, and ministered in all areas of her marriage and home life, I rejoiced with her. Not once did I feel any resentment, jealousy, or grief. Praise the Lord.

At that moment I realized once again that I am changing--slowly and surely changing. I'm nothing like I was as a teenager. I'm nothing like I was five years ago or even yesterday, and I am nothing like I will be in years to come. But for me, the change usually comes so gradually that it isn't immediately noticed. Only when I look back do I recognize God's work and can acknowledged and praise him for his goodness and might.

I smile as I type this post because I wonder what I will look like ten years from now. I pray the growth Christ gives will be more noticeable then any new wrinkles or liver spots.

Growing oh so slowly, yet growing still,
Jan

Licorice and kittens are still under my bed. In spite of all the attention and picture taking yesterday, she didn't try moving them. She is probably pretty proud that her children's pics with cute teenage girls are on instagram. We might have a paparazzi problem before long.

Just Asking

Last night I knew what today would be like. I had an agenda all ready to go.

10 am   Bible Study
Noon    Pick up medals, ribbons, and trophies for the League Cross Country meet
12:30    Buy gifts for graduating Cross Country members
1:30      Help in daughter's classroom (optional)
3 pm     Start assignment for today's writing class

Best laid plans go awry. There is nothing wrong about messed up plans. In fact, I sort of like them because God always works in mysterious ways when we think we have everything figured out, sorted out, and under control.

To start off, I didn't leave right after Bible study. One of the women asked how I was doing and how my husband was doing. Her uncle, like my husband, is in prison as a sex offender. One thing led to another as we shared how the Lord was working in all our lives. Before I realized it, the clock read 1 pm. Oooops.

I head for my car and my phone rings. "Nana, can I bring some friends over to see the kittens--like at 4 o'clock?" My mind whirls for a split second. Problem number 1, there is no way I can run errands, get to school in time to help my daughter, then get home for my granddaughter and her friends. (Note to self--let daughter know I will come on Monday)

Problem number 2, my kitchen is in a mess, my bed is covered with clothes I had taken out of the dryer, but not folded, and I have piles of newspapers here and there. In addition, gift wrap, tape, and tissue paper cover my dining room table, the garbage can is overflowing, and the litter box needs changing. I am not ready for guests.

"Of course you can come over. See you around 4. Oh, and thanks for checking first."

At 1:15 I walk into the medal, trophy, ribbon shop to pick up the X Country stuff. The owner is waiting for the UPS guy to deliver the ribbons. OK, now what? I still have to buy the gifty-thingys, so I say I will come back on my way home. Maybe the ribbons will have arrived by then. As I turn to leave, in walks the UPS guy. I almost kiss him.

By 2 o'clock, my car and I are headed home. I thank the Lord for the UPS guy, the gifty-thingys I purchased, and the sunshine. All is well with the world. Twenty minutes later I drive in my driveway, check out the thick fog that has never burned off, then hit the door running.

An hour and 1/2 later I take a deep breath, plop into my chair, and fire up my laptop. The litter box is clean, a scented candle is burning close to it, papers are in the recycle bin, dining room table is cleared off, kitchen is spic and span, garbage is emptied, clothes are folded and put away, and I am ready for the visit of a couple girls (turned out to be four) who love kittens.

While I await their arrival, I rest my weary body and celebrate all I accomplished out of a sense of urgency. That is when the Lord worked in his mysterious way. My sense of urgency to get my house cleaned in a short period of time became this thought, Why don't I feel that same sense of urgency when I know the time is short until the Lord returns? And, the stakes are so much higher than having a clean house for teenage girls oohing and aahing over some adorable kittens.

That's what he asked me. Does he ever ask you the same question?

Jan, Licorice Kitty, and family

Licorice is already tuned into the sounds and rhythms of the household. She knows when the refrigerator door opens, and she knows when I walk into the utility room where her food dish and water bowl are. Those two things bring her running, tail straight up, and meowing a meow that says, "Feed me now." I don't even think there is a please in that demand.

A Parable Through Licorice Kitty

At Bible study the other day, we shared among ourselves the ways we heard God's voice. Most of the women shared, but I sat there without speaking. I wasn't sure how to explain how I heard God. Thankfully, I didn't have to because one of the ladies did it for me. "Jan, I love the way you speak in parables. You make things of God so clear through your stories." Say what? She blew me away. I had never thought about my writing or speaking being a form of parable.

Parables, as I understand them, are earthly stories with heavenly meanings. I guess I tend to write and speak that way because that is how God speaks to me. Today was a perfect example.  At a prayer meeting this morning, while we were praying for parents in our community, I thought about  my cat Licorice moving her kittens out of my closet and settling them under my bed. One thought led to another.

I thought about Licorice's concern for the safety of her litter. She didn't like the "world" intruding and handling her little ones. They weren't mature enough for that, so she moved them to a safer place. They had no choice in the matter. Now, if I want to see them I have to lie flat on my stomach, pick up the dust ruffle, and peer into the dark corner between the wall and the night stand. As I peer, Licorice places her paws over the kittens, talks to me, and purrs.

Licorice's purr is so loud at times that I can almost feel it. I know the kittens have felt and heard that comforting sound since before they were born. And, oh how mama talks. Soft, purring meows answer the kittens when they cry. The same soft, purring meows sing to them while they nurse.

In time, Licorice's kittens will leave the protection of my dust ruffle and their mother. They will learn to drink and eat on their own. They will learn to hunt. Once they are grown, they will never again have the same relationship with Licorice that they will have during the next few months. They will be on their own

All these earthly thoughts slowly led me to heavenly ones.

Right after my husband went to jail, I knew God was removing me from the church I had been attending and moving me to a different one, one where I knew no one except my son and his family, and no one knew me either. I was no longer in the world I had known and felt threatened by. Instead, God had moved me to place he could provide what I needed. God met me there in ways I could have never imagined. Through new praise music he sang to me. Through sermons, he nourished me. Through Celebrate Recovery and Bible studies, he spoke to me. And through new friends, he purred to me.

This parable God gave me today isn't just for me or about me. I think it is a parable for all of us. God wants us safe and secure in his arms. Even more than Licorice did, He will do whatever is necessary to keep us safe. Sometimes he will move us even when we don't want to move, but he always takes us to that place where He can talk to us, sing to us, and nourish us. He wants us where the noise of world won't drown out his answer when we cry.

This isn't only a "when I'm in need" type of experience. Every day the Lord wants to carry us out of the noisy world for awhile so he can provide as only a loving father can. He will provide a place a peace and quiet, and a place we can hear the soft rumble of his voice as he sings, speaks, and nourishes us. Will we go?

Desiring the rumble of his voice,
Jan

My daughter and granddaughter loved on the kittens this afternoon. We'll see what Licorice thinks about that. She did stay right by them and got oodles of lovin' herself. Hope she doesn't move them now. Stay tuned for the next episode of Life with Licorice.

Scripture or E-mail?

Upon rising every day, I check out Facebook, hot mail, Bibi bird, and the Ostrich cam. As a result of today's electronic treasure hunt I have increased my knowledge so much. I learned how to make Christmas ornaments from book pages. I watched Bibi take a shower and say her new phrase, "I don't care". I found out that Skippy, one of the three ostrich babies, died early this morning.  And I also deleted three letters from my junk mail box.

The first letter today brought tears to my eyes (not really). The second consisted of a few short sentences written by someone who obviously didn't know English at all. Each writer requested help getting money out of their country and into my back account. The last, from a UK barrister, said I had millions of dollars waiting for me to claim.

Every day, people from around the world are depending on my help to get their millions of dollars out of their countries. Some are dying from cancer, some have ailing parents, and some live in war-torn areas. And in some cases, a barrister or bank has unclaimed millions just waiting for me, a deserving individual who fits the requirements of a recipient..

I don't open any of these e-mails. I right click on them and then check the message source. In the midst of all the code, I can usually find the message. By doing that, the e-mail remains unopened. I then sweep the money away. Today, I turned down a total $90,000,000.00 instead of replying."Sure, I'll give you my bank account number so you can deposit your money in this country. Thanks for your generous to let me keep part of it." or "I only have to give you $99 processing expenses? OK. Oh, you need my birth date and Social Security Number, too. Well for $30,000,000 I can send you $99 and my info."

As I deleted my three junk e-mails and my fortune, I snorted a derisive snort as I thought, "So there, Scammer."I also thought of all the money I have swept away on a daily basis, but my derisive snort immediately changed to a slap along side my head when an "aha" moment appeared.

Every day I have a treasure awaiting me, one with no strings attached. It is from the storehouse of Heaven itself. Saint Paul tell the church at Ephesus that he continually prays

that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him,  having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all. Ephesians 1:17-23 

 Proverbs 8:17-21says
17 17 

I love those who love me, and those who seek me diligently find me. Riches and honor are with me, enduring wealth and righteousness. My fruit is better than gold, even fine gold, and my yield than choice silver. I walk in the way of righteousness, in the paths of granting an inheritance to those who love me, and filling their treasuries.  

    

Why do I so often turn my back on his provision and try to accomplish everything with what I know I have? Why do I not draw the on gifts he has given me or the fruit he continually grows in my life?  $30,000,000 is nothing compared to what I have in Christ.   As a redeemed child of the King, I have all I need and more than I can ever imagine.

Isn't it better to open God's Word for treasure than a scammer's e-mail?

Trying to live on my heavenly storehouse and not the world's,

Jan, Licorice and family

Last night as I lay in bed, I thought my stomach was making squeeking sounds. Nope, it was the kittens under my bed. They are getting more vocal every day. Then, I would hear an occasional gurgling sound when I breathed. Maybe my asthma was acting. Nope, again. It was Licorice giving the kittens an occasional purr-meow. Life is interesting with cats under my bed.

No, Licorice, Not There!

Stupid cat, but we don't say stupid in our family. Therefore, I am at a loss of words.

Licorice moved her four kittens from the cozy box in my closet to the next closest place--under my bed. I don't want her kittens under my bed. I want them in the box in my closet.

Space might have been the issue for Mama. She would  stay in the box for as long as it took to feed all the them. When mealtime was over, she stretched out an my work clothes on the floor beside the box. That may be the reason for relocating.

The other reason could be all the company and attentions the babies received. While the grand kids petted and loved on the kittens, Licorice was no doubt thinking, "Leave them alone. I just got them to sleep"

Whatever the case, the Closet-Cuties became Beneath-the-Bed-Beasties. They couldn't stay there, not if I had my way. So, while Licorice was dining on some tuna, I removed the outgrown box from my closet, covered the rug with several layers of clean towels, and piled the kittens in the middle. Perfect. Mama and kittens now had ample room to move around. At least that is what I thought.

After Licorice finished feasting, I presented her with her new home, then retired to the bathroom to curl my hair. Well, guess what? Before I could finish my hair, all four tiny ones were once again checking out their new home under my bed.

I knew if they moved around very much, they would get past the dust ruffle and under the nightstand. I remedied that problem by placing a rolled up towel around the base of the nightstand. Problem solved. Within minutes of my problem solving, Licorice was meowing and a kitten was answering in a pitiful little, mew.

Down on my hands and knees I go again, for the umpteenth time, remove the towel, squeeze my hand under the nightstand, experience mewing  fur. I guess the kitten had crawled underneath before I had put the towel around it. With a little careful maneuvering of my hands and watchful eye of Licorice, the kitten was extracted and returned to her place on the pile of striped fur balls.

What do I do now? I don't know for sure. A solution will have to wait for awhile because I am on the way to pick up my grandson for a date night at the movies with me.

Licorice is on her own.

Round one goes to the cat.

Jan

Lasagna, Movies, and Footballs

Take a deep breath. Exhale. Breath deeply again. Aaaaah, I love the aroma of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. The wonderful smell of tomatoes, garlic, onions, meat and spices is nothing compared to the nose tingling aroma of  lasagna that I  anticipate at dinner time. Hooray for lasagna.

Toasted garlic bread and green salad will complete a dinner worthy of my daughter and grandson's birthday celebration, What's for dessert? I have no idea. My son and daughter-in-law are taking care of that. I hope they decide on homemade ice cream.

My grandson is hard to buy presents for because he lives quite simply for a seventeen year old. So we are doing our usual birthday activity--grab a bite to eat and go to a movie (popcorn of course). I have always enjoyed our meal time discussions about school, sports, and life in general. This young man is extremely bright, witty, and a deep thinker.

I plan on taking him to Gravity in 3D this Saturday since we both have an interest in seeing it. I understand I should take some Dramamine before hand. That idea might be a little far-fetched. We'll see.

As for my daughter? She wants a youth sized football. Crazy girl. So, that was my plan until a granddaughter asked if I could buy a football for her to give to her mom. She would pay me back. Of course I could do that. I now have to go to plan B--a gift card placed in a pack of white, below the ankle footies.

As soon as I finish up this last paragraph, I will chain myself to the kitchen for a while. I have lunch to reheat, lasagna to assemble, garlic bread to slice for toasting, and a green salad to create. Then comes my favorite part, washing dirty dishes. I hope you saw my tongue in cheek, or heard my jesting tone of voice. I may not like washing dishes, but the satisfaction of a completed job is nice. Besides, I will have very clean fingernails.

Celebrating the lives of my wonderful daughter and grandson. God continues blessing me through both of them.

Jan, Licorice and family
(Licorice wants to go outside so badly. I am very glad I didn't cave in. I discovered that cats are ready to breed immediately after giving birth. No wonder she wants out.)

A Letter to Satan

What do Lesson 9 of my writing class, therapy, and spiritual growth have in common? Examining myself, that is what. During therapy, Dr. B would ask me why I felt the way I did or why I didn't feel at all. The answer often went back to what I learned as a child.  such as emotions are a waste of time and energy.

In a Spiritual Growth class, I had to ask myself what lies about God I have believed and what scriptures nullify those lies. For example, I have often told myself that I don't have anything to say that people want to hear. That is a lie because speaking and writing are the strengths and abilities God has given me to use in the telling of His wonders and grace.

In Lesson 9 yesterday, the exercise consisted of writing for five minutes the sentence, "I am a terrific writer who has written dozens of brilliant pieces." As we wrote, if thoughts such as No I am not! came to mind, we were to type a hyphen followed by our thought and another hyphen. We were to then continue typing the sentence until another thought interrupted our typing. When the five minutes were up, we compiled the interrupting thoughts, tried to find a common theme, then composed a letter to the person or thing that influenced those thoughts-a letter we wouldn't send.

In this exercise, most of my thoughts were positive. I have always received positive feedback and encouragement from family and friends in all I did. My only negative thought came as the 5 minutes came to an end. It was this. Even if I am the most terrific writer of the most brilliant pieces, who wants to read it?

As I have shared before, I am writing because that is what I believe God wants me to do. Is it for whomever stumbles upon my blog? Is it for my family and friends? Is it for me only? At this point, it isn't necessary for me to know. I just need to write.

So, to whom do I write the Unsent Letter? Since my negative thoughts don't come from others, the letter had to be written to Satan. Here it is.

Satan, 

I don’t know who you think you are or why you think you can put negative thoughts in my head. You are deceived by your idea of self-importance. You know good and well that you are powerless when it comes to the BIG PICTURE. In my case, you have attempted planting seeds of self-doubt. They might have started germinating at times, but they have never developed strong roots or produced fruit. They have been tilled up and destroyed by Jesus Christ who defeated you years ago. So just bug off.

He has a story for me to tell. A story that is not about me, but rather about him, his power, his love, his grace, his mercy, and his protection…the list goes on and on and on. He is always faithful. I must tell how I have experienced all of this.

Satan, you are weak, but He is strong. Your reign is short, but His is eternal. I can do all things through him who strengthens me, Christ Jesus. 

I know you have worked your evil on my land in the past, the land HE has now provided for me. You know that you have been ordered to leave in the name of Jesus and the blood of the Lamb. My land is staked, embedded with the Holy Word of God. My doors and windows are anointed with oil. This home is blessed and destined to be a refuge and a place of hope and peace. So bug off. 

By the power of the risen Lord, you know you must leave me, my family, my house and my land alone. Return to the pit of hell from whence you came; and don’t even think of trying to come back around here. It cannot be done for we are surrounded by God’s fearsome army of angels. The battle belongs to the Lord. You are defeated. The victory is ours. 

 Praise the Lord.

Jan, a loved and redeemed child of the KING
 

Surely Goodness and Mercy...

A friend once shared a tool she used for meditating on Scripture. After reading a verse, she would go back and concentrate on each word separately. She used Psalm 23 as an example.  The Lord is my Shepherd.

   The...Specific item. Not some or any, but the one and only
   Lord...One in charge, overseer, master, etc
   is...not was or will be, but right now
   my...personal, not your's, their's, or ours, but mine
   Shepherd...tender of the flock, protector, etc

I think you get the picture.

A year or so ago I was using this method on this same Psalm. When I got to "surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life" an interesting picture entered my mind--not a vision, more of a random thought about something following me. Of course, I have come to learn that thoughts are not necessarily random.

I thought of my children when they were still living at home. If I were gone for any length of time, I could always tell what had gone on in my absence by simply observing their tell-tale trails. Bread crumbs on the counter, school books and papers on the sofa, and towels on the bathroom floor told me of after school snacks, interrupted homework, and post track-practice showers. All these signs followed them around the house.

My mind than made a quantum leap to wondering what kind of things follow me in my life, not my crumbs, books, and towels, but my words and actions. Do I leave a trail of goodness and mercy? I certainly don't want any angry words, negativity, jealousy, un-forgiveness, or judgmental attitudes strewn behind.

I want the touch of the Shepherd following me.

Walking through life surrounded by the Shepherd's goodness and mercy. May I give his touch to others,
Jan, Licorice, and family
(She's not happy I won't let her outside today. I let her out yesterday, but she ran across the road. Bad cat)

Flying on a Monday Morn.

An unwritten list of uncompleted tasks has put my mind into a death spiral. Okay, death spiral is a little strong--an extreme exaggeration is more exact. The truth is my mind is gliding around in lazy circles trying to decide on a landing spot.

The landing strip in the kitchen is open. I should touch down there first for a bite to eat. A poached egg and toasted slice of olive bread would taste good--so would a glass of V-8 juice. While tied down on the tarmac, there are a few dishes to wash up, some mail to remove from the counter and file away, a fridge to clean out, and a floor to sweep. Maybe I won't make the kitchen my first stop.

Instead, I will swoop down to the bathroom for a refreshing showering-tooth brushing-hair fixing session. Before leaving that landing spot I should clean the toilet and sink, wipe down the counter, empty the garbage, and sweep the floor. Oh yes, shake out the bath mat. Maybe I'll wait until this evening for a spa stop.

My flight plan still isn't in place so I do a quick flyby of the rest of the rooms. The living room reveals a carpet to vacuum and end tables to dust. The dining room is in the the same condition. Licorice's liter box needs changing, the side walk is littered with small branches, there is a dead bird by my sun room door, (birds and glass doors don't mix very well), bird poop decorates my bedroom window...and my library book is due in two days. I need to finish reading it for a paper I am writing.

I can't fly around in unending circles all day. I have to put myself back on the ground, add on some spiritual fuel, and get flight instructions from Heavenly Tower before heading for my first stop on this cross country flight.

(Pause for refueling)

So, I'm finally off on the first leg of today's journey. My gas tank is full, my cell phone is safely stowed in my pocket, a chocolate bar sits on my dresser for potential emergencies, and I am in touch with the control tower.

"Heavenly Tower, this is Jan requesting permission for take off. Destination kitchen at 0930 hours."

"Jan, this is Heavenly Tower. You are cleared for take off. Have a nice flight."

What a beautiful day for flying.

Jan, Licorice and family (How do you train a cat to clean her own litter box?)

Playing Hooky From Church--Ooops

Aaah, Sunday morning, A time for worship and praise. Not yet, at least not in my house. I am playing hooky this morning. My big plan was to watch the service on-line in the comfort of my chair and surrounded by streaming sunlight and silence. This would be my sanctuary for some God time this morning.

Since Pastor starts his sermon at 10:30 or so, depending on how the Spirit is moving. I fired up my laptop at 10:30. Well, by the time my clock read 10:38 I didn't have a clue if he was preaching or not. My wonderful plan for an uplifting sermon had failed. Sometime between early summer and today, log-on passwords are needed to access the church's streaming video site.

Mutter, mutter, mutter. Grumble, grumble, grumble. I dislike fiddling around with this kind of garbage. That is what I call it, garbage. I begrudgingly entered my e-mail address, my  usual password, then my password again. Finally, I hit enter and assumed I am good to go.

Back on the home page, I clicked "live streaming", typed in my e-mail address, my password, and hit enter. ERROR. My information was not recognized. I repeated the process, making sure everything was entered correctly. ERROR again. Okay, I took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and returned to the "create password" portion. Step by step I carefully choose a new password, hit enter, and was told to check my e-mail for confirmation, which I did.

 I let the message in my inbox know I had indeed changed my password. The next instructions were to click on the usual blue link. Done. The church home page came up with a pink message informing me the confirmation failed. AAAArrrrrrggggh.

At this moment, the bright blue, 2" high numbers on my clock scream out, "It's 11:08." Aarrrggggh, again. The sermon is most likely half over by now, and I am irritated. In fact, I succumbed to temptation and ate a candy bar. That is how irritated I am.

Since my idea of worship time this morning included staying home, I'm sure the Lord has a message for me like don't play hooky from church, and don't keep candy bars in the house (notice I blamed the keeping of candy bars, not the eating of same--don't want to admit lack of self control before the world. ) Or, to put it in scriptural context:

Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another:  Hebrews 10:25a  King James Version (KJV)

 Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”  Matthew 26:41

So, my friends, that has been my morning so far. I wonder how the rest of the day will go.

Thanking the Lord for loving me even when I sin.
Jan, Licorice and family (Happy one-week-birthday to the kittens)

River Walk

I pulled my covers a little higher around my shoulders while listening to early morning radio chatter this morning. The local radio personalities, characters, I call them, had a  Wizard of Oz trivia quiz ongoing between them. That stopped abruptly, at least for me, when my cell phone announced the arrival of a text message.

Daughter-in-law--Want to walk the river walk with me?
Me--Sure
D.I.L--How soon?
Me--Give me 10 min.
D.I.L.--Great.

I forget about putting on proper clothing. My pajama pants, long sleeved-turtle necked shirt, and sleepy-head hair suited me just fine, especially when topped with a hoodie. I fed Licorice, grabbed my driver's license and car keys, and headed out.

Three minutes later I was parked next to D.I.L. I petted her two eager canines, Big Dog and Pup, inhaled the cool, fresh air, and together we headed off. What a gorgeous morning for walking. The river was absolutely mirror like. Neither outgoing river nor harbor tides caused rippling of any kind. A slight mist hovered over sections of water, a flock of migrating geese grazed in a field with several decoys keeping them company, and the dogs trotted, sniffed, and wagged, blazing the paved trail before us.

This kind of beauty takes my breath away and brings forth praise from my lips. Thank you, Lord, I breathed.

The minutes passed quickly as D.I.L. and I got caught up on events of the past days and weeks. Smiles constantly crossed my face as her stories brought joy that filled empty spaces I didn't know were there. Thank you, Lord, I breathed again.

What an awesome way to start a day.

Jan, Licorice and family (kitty's cleaning up kittens right now)

Writing our Lives

Ever since I started writing this blog, I have questioned myself and my abilities. Some where in the recesses of my mind, which knew nothing about the writing process, I imagined those who put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard just sat down and whipped out a piece of wisdom, humor, or inspiration in half an hour or so. I really questioned my own abilities because I often labored four to five hours over one post.

Spending hours to write, read, put in, take out, rearrange, change wording, reread and rewrite caused me to think something was wrong with me! At least in my mind there was. Why couldn't I just sit down, write cohesive, logical, orderly thoughts correctly the first time? Well, surprise, surprise. My writing class is teaching me that writing isn't a sit down and spit it out event. Writing is a long, arduous process, especially if I want to write well. It may take days to write a page of reader-grabbing, thought provoking, or emotion stirring words.

For example, the last sentence of the above paragraph is a very weak sentence. Starting with "It may take days" really doesn't say anything. Instead I should rewrite it to say something like this, "Creating a page of reader-grabbing, thought provoking or emotion stirring words sometimes takes days of hard work."

Writing is hard, painstaking work. That is exciting to know, but I feel a frazzled brain in the making. At least I can shout out, Hurrah, I am not crazy after all!

Something else I learned from my class reading and also practiced in writing exercises, I had already learned by experience. You never know where your writing will take you in any given piece. This post is such an example. I started out with the idea of just writing about my "aha" learning moments on rewriting.  As so often happens, completely unrelated thoughts started playing around in my head. My instructor would say it is the subconscious working. I say it is Holy Spirit. Anyway...

I started thinking that my faith walk is not a sit down, get it right the first time event either. It is a process of walk, read, act, react, reread, make corrections, change priorities, and walk some more. Every day entails trusting what I did yesterday, making corrections for today, and looking forward to tomorrow's insights. Will I ever get it absolutely right? No, not in this life. But I know my faith and trust gets stronger every time I take it out and seriously look at it. Hopefully I listen to my Editor-in-Chief as he shows me where to edit. The more I remove unimportant, confusing, weak and watered down words and action from my faith walk, the more the outside "reader" will be drawn in.

At this point there is so much more that can be said, but I am going mute here and letting Holy Spirit speak.

Let's write our lives well,
Jan, Licorice and family (What a great mama kitty she is!)

Prayer Lasers

God has already won the battle, a recurring theme in church this week, appeared in lyrics, scripture, and shared words.  As Holy Spirit moved through them all, I recalled a devotion on prayer I gave years ago. It was one I didn't write out or even make notes for. As a result, I had forgotten all about it.

The war in Iraq was going strong at the time, and the news was filled with pictures of smart bomb destruction. I watched the evening newscasts in total fascination as our men on the ground aimed lasers at enemy targets until the smart bombs zeroed in on the targets and destroyed them.

That is what prayer is like, I thought at the time. So, I shared my devotion about being God's troops on the ground who aim our prayer lasers at the enemies' strongholds. It doesn't matter what those targets are. We need only keep them targeted in prayer until the addiction, fears, jealousies, or whatever they are can finally be destroyed by the heavenly army of God. The victory is his.

As I contemplated that whole concept during church, I pictured our town, state, country, and world covered in the enemies' darkness. But scattered throughout were pinpoints of light, laser lights, prayer lights all focused in on the evil in today's world. Then slowly, here and there, were explosions as strongholds were destroyed. From promiscuity at a high school to drug use in a locker room, from pornography on the internet to corruption in the workplace, one by one they were hit and destroyed. The darkness finally began to lift all because God's troops on the ground, you and I, stood vigil, never tiring, always aiming our prayer lasers at the devil's lairs. The battle belongs to the Lord

Our worship of idols on the hills and our religious orgies on the mountains are a delusion. Only in the LORD our God will Israel ever find salvation.   Jeremiah 3:23

May it be so

Jan

Conversation With A Stranger

Knowing the young man's name wasn't important. By young, I mean 42. At least that is what he told me, and he looked about that age. I didn't need to know his name to enjoy our conversation which started while I was drinking my $1 cup of coffee with 2 creams and 4 sugars at the only place in town with $1 coffee, McDonalds.

"Hello, neighbor," he said as he leaned toward my table with a big friendly grin on his face.

"Hi," I responded in the same friendly manner while frantically going over the names and faces of people on my road. He didn't look familiar, although by the looks of his well-worn denim pants, and the suspenders over his orange tee shirt with some crazy logo across the chest, he certainly could have fit in with my neighbors. Even the pony tail worked for me.

"Looks like this sun is coming out for awhile" he observed.

"It sure is" I responded, then trying to pinpoint him, asked, "Where exactly do you live?"

"Tennessee. I'm heading back home. Hope to be back by Thanksgiving. I was in Alaska, but with the National Parks closing down, I decided to come back stateside."

This initial exchange of pleasantries led to two hours of conversation. We shared some things based on similar experiences: feral cats on Maui, riding camels in Cairo, staying in hostels in Europe, and flying in puddle-jumpers (small, single engine airplanes). As one thing led to another, we ended up talking about bush pilots in Alaska as well as pilots in Australia's outback. Then came clamming. He complained about our clam limits of five a day while extolling Alaska's "dig as many as you want" policy. He talked about hunting goats, deer and elk, and the rising price of hunting permits in Wyoming. We talked camping and hiking. We touched on roadside litter problems as well as the recycling programs in Washington State. When I left, he was still sitting at his table, checking his i-pad, and drinking his cold coffee before heading out. He was planning on camping in southern Oregon tonight.

And, just to assure you all, I did not let him know where I lived. I did not give him money (he didn't ask for any), and he didn't follow me out of the parking lot--I watched.

As crazy as this may seem, I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent kibitzing. I will admit, though, that I was on guard and kept asking myself whether or not this guy was a scam artist or just a young man who just travel and adventure. There was no sign of scam in the conversation, so I believe he was merely a friendly guy heading back to Tennessee.

Another question I have been asking myself is why I enjoyed visiting with this no-name stranger. I guess it was because I enjoyed reliving each and every memory I shared as well as listening to all of his. Many of my memories were of experiences my family already knows about, so I don't bring they out of their storage units anymore. Maybe I either need to make new friends, or else get serious about writing.

I have so many stories to tell, stories about flying, camping and hiking. Then there is my year in Israel and a visit to Athens and Rome and Pompeii to write about. There are tales of eating a tomato worm, being mean to the neighbor girl, seeing the body of a best friend in her casket, and marching (stepping high) behind the mounted posses and Native American warriors in Nevada Day Parades. So many stories to write.

I want to write those stories because somewhere in each and every one of them is God. That is what I would love to discover--where was God and what was he doing in my life at that time?

Knowing God is always present, always working,

Jan, Licorice and family (the kittens, 2 days old, are getting fat)

Licorice and Family

I've named my feral cat Licorice. (Notice I said "my"? Once you name them, they are yours.) I had considered naming her H.R.B. for Her Royal Blackness and calling her HeRB for short. I finally decided that Licorice was much more fitting for a sweet black cat of the female gender than HeRB. I had been thinking about naming her from the time we first met in the blackberry bushes. I refrained from doing so because I didn't want to get emotionally involved with her. Hah, that didn't work. Today was the day I finally decided to name her and make her officially mine.

I named her after I came home from church, searched the house for her, and finally discovered her in the recesses of my closet in the towel lined box she had previously ignored--right where I wanted her. Actually, I didn't find her, she meowed at me when she heard me walk into the room. Upon opening the sliding door on the box side of the closet, there she was, looking up at me with her big yellow eyes, and purring her little heart out. She had two wee small kittens nuzzled up to her belly and one that she was still cleaning off.

Ms Licorice is now the proud, purring mother of four kittens, three tiger striped ones and one black and white. All four kittens have white faces. Mother and children are doing well.

As soon as I saw that mommy with her babies, I knew that Her Royal Blackness needed a proper name. She might have spent her life in the wild; and might decide to return once the kittens are gone she has opportunity to go outside again, but in the meantime I will give her a name she can answer to, one that means she is loved.

I will give her a name because I have finally reached a point I can let myself become emotionally attached again. This means taking a chance on loving and being responsible for someone/something other than myself. It also means facing loss down the road. I pray I will be strong when that day comes.

As an aside, one of my granddaughter got to watch the birth of kitten number four. She was thrilled.

The birth process and mothering instincts amaze me.  But God and his healing powers amaze me even more.

In awe,
Jan, Licorice and family

Sunday Morning Ramblings

Delicious food shared with family cannot be beat. Take for example last night's dinner. My fettuccine noodles were sauteed with butter and garlic, seasoned with salt and pepper, then topped with fresh Parmesan cheese. I add to that a choice of chicken breast bites seasoned with Italian seasoning or mango-jalapeno meat balls. A mixed greens salad topped off the main course. For dessert there were banana splits with a choice of toppings for our scoops of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry ice cream: hot fudge, caramel, fresh raspberries, partially thawed strawberries and whipped cream. The amazing part was I didn't start preparing until 3 p.m. and dinner was at five thirty. Easy and fun! I am so glad my son had a birthday.

I am also glad we are all watching the football game together after church today. I am taking all the sweets that call my name to his house. This is my rationale:  if I succumb to temptation over there, it's okay. I'm being a polite guest. That makes sense doesn't it? I surely think so.

This Sunday morning's breakfast is still just an idea in my mind that needs to find its way onto a plate. The eggs won't scramble themselves. The cat can't cook. Besides, Her Royal Blackness is sleeping on my bed while her sides undulate with who knows how many kittens. I guess I will have to fix breakfast myself, followed by washing dishes (last nights's included) getting ready for church, blessing and being blessed with worship, cheering on my favorite pig-skin passers, and savoring a hot fudge sundae.

That is what I'm looking forward to today. How about you?

Sunday blessings, Jan

A God Day

The sky has only traces of wispy clouds this morning. The tree branches are swinging in sync with my bedroom sheers which blow in front of the furnace vent. The black, feral, very pregnant cat that slept inside all night and didn't want out this morning just removed herself from the sunny carpet and went into the darkness of my closet. Hopefully she is in the large box I installed for her, and not on top of my shoes.

Pregnant cats! I know nothing about them other than they give birth to kittens. Are there pre-labor signs such as cutting back on food or increasing intake of water? I wish I knew what to look for. If I were a really hip senior citizen, I would have already combed the internet and found out more than I ever needed to know. I could probably even perform a C-section if necessary. I am not that hip, at least not yet.

She, Her Royal Blackness, is now under my bed. "Not there, kitty. Not there!" That is the last place I want her hiding out. My carpet is new, unstained, un-spilled on, and free of dirt. Well, not exactly free of dirt. I do see a few pieces of lint and a couple crumbs in front of my chair. Guess I need to vacuum--later. I don't want to scare Her Royal Blackness.

Oh, what to do, what to do? I will decide later, after I get back from town.

The Lord is blessing this day with gorgeous weather, a happy heart, a completed writing assignment, a blog post, and a tubby-tummy cat. This is truly a God day.
Jan

My July 4th Prayer

The sun is shining right onto the side of my face and turning the screen of my laptop into a mirror. Something has to give. Either I move, I wait for the clouds to work their magic, or I tough it out. Since there are no clouds in the sky right now (what's up with that?) I am going to tough it out by sitting here pretending it is just another cloudy, northwest day.

What am I going to write about this morning? I think I am going to share something I hadn't told very many people until Bible study yesterday. Last year I wrote about this experience and submitted it for publication, but didn't hear anything back, so have been sitting on it. There are several reasons for sitting. Primarily, the Holy Spirit touches each of us in different ways that comfort, teach, admonish, or what ever else is necessary for our growth. My experiences are mine. Your experiences are yours. I don't want people thinking that God isn't answering their prayers if they don't experience the same thing I did. This particular incident was an unbelievable answer to prayer in my time of need. Here is the abridged story.

I had been living alone for a year. I was still shut down emotionally, and still a year away from therapy. This particular day, I had enjoyed a barbecue with my kids, but declined staying for July 4th fireworks. I just wanted to be by myself instead of in the midst of noise and confusion. At least in my eyes it was noise and confusion. In reality, it was good old family time, but a deep sense of sadness was overtaking me. I just wanted to go home, so I did.

Once seated on my sofa with my dachshund buddy on my lap and the TV announcers talking about celebrations across the country, I let the tears flow and contemplated the difference between being lonely and being alone. There is a big difference. Finally, after deciding I wasn't lonely, I prayed a simple prayer that went something like this. "Lord, how do I do this 'alone' thing." Then I went to bed.

Sleep came quickly and so did morning. Even with my eyes closed, I was aware that the eastern sky was getting light, but more than that I was aware of a presence on my bed. I wasn't scared, I was completely at peace. Then, so gently, so softly, I felt something like a kiss or caress on my cheek followed by a warmth that slowly engulfed me, then these words in my mind, "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

Several minutes passed before I opened my eyes and looked around my faintly lighted room. All I saw were my clothes from the day before and the usual sundry items laying on the dresser tops and floor, things like necklaces, receipts, briefly worn socks, and a newspaper or two. There was no Jesus, no angel, no anything unusual--just a sense of warmth and security.

I continued to lie there for awhile, then began smiling as I thought to myself, "I've been touched, kissed, and ministered to by Holy Spirit." Then came this, " I have just had the true Comforter on my bed, not a down filled one or a polyester one, but the Comforter of God."

That is the wonderful way my July 4th prayer had been answered.

I have no idea why, after four years, I feel a need to share this particular encounter, but I do. I pray it brings encouragement to someone today. Here is just one of many scriptures about the Lord's loving presence.

Deuteronomy 31:6

English Standard Version (ESV)
6 Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.

Enjoying the sunshine that is extremely visable today,
Jan

Fighting Laptop Withdrawals

Living without my laptop for three days was a challenge that I faced head on and didn't go crazy in the process. It wasn't easy, though. Saturday night the battle between the minuscule words on the pages of my Amelia Peabody (she's the heroine, not the author) novel and my dim reading light raged until 8 p.m. Knowing my eyes were succumbing to fatigue, and not wanting to admit it, I prided myself on going to bed early. As usual, pride goeth before the fall and I awoke three hours later. My body must have thought it was morning or something, but that is a whole other story.

Sunday, after battling the weather as I drove to church and home again, I joined family and friends to watch our favorite football team come from behind and celebrate an overtime victory. This is when my fingers started twitching. The first signs of laptop withdrawal had appeared.

Sunday night without my electronic drug meant no Hulu, no mind challenging games, no challenging puzzles, and no Facebook checking. There were just itching fingers desiring for a keyboard, and Amelia Peabody with her Egyptian adventures wanting to be finished. I had no choice in the matter. The paperback and my eyes battled once again. And once again, bedtime came early, but my eyes didn't open until Monday was dawning. Hooray for that minor victory.

Morning passed without incident. My itching, twitching fingers washed dishes, washed clothes, and made a bed. Ms Peabody finished solving her mystery and finally rested in the old grocery bag with my other finished books. My puzzle starved mind had just remembered a tattered game and puzzle book to challenge it when the phone rang. While my trembling hands fumbled with the talk button, my mind raced. "Let it be my supplier saying my fix was ready." It was. He did.

Within 20 minutes my laptop and I sat at McDonalds like an old married couple enjoying each other's company and a pumpkin spice latte. My face lit up at the sight of my screensaver--a waterfall, then Utah red rock canyons followed by lavender fields, and pounding ocean waves. Ah, my beautiful screensaver friends were all there. So were my friends on Facebook, the ones I read about but don't talk to, the ones I "like", and the ones with all the photos I enjoy. These are the ones I could hardly wait to reach out to. The first words out of my itch, twitchy fingers were, "GO, SEAHAWKS". It felt so good.

So, blog friends, I'm back. Finally! It took me two days to finish up my on-line class work, and try to remember my blogger password. That password is where I finally admitted defeat in this long battle, so I had to change it. I thought I had written it down somewhere, but just couldn't remember where somewhere was. Well, after changing the old one, I finally found it. Here it is, the perfect password I would never forget. "idontremember" Oh well.

The memory may be slipping, as are the discs in my neck, but I know what I know. The Lord is good and his mercies last forever.

Jan.