The only sound I hear at this moment is the furnace. Other than that, nothing. Silence is so nice!
The noise level in my home yesterday was almost equal to the home game for the Seattle Seahawks--record breaking. Twenty-four of us spent Thanksgiving enjoying delicious food and wonderful company. As a result, the decibel level of the laughter and happy voices was extremely high
After a one o'clock dinner, the afternoon consisted of fun-filled card games and board games. While an intense game of Settlers cast a spell over a table of adventures at the dining room table, a hot card game of Hand and Foot held another group to their chairs around a table in the living room. After snacks and turkey sandwiches, Wits & Wagers challenge a group of competitors.The last card game of Presidents broke up at 11:30 p.m.
For those of us who aren't card players, a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be pieced together covered the surface of yet another table in the living room.
Not a puzzle person or need a break? Then kick back, have a cup of coffee, tea, or cider, and talk. It was nice to visit with family members when nothing else is on the agenda. It was also nice to talk with guests we didn't know.
If that weren't enough, we all took a break for a new event this year. BINGO (with prizes). Glow in the Dark Glasses, Minion stickers, votive candles, and a squeaky rubber duck pleased everyone who won. Some people won several times, some of us didn't win at all. That unfair division of the prizes is why I don't trust phone apps. They just don't work the way I think they should--not that I'm upset or anything. But, I really wanted that little yellow ducky.
Then, to add a little excitement, one never knew when a kitten would appear at a table, not on its own accord, but with the help of one of the kids. At least the feisty felines received more attention and handling that I could ever give them, and that is a good thing.
Oh yes, one other thing, what Thanksgiving is complete without dirty dishes? Since I don't have a dishwasher, we hand-washed lots of dishes and silverware and glasses and cups and pans, and more dishes.
Now, on this day after Thanksgiving, our numbers have diminished. We are a family of sixteen for the next couple days. By this evening, the turkey broth that simmered all day yesterday will have transformed into highly-anticipated turkey soup, a grandson's 22nd birthday will have been celebrated, more games will have been played, and another puzzle or two reassembled. It will be good.
I am so thankful for my family. Everyone pulls together, doing what needs to be done. From preparing food to setting tables, from wiping off counters to picking up stray cups and glasses, from slicing desserts to putting out sandwich makings, from washing dishes to putting them away, all is done without any choreography from a leader. It's a beautiful dance performed by a dance company of twenty-plus. What a blessing!
That about sums it up. While I have been typing, a daughter-in-law has been busy taking down one of the tables in the living room and rearranging the folding chairs. We will be totally ready for this afternoon's and evening's activities. Now to get the soup started.
Feeling so blessed. (tired too)
Jan
Friday, November 29, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Bittersweet Afternoon
It seemed like such a sweet little book at first glance. I love little books. This ones floral, fabric cover attracted my attention immediately. The blank pages inside had scripture at the top of each one, as well as two dates on each side--nice, I thought.
As I flipped through the empty pages, I thought of different uses for it: date book, diary, God moments, prayer requests.... Wait, what was that? Writing? That is when the book turned from sweet to bittersweet.
Here is what I found.
June 5, 2009 Friday
All the kids are coming to (Husband's) sentencing this afternoon. "Lord, may we be strengthened to accept whatever your will is for (H) and our family"
June 6 Saturday
Family in crisis--God in Control
Ten years to life is hard to fathom, but God is good, and his will is done--I should say, is being done.We now move forward
I will lift up my hands in his name.
June 7 Sunday
(Elder son) and I saw (H) this morning. (Daughter and younger son) went this p.m. It was healing for all. (Elder son) has a strong sense that God will do a mighty work in this family. Praise Him.
June 8 Monday
During yesterday's visit, (H) had some personal prayer requests:
That he stay strong in faith, stand strong against the enemy, be a mighty witness, and be safe.
He might be sent to (prison nearby) today.
I saw a therapist
June 9 Tuesday
This is my pray for (H) today.
No energy today, I accomplished very little.
June 10 Wednesday
I must get out and work while the weather is nice.
"Lord, keep away the body aches--restore my strength."
Why are tears still so near the surface?
June 11 Thursday
Hubby's 68th birthday.
The rest of the book is blank.
After all these years I would like to think my sorrow would have gone away. As I discovered this afternoon, it hasn't. Although it hasn't left, it has changed. It no longer feels raw and stinging. Bittersweet molasses are the only words that express what I felt. Today's sorrow was thick, sweet, and comfortable.
I've seen and experienced the Lord's healing hand since 2009. What I felt back then was tears and emptiness. I had no anger or sorrow that I was conscious of, just those confounded tears from deep wounds and emptiness. I didn't understand how raw and stinging my suppressed emotions were.
How did I get from raw and stinging to molasses? I guess the bittersweet molasses description comes from a childhood memory of my granddad giving me a glass of milk with black-strap molasses stirred into it (his idea of chocolate milk) after dinners at his house. The first sip always made me shudder and make a crazy face. But Granddad's words, "It's good for you, girl." made the rest go down more easily. When finished, Granddad and I would wipe the milk off our faces and give each other big smiles followed by a resounding, "Aaaaaaaah, that's good." Those were good times, sweet times, and times of comfort and peace; however, a bittersweet taste always remained for awhile.
That is the way this afternoon was. Reading entries about forgotten events made me shudder at first taste, then I thought about all the good that has come out of it (it's good for you, girl). Now, several hours later, I can smile and say, "Aaaaaaaah, these years have been good." There have been good times, sweet times, and times of comfort and peace; although, some bitter-sweetness still remains.
What an interesting day today has been.
Thank you, Lord, for the reminder of our journey-- 000000000=[]kitten walked across the keyboard.
Jan and Cat family,
As I flipped through the empty pages, I thought of different uses for it: date book, diary, God moments, prayer requests.... Wait, what was that? Writing? That is when the book turned from sweet to bittersweet.
Here is what I found.
June 5, 2009 Friday
All the kids are coming to (Husband's) sentencing this afternoon. "Lord, may we be strengthened to accept whatever your will is for (H) and our family"
June 6 Saturday
Family in crisis--God in Control
Ten years to life is hard to fathom, but God is good, and his will is done--I should say, is being done.We now move forward
I will lift up my hands in his name.
June 7 Sunday
(Elder son) and I saw (H) this morning. (Daughter and younger son) went this p.m. It was healing for all. (Elder son) has a strong sense that God will do a mighty work in this family. Praise Him.
June 8 Monday
During yesterday's visit, (H) had some personal prayer requests:
That he stay strong in faith, stand strong against the enemy, be a mighty witness, and be safe.
He might be sent to (prison nearby) today.
I saw a therapist
June 9 Tuesday
This is my pray for (H) today.
"In the day when I cried you answered me, and strengthened me with strength in my soul." Psalm 138:3He was sent out yesterday a.m.
No energy today, I accomplished very little.
June 10 Wednesday
I must get out and work while the weather is nice.
"Lord, keep away the body aches--restore my strength."
Why are tears still so near the surface?
June 11 Thursday
Hubby's 68th birthday.
The rest of the book is blank.
After all these years I would like to think my sorrow would have gone away. As I discovered this afternoon, it hasn't. Although it hasn't left, it has changed. It no longer feels raw and stinging. Bittersweet molasses are the only words that express what I felt. Today's sorrow was thick, sweet, and comfortable.
I've seen and experienced the Lord's healing hand since 2009. What I felt back then was tears and emptiness. I had no anger or sorrow that I was conscious of, just those confounded tears from deep wounds and emptiness. I didn't understand how raw and stinging my suppressed emotions were.
How did I get from raw and stinging to molasses? I guess the bittersweet molasses description comes from a childhood memory of my granddad giving me a glass of milk with black-strap molasses stirred into it (his idea of chocolate milk) after dinners at his house. The first sip always made me shudder and make a crazy face. But Granddad's words, "It's good for you, girl." made the rest go down more easily. When finished, Granddad and I would wipe the milk off our faces and give each other big smiles followed by a resounding, "Aaaaaaaah, that's good." Those were good times, sweet times, and times of comfort and peace; however, a bittersweet taste always remained for awhile.
That is the way this afternoon was. Reading entries about forgotten events made me shudder at first taste, then I thought about all the good that has come out of it (it's good for you, girl). Now, several hours later, I can smile and say, "Aaaaaaaah, these years have been good." There have been good times, sweet times, and times of comfort and peace; although, some bitter-sweetness still remains.
What an interesting day today has been.
Thank you, Lord, for the reminder of our journey-- 000000000=[]kitten walked across the keyboard.
Jan and Cat family,
Monday, November 25, 2013
Pre-thanksgiving Thoughts
Thanksgiving--a time of giving thanks, but what am I thankful for? Making a list would be extremely easy. There is my family and home. There are friends, clothes to wear, food to eat, a car to drive, good health.... But giving thanks for things I possess or are meaningful to me is quite superficial and self centered. They could all be destroyed in a matter of minutes. If a record breaking tsunami took it all, would I have anything left to be thankful for? Absolutely.
I would be thankful for my Lord. He is my rock. He is my fortress. He's my deliverer. He is King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Prince of Peace. He is Wonderful Counselor, Bread of Life, Living Water, and Light unto my path. And don't forget Healer, Redeemer, and Lover of my soul.
This Thanksgiving I will give thanks for all the material blessings I have and the people in my life; however, I must not lose sight of the Giver of everything.
I would be thankful for my Lord. He is my rock. He is my fortress. He's my deliverer. He is King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Prince of Peace. He is Wonderful Counselor, Bread of Life, Living Water, and Light unto my path. And don't forget Healer, Redeemer, and Lover of my soul.
This Thanksgiving I will give thanks for all the material blessings I have and the people in my life; however, I must not lose sight of the Giver of everything.
Thank you, Lord, for who you are--the great
I Am
Bringing out the vacuum to finish blessing my home,
Jan, Licorice Kitty, and sleeping kittens
Saturday, November 23, 2013
A Jumble of Thoughts
Less than a week until Thanksgiving, where has the year gone? Each month seems to fly past more rapidly than the previous one, but with winter upon us, each day seems to go more slowly. All last week I'd check the clock to see how late the hour was, only to discover bedtime wouldn't arrive for hours yet. I didn't check the time because I was tired or sleepy. I checked because it was dark outside.
Like now, for example. Dusk left hours ago. My summer-time brain tells me it is eleven o'clock, but my computer tells me it's only 6:30 p.m. If I go to bed now, I'll be up at 1 a.m. So, I'll wait it out by.... I don't know what I'll do. I could read something from the paper-bags of books a friend gave me. I could work an a counted cross-stitch Christmas stocking I started last January. I could listen to some music. I could.... I could... I could do anything I wanted, but I really don't want to do anything, so I will sit here and type (I believe keyboard in the proper term these days)
So far on this post, I have been freewriting, but with some revision and corrections. If this were true freewriting, I would make absolutely no corrections or revisions. I'd let the creative side of my mind have free rein while I kept the critic side locked away until another day. That is extremely hard for me to do. I will try it for a few minutes. Here goes.
The grandkids came over this afternoon to help with some chores as I get ready for Thanksgiving. The yellowpad of notes spelled out jobs for them to do. I love having them over. I love fixing them food and listeneing to their converstaions. Pizza is always a hit. So are brownies. All the recycle stuff ahs been temoved from my kitchen. The garbage has been emptied, and the porch cleaned off. Leaves are raked up, front door window washed, and all the flat surfaces of my living room and dining room have been dusted. The kittens have been lpayed with, and dishes washed. And we have talked about writing, and learning, and basketball practice. What a fun day it was. I'm blessed. Having my daughter busy in the kitchen preparing lasagna for a potluck she is attending tomorrow was also fun. I'm thankful. Now I have piles notebooks, books, photo albums, jigsaw puzzles, and Thanksgiving decorations to deal with. No one can really healp with that kind of stuff. It is mine and mine alone. I do not like deciding what to do with it. Nice neat piles works well for me--except when I am having company over. Twenty people for dinner I figure. I still have several days.
There, you have just journeyed through my jumbled thoughts, typos and all. If I were taking that just-written paragraph seriously, I would spend the next hour working and reworking it until you all felt as if you were right here with all of us. I'd heat some water for your favorite beverage and serve you some warm brownies while you sat back and enjoyed my day with me. You would hear the chatter, smell the aromas, and laugh at the kittens.
For now, you will just have to imagine.
I'm thankful for another day of grace.
Jan, Licorice Kitty, and kittens.
Like now, for example. Dusk left hours ago. My summer-time brain tells me it is eleven o'clock, but my computer tells me it's only 6:30 p.m. If I go to bed now, I'll be up at 1 a.m. So, I'll wait it out by.... I don't know what I'll do. I could read something from the paper-bags of books a friend gave me. I could work an a counted cross-stitch Christmas stocking I started last January. I could listen to some music. I could.... I could... I could do anything I wanted, but I really don't want to do anything, so I will sit here and type (I believe keyboard in the proper term these days)
So far on this post, I have been freewriting, but with some revision and corrections. If this were true freewriting, I would make absolutely no corrections or revisions. I'd let the creative side of my mind have free rein while I kept the critic side locked away until another day. That is extremely hard for me to do. I will try it for a few minutes. Here goes.
The grandkids came over this afternoon to help with some chores as I get ready for Thanksgiving. The yellowpad of notes spelled out jobs for them to do. I love having them over. I love fixing them food and listeneing to their converstaions. Pizza is always a hit. So are brownies. All the recycle stuff ahs been temoved from my kitchen. The garbage has been emptied, and the porch cleaned off. Leaves are raked up, front door window washed, and all the flat surfaces of my living room and dining room have been dusted. The kittens have been lpayed with, and dishes washed. And we have talked about writing, and learning, and basketball practice. What a fun day it was. I'm blessed. Having my daughter busy in the kitchen preparing lasagna for a potluck she is attending tomorrow was also fun. I'm thankful. Now I have piles notebooks, books, photo albums, jigsaw puzzles, and Thanksgiving decorations to deal with. No one can really healp with that kind of stuff. It is mine and mine alone. I do not like deciding what to do with it. Nice neat piles works well for me--except when I am having company over. Twenty people for dinner I figure. I still have several days.
There, you have just journeyed through my jumbled thoughts, typos and all. If I were taking that just-written paragraph seriously, I would spend the next hour working and reworking it until you all felt as if you were right here with all of us. I'd heat some water for your favorite beverage and serve you some warm brownies while you sat back and enjoyed my day with me. You would hear the chatter, smell the aromas, and laugh at the kittens.
For now, you will just have to imagine.
I'm thankful for another day of grace.
Jan, Licorice Kitty, and kittens.
Friday, November 22, 2013
What a Scene
While I was finishing up the last lessons for my online class today, I learned that when Licorice Kitty sounds distressed, she is; her kids are up to no good. Now, about those kittens, they are supposed to stay in their own room. They have stuffed animals, balls, tubes, and boxes to play with, a bed to sleep on, water to drink, a wicker basket to climb over, and a litter box to...well you know what. Why they want to explore the forbidden areas of the house is beyond my comprehension, but I'm not a kitten.
Does anyone remembers my earlier post about my stacks of papers to be filed--the ones I placed on the couch? Well, the couch is always overjoyed when company arrives, especially calm, quiet company that will stay for several days. That gives her ample time to entertain her captive audience with her famous Legends From the Living Room tales. The past few days, she seemed to have plenty of stories to tell, and the papers seemed to be mesmerized by them.
Not only were they listening well, they were also following my instructions to the letter. "Stay in your assigned groups on the couch--October, you stay in this pile; November, you're in this one; and Tax Info, over here. I'll be back very soon to take you to your forever home." Well, they are home alright, and they are grounded. I am not happy with them (or the kittens for that matter).
I will never know exactly what happened; no one is talking. But it seems that two feline explorers entered the living room and mewed to the papers on the couch. I'm not sure what happened next. Maybe those rascally papers had finally tired of couch's stories and convinced the kittens to join them for a wrestling match, or the two kittens convinced my papers to jump off the sofa and play tag with them.
Anyway, I watched with my own two eyes as my papers flew all over the floor. I witnessed Licorice's fuzzy-duo scampered over, under, and through anything in their way. While the kittens jumped and ran with complete abandon, the papers flitted, fluttered and tried unsuccessfully to dodge sharp little claws, Licorice vocalized from the coffee table, and I just laughed. What a hilarious scene it was; however, neither Mamma Cat nor I were very happy with our charges.
I'm glad the joy of the Lord is my strength. The joy of the Cats and Paper Fiasco wore me out.
Jan, Licorice, and (hopefully asleep) kittens
Please bear with me here while I digress a moment.
Not only were they listening well, they were also following my instructions to the letter. "Stay in your assigned groups on the couch--October, you stay in this pile; November, you're in this one; and Tax Info, over here. I'll be back very soon to take you to your forever home." Well, they are home alright, and they are grounded. I am not happy with them (or the kittens for that matter).
I will never know exactly what happened; no one is talking. But it seems that two feline explorers entered the living room and mewed to the papers on the couch. I'm not sure what happened next. Maybe those rascally papers had finally tired of couch's stories and convinced the kittens to join them for a wrestling match, or the two kittens convinced my papers to jump off the sofa and play tag with them.
Anyway, I watched with my own two eyes as my papers flew all over the floor. I witnessed Licorice's fuzzy-duo scampered over, under, and through anything in their way. While the kittens jumped and ran with complete abandon, the papers flitted, fluttered and tried unsuccessfully to dodge sharp little claws, Licorice vocalized from the coffee table, and I just laughed. What a hilarious scene it was; however, neither Mamma Cat nor I were very happy with our charges.
I'm glad the joy of the Lord is my strength. The joy of the Cats and Paper Fiasco wore me out.
Jan, Licorice, and (hopefully asleep) kittens
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Trials of A Mother Cat
What do a turtleneck shirt, fisherman knit sweater, and Mickey Mouse hoodie have in common?
They are all keeping me warm on this chilly, as in cold, day.
What does a pile of sleeping six-week old kittens have in common with their wide awake sibling? Absolutely nothing.
The awake one refuses to stay in her comfortable room. I tell her, "It's nap time little kitten. Back in your room you go. Now curl up with the rest of the kids. Night, night." I put her on the pile of napping fur-balls, and no sooner high-step over the toy box that blocks the doorway than she is also over the box and bounding for the living room.
Licorice is not happy about the situation at all. I've found her lying in the middle of the living room floor and peering under the couch at her wayward child. I've found her on a dining room chair and looking under the table at the adventurer who is trying to climb a table leg. All the while she is not only talking to, but also scolding the kitten. When Licorice isn't keeping a sharp eye on her explorer, she is checking on the sleeping ones. Then, if she hears the refrigerator door open, she is immediately at my feet begging for a handout. Oh, the trials and busy-ness of a mother cat.
As I watch Licorice fret and stew over four little ones, I wonder what God must go through with all his brood of wayward ones. I'm glad he is God.
*******
I just left to check on the cats because the house was suddenly quiet. I'm a happy mama now. Prodigal kitten made her way back to the pile and is sleeping with the other three. Licorice is stretched out on the toy box trying to get some shut-eye while the kids are sleeping. No one is sneaking out of the room on her watch.
All is well around here
Jan
They are all keeping me warm on this chilly, as in cold, day.
What does a pile of sleeping six-week old kittens have in common with their wide awake sibling? Absolutely nothing.
The awake one refuses to stay in her comfortable room. I tell her, "It's nap time little kitten. Back in your room you go. Now curl up with the rest of the kids. Night, night." I put her on the pile of napping fur-balls, and no sooner high-step over the toy box that blocks the doorway than she is also over the box and bounding for the living room.
Licorice is not happy about the situation at all. I've found her lying in the middle of the living room floor and peering under the couch at her wayward child. I've found her on a dining room chair and looking under the table at the adventurer who is trying to climb a table leg. All the while she is not only talking to, but also scolding the kitten. When Licorice isn't keeping a sharp eye on her explorer, she is checking on the sleeping ones. Then, if she hears the refrigerator door open, she is immediately at my feet begging for a handout. Oh, the trials and busy-ness of a mother cat.
As I watch Licorice fret and stew over four little ones, I wonder what God must go through with all his brood of wayward ones. I'm glad he is God.
*******
I just left to check on the cats because the house was suddenly quiet. I'm a happy mama now. Prodigal kitten made her way back to the pile and is sleeping with the other three. Licorice is stretched out on the toy box trying to get some shut-eye while the kids are sleeping. No one is sneaking out of the room on her watch.
All is well around here
Jan
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Forgiveness and Repentance
As I was flipping through some of the notepads taking up space in my desk cubicles, I came across a couple pages of notes I made over five years ago. At that time, my husband was living in a motel in town while the police were investigating the charges against him. I was deep in turmoil as I dealt with forgiving him. At the suggestion of our financial adviser who was helping me in my financial upheaval, I called his own pastor in a nearby city.
During our conversation the pastor said, "Forgiveness is refusing to let the sin of another person interfere with my desire to love that person to the extent it is safe." He also asked, "Are we willing, to the extent we are able, to be in the other person's presence?" To that he added, "But we can't walk into danger."
Those notes are a good reminder of where I was then, and where I am now. I remember meeting my husband in the parking lot of the grocery store to give him some needed papers. I was extremely nervous walking toward him, wishing to be anywhere other than there. He wanted to give me a hug. I said, "I don't think so." He invited me to have lunch with him. I said, "I'm not comfortable being with you. I don't know what you will do to me." I could tell by the expression that briefly passed across his eyes that my remark was like a slap to his face.
He had never given me any indication he was even capable of doing bodily harm to anyone, but I feared him anyway. If he could molest our granddaughters, he could hurt me. The enemy was definitely working his devious plan in my fragile mind--planting doubts and fears.
Most of that has changed. I no longer fear for myself. If my husband were out of prison, I could easily have an evening out with him because I wouldn't feel I was walking into danger. I can see more of the man I married, and less of the sin he committed. Any concerns I might have in that situation would be very self-centered. (What would people think)
I still have other concerns, though. Because he hasn't gotten any treatment yet, can he resist the lure of children? Thankfully, he has been accepted into the prison's Sex Offender program, and has several more years to serve.
The pastor I talked to said, "Godly sorrow focuses on the damage we caused others. It is that Godly sorrow that brings about repentance. Repentance is not something we do, but something that happens to us." 2 Corinthians 7:8-11
I took several years for my husband to realize the damage his actions caused the family. He was so engulfed by his own fears of prison, of possible threats, and even of death that he couldn't begin to conceive that his family was also living in their own form of prison--an emotional one. He understands that now, and is truly sorry for the pain he caused us. Repentance has and is happening. I am so thankful the Lord has brought my husband as far as he has.
But what about me? That is the question I always have to ask myself. Where am I in the forgiveness/repentance arena? I have forgiven my husband, but occasionally feelings and emotions arise that are contrary to the Lord's words and promises. They have to be taken captive.
I'm thankful Holy Spirit keeps working in me, but sometimes it hurts a lot.
Forgiveness
Those notes are a good reminder of where I was then, and where I am now. I remember meeting my husband in the parking lot of the grocery store to give him some needed papers. I was extremely nervous walking toward him, wishing to be anywhere other than there. He wanted to give me a hug. I said, "I don't think so." He invited me to have lunch with him. I said, "I'm not comfortable being with you. I don't know what you will do to me." I could tell by the expression that briefly passed across his eyes that my remark was like a slap to his face.
He had never given me any indication he was even capable of doing bodily harm to anyone, but I feared him anyway. If he could molest our granddaughters, he could hurt me. The enemy was definitely working his devious plan in my fragile mind--planting doubts and fears.
Most of that has changed. I no longer fear for myself. If my husband were out of prison, I could easily have an evening out with him because I wouldn't feel I was walking into danger. I can see more of the man I married, and less of the sin he committed. Any concerns I might have in that situation would be very self-centered. (What would people think)
I still have other concerns, though. Because he hasn't gotten any treatment yet, can he resist the lure of children? Thankfully, he has been accepted into the prison's Sex Offender program, and has several more years to serve.
Repentance
I took several years for my husband to realize the damage his actions caused the family. He was so engulfed by his own fears of prison, of possible threats, and even of death that he couldn't begin to conceive that his family was also living in their own form of prison--an emotional one. He understands that now, and is truly sorry for the pain he caused us. Repentance has and is happening. I am so thankful the Lord has brought my husband as far as he has.
But what about me? That is the question I always have to ask myself. Where am I in the forgiveness/repentance arena? I have forgiven my husband, but occasionally feelings and emotions arise that are contrary to the Lord's words and promises. They have to be taken captive.
We are destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ, 2 Corinthians 10:5Repentance is what is beginning to come to the surface of my thoughts. For a person who felt terribly wronged, I have to open my eyes to those I may have wronged. What words have I spoken, and what actions have I taken, or not taken, that have caused damage to others--especially my husband? For these things, and I'm sure there are many, I have to search and ask the Lord's forgiveness as well as the forgiveness of other people.
I'm thankful Holy Spirit keeps working in me, but sometimes it hurts a lot.
Rejoicing in today's brilliant sun and the Eternal Son,
Jan and the napping cats.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Best Laid Sleep Plans Don't Always Work
I certainly have no idea who I was trying to fool when I turned off the bedside lamp at 9:30 last night. It must have been myself since I was the only humanoid in the household. Get yourself to bed early, I told myself, enough to this 11:00 p.m. nonsense you've been pulling.
When I plan on going to bed at 11, I end up extending it to midnight or later. The good thing is I fall asleep quite rapidly. By 6:00 - 6:30 a.m. my eyes pop open, squint at the clock across the room, and shut again as I think, I should go back to sleep for another hour or two. Doesn't happen. I lie there, eyes closed, body relaxed, but mind awake. It reminds me that most literature says I need at least eight hours of sleep each and every night; I am getting only six to seven. Okay, Jan, if you can't sleep in, try getting your bod to bed earlier.
I know I've tried this masterful plan before and it didn't work. But, as the all-powerful "they" say, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." So I did.
I climbed into bed at 8 o'clock, read until 9:30, then turned off the light and shut my eyes. Goodnight Monday, hello sleepy-time. Off to dreamland I want where the strange house I lived in was being remodeled. The kitchen was being moved into half of the living room area, carpet squares were being torn out in preparation for hardwood floors. My mom was there in some capacity, but I don't know what. In the midst of figuring out what in the world was planned for the old kitchen space, I woke up.
Obviously, it was still dark. I felt rested, and wondered if the clock would read the usual 6:00 or so. Did I succeed in getting eight hours of sleep? Raising myself up on one elbow I did my squint routine, then collapsed back onto my pillow. TWO-THIRTY A.M., YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING. Five measly hours of sleep. As my teenage grand-kids would say of my increased-sleep endeavor, "Fail!"
I pulled the covers up to my nose, wriggled around to get comfortable, took half a dozen deep breaths, and tried to go back to sleep. Nope, wasn't happening. After forcing myself to stay relaxed and rested for a long, long two hours, I finally got up, fixed some toast and peanut butter, fed the cats, and muttered about being up so early.
It is now 4:00 p.m.; I've been up twelve hours, and am very sleepy. I am now faced with an unusual dilemma: do I take a nap? That is a new one for me. Part of me says no, don't do it. The other part says sure, why not. Decisions, decisions.
While I am deciding, I just want to share that the ladies I pray with on Tuesday mornings had a great time praying for our community and churches today. We should be seeing great things happening down the road as a result.
I'm off to read awhile, maybe doze off, maybe not. I'll see what happens.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens,
(The little imps are learning to climb over the toy box that blocks their room from the entry way. Oh dear.)
When I plan on going to bed at 11, I end up extending it to midnight or later. The good thing is I fall asleep quite rapidly. By 6:00 - 6:30 a.m. my eyes pop open, squint at the clock across the room, and shut again as I think, I should go back to sleep for another hour or two. Doesn't happen. I lie there, eyes closed, body relaxed, but mind awake. It reminds me that most literature says I need at least eight hours of sleep each and every night; I am getting only six to seven. Okay, Jan, if you can't sleep in, try getting your bod to bed earlier.
I know I've tried this masterful plan before and it didn't work. But, as the all-powerful "they" say, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." So I did.
I climbed into bed at 8 o'clock, read until 9:30, then turned off the light and shut my eyes. Goodnight Monday, hello sleepy-time. Off to dreamland I want where the strange house I lived in was being remodeled. The kitchen was being moved into half of the living room area, carpet squares were being torn out in preparation for hardwood floors. My mom was there in some capacity, but I don't know what. In the midst of figuring out what in the world was planned for the old kitchen space, I woke up.
Obviously, it was still dark. I felt rested, and wondered if the clock would read the usual 6:00 or so. Did I succeed in getting eight hours of sleep? Raising myself up on one elbow I did my squint routine, then collapsed back onto my pillow. TWO-THIRTY A.M., YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING. Five measly hours of sleep. As my teenage grand-kids would say of my increased-sleep endeavor, "Fail!"
I pulled the covers up to my nose, wriggled around to get comfortable, took half a dozen deep breaths, and tried to go back to sleep. Nope, wasn't happening. After forcing myself to stay relaxed and rested for a long, long two hours, I finally got up, fixed some toast and peanut butter, fed the cats, and muttered about being up so early.
It is now 4:00 p.m.; I've been up twelve hours, and am very sleepy. I am now faced with an unusual dilemma: do I take a nap? That is a new one for me. Part of me says no, don't do it. The other part says sure, why not. Decisions, decisions.
While I am deciding, I just want to share that the ladies I pray with on Tuesday mornings had a great time praying for our community and churches today. We should be seeing great things happening down the road as a result.
I'm off to read awhile, maybe doze off, maybe not. I'll see what happens.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens,
(The little imps are learning to climb over the toy box that blocks their room from the entry way. Oh dear.)
Monday, November 18, 2013
Files in My Mind
What's in all my filing cabinets and boxes? I don't know. I have one full-sized, four drawer cabinet plus two small cabinets. That number doesn't include at least one cardboard box, one plastic file box, and four plastic totes. Included in the cabinets are: ten years worth of tax returns and tax related paper work, material I have written, maps and camping lists, warranties and service manuals, etc. The plastic totes contain letters and cards, photographs, newspaper clippings, and family history records.
I also have records from my husband's father and aunt who have been dead for a couple decades.
As I have been working up enough courage to tackle all those papers, I remembered the picture I painted when I first started therapy; a self portrait is what Dr. B. requested. She wanted me to put down on paper an image of how I saw myself. That was a real challenge and one of my first steps toward healing.
I sat down at my kitchen counter-table-thingy, pencil in hand, and stared at a sheet of paper. I knew I could draw a rough representation of myself in my usual blue jeans and turtleneck shirt. I could draw glasses on my face and scribble graying hair on my head. I could even remove my extra twenty pounds if I wanted to to. Once sketched out, I colored myself in--differing shades of blue for my pants, pink shirt, gray hair. But I didn't do an instant, weight loss picture. I wanted to be as honest about my self image as I could. My exterior was the easy part. My inside part was harder to discover?
As I mulled over the few emotions I had at the time, I could picture my brain as a storage vault filled with filing cabinets. Instead of "everything in its proper place", drawers were open and their contents strewn everywhere. Papers were on the floor, on tops of cabinets, and hanging over the edges of drawers. Some papers were torn, others walked on, and some even bloodied. Nothing was where I had tucked it away. Nothing could be easily located. All was in complete chaos.
Now that the mental mess has some semblance of order, I know things are filed differently than they were before. Memories and events that had been filed in their separate folders have now had copies made and mixed in with other files because I am slowly learning that life is not composed of singular events. It is an accumulation of experiences, each one building upon the other.
I used to have a God file. It was filled with information that I had learned, prayers that had been answered, songs that I loved, and special moments that I felt his presence. But God can't be filed away as a once-upon-a-time memory. I now see him more as the Master of my Memory Vault who knows exactly what I need to know or remember, then brings it to my attention by handing it to me face to face. He doesn't bring just memories of one incident, he often includes a present day situation and says, "Do you see my hand in these two events? Do you see the wonders I have worked?"
He hands me memories of my childhood as well as my college days. He shows me times of camping and playing with my family. He shows me his presence in the delivery room as well as at my dying mother's bedside. I see him dancing in my joys and grieving in my sorrows. Although I might not have acknowledged him when these events were happening, I realize more and more that he was hard at work in every situation. My spiritual eyes still cannot see him clearly, and maybe never will, but he is there.
He is no longer filed away under "G".
Anticipating a GOD day,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens,
(I have to start finding homes for the little ones. They are six weeks old now. From what I read, eight weeks is an ideal time for adoption. Lord, help me.)
I also have records from my husband's father and aunt who have been dead for a couple decades.
As I have been working up enough courage to tackle all those papers, I remembered the picture I painted when I first started therapy; a self portrait is what Dr. B. requested. She wanted me to put down on paper an image of how I saw myself. That was a real challenge and one of my first steps toward healing.
I sat down at my kitchen counter-table-thingy, pencil in hand, and stared at a sheet of paper. I knew I could draw a rough representation of myself in my usual blue jeans and turtleneck shirt. I could draw glasses on my face and scribble graying hair on my head. I could even remove my extra twenty pounds if I wanted to to. Once sketched out, I colored myself in--differing shades of blue for my pants, pink shirt, gray hair. But I didn't do an instant, weight loss picture. I wanted to be as honest about my self image as I could. My exterior was the easy part. My inside part was harder to discover?
As I mulled over the few emotions I had at the time, I could picture my brain as a storage vault filled with filing cabinets. Instead of "everything in its proper place", drawers were open and their contents strewn everywhere. Papers were on the floor, on tops of cabinets, and hanging over the edges of drawers. Some papers were torn, others walked on, and some even bloodied. Nothing was where I had tucked it away. Nothing could be easily located. All was in complete chaos.
Now that the mental mess has some semblance of order, I know things are filed differently than they were before. Memories and events that had been filed in their separate folders have now had copies made and mixed in with other files because I am slowly learning that life is not composed of singular events. It is an accumulation of experiences, each one building upon the other.
I used to have a God file. It was filled with information that I had learned, prayers that had been answered, songs that I loved, and special moments that I felt his presence. But God can't be filed away as a once-upon-a-time memory. I now see him more as the Master of my Memory Vault who knows exactly what I need to know or remember, then brings it to my attention by handing it to me face to face. He doesn't bring just memories of one incident, he often includes a present day situation and says, "Do you see my hand in these two events? Do you see the wonders I have worked?"
He hands me memories of my childhood as well as my college days. He shows me times of camping and playing with my family. He shows me his presence in the delivery room as well as at my dying mother's bedside. I see him dancing in my joys and grieving in my sorrows. Although I might not have acknowledged him when these events were happening, I realize more and more that he was hard at work in every situation. My spiritual eyes still cannot see him clearly, and maybe never will, but he is there.
He is no longer filed away under "G".
Anticipating a GOD day,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens,
(I have to start finding homes for the little ones. They are six weeks old now. From what I read, eight weeks is an ideal time for adoption. Lord, help me.)
Saturday, November 16, 2013
One of Blue Pig's Tales
The tile floor beneath my feet is cold. To correct the problem, I put an old bath mat under the desk to provide a bit of insulation. Somehow or other, the mat is now all scrunched up, moved around, and doing nothing but irritating me. I have taken my fuzzy socks off because they are bothering my toes. And then there is my hair. I washed it, but didn't apply any mousse. Now it just wants to fall in my face. Grrrrr. The pink, Maui baseball cap I put on does help a little. So, now that my hair is somewhat controlled, my feet are free of their captors, and the mat under my feet is my only discomfort, what else can I complain about?
It has been one of those days. You know the kind I mean, but maybe you don't. It's been the kind where all I've accomplished is making my bed, taking a shower, preparing and eating three meals, feeding the cats, paying some bills, and writing 350 words for my book. That is it, all, everything, yet nothing, absolutely nothing.
All of today's dishes are still in the sink and patiently waiting for me to give them my hot, soapy water bath and rubdown followed by a quick dip in the rinsing pool--my special spa treatment--at least I think they're patient.
Three months worth of paid bills, lab reports, bank statements, insurance information, etc., are neatly piled on the living room couch and surrounding carpet--all patiently waiting for their trip to the accordion file. That will be a nice change of scenery for them. They must have gotten tired of decorating the top of my dresser for all those months. Although, the blue piggy bank standing proudly beside their disorderly pile was probably good company. He has good stories to tell, like the time...
Yes, I do think my little blue pig told the pile of papers lots of wonderful stories. I hope they don't miss Piggy too much; however, at this very moment, the couch is probably telling them about the little mouse that popped from between their cushions while I was reading a story to a granddaughter. I was quite startled, but just kept on reading--didn't want to scare a sleepy, comfy little girl. Yes, that is probably what's happening in the living room as I type.
I'm ready for a cup of hot tea and a trip to bed, but the dishes are getting restless. Before they revolt, I had better give them their spa treatment.
Anticipating a good night's sleep, then church in the morning,
Blessings to all,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens
(I gave the kittens four-foot-long, heavy-duty mailing tube to play with. When one heads into the tube, another waits at the other end, then pounces on her litter mate as she exits. So cute.)
It has been one of those days. You know the kind I mean, but maybe you don't. It's been the kind where all I've accomplished is making my bed, taking a shower, preparing and eating three meals, feeding the cats, paying some bills, and writing 350 words for my book. That is it, all, everything, yet nothing, absolutely nothing.
All of today's dishes are still in the sink and patiently waiting for me to give them my hot, soapy water bath and rubdown followed by a quick dip in the rinsing pool--my special spa treatment--at least I think they're patient.
Three months worth of paid bills, lab reports, bank statements, insurance information, etc., are neatly piled on the living room couch and surrounding carpet--all patiently waiting for their trip to the accordion file. That will be a nice change of scenery for them. They must have gotten tired of decorating the top of my dresser for all those months. Although, the blue piggy bank standing proudly beside their disorderly pile was probably good company. He has good stories to tell, like the time...
..."I was just a young little porker and bursting with pride. I was proud to be blue. There are very few of us around, you know, especially as big as I am. In fact, all my siblings are blue too--specially painted by a caring grandmother for all her kids and grand-kids. Our owner, Jan, is one of the kids. That's how I got here.
"Anyway, my tummy was full of pennies, nickles, and dimes, and maybe even a quarter or two. Since I'm not very good at counting, I lose track faster than my grandpa running for the slop bucket, I don't really know how much money I was guarding. But I was proud of what I had.
"This day I'm telling you about scared me to death. If I had a real heart, it would have stopped beating because all of a sudden I was snatched off this very dresser, turned upside down over the bed and shaken up and down, back and forth, and every sideways there was. Some little person was shaking me and laughing as all my coins started falling out. Nickles, dimes, and jillions of pennies (at least that is how many I counted) tumbled out of my little coin slot.
"I squealed, 'Stop shaking me. There's a plug in my tummy for the coins to exit. Don't shake me. I'm getting dizzy.' The little tyke just kept shaking. I don't remember much after that. In fact, all I remember after the shaking stopped was a little voice saying, 'Thanks for the money, Nana. I hope my class wins the penny drive.' That made me very happy and very proud."
Yes, I do think my little blue pig told the pile of papers lots of wonderful stories. I hope they don't miss Piggy too much; however, at this very moment, the couch is probably telling them about the little mouse that popped from between their cushions while I was reading a story to a granddaughter. I was quite startled, but just kept on reading--didn't want to scare a sleepy, comfy little girl. Yes, that is probably what's happening in the living room as I type.
I'm ready for a cup of hot tea and a trip to bed, but the dishes are getting restless. Before they revolt, I had better give them their spa treatment.
Anticipating a good night's sleep, then church in the morning,
Blessings to all,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and Kittens
(I gave the kittens four-foot-long, heavy-duty mailing tube to play with. When one heads into the tube, another waits at the other end, then pounces on her litter mate as she exits. So cute.)
Friday, November 15, 2013
God is Good
Give thanks to the Lord Almighty, for the Lord is good; his mercies endure forever.
Jeremiah 33:11
That is all I have to say this evening. Well, this too. After a couple days of turmoil, sadness, and uncertainty, prayers have been answered. God is sooooo good.
Resting in Him,
Jan and five sleeping cats
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Love, With A Hook
Last night, while listening to an audio presentation about God's love, this comment made me grab a pen and start writing, "We want what He gives, but don't want to give what he gave us." Wow!
All of a sudden my mind was working at warp speed, and that is fast.
He loves me unconditionally. I want that kind of love, but do I love others that way? Can I look into the eyes of a woman sitting on the sidewalk and greet her with a smile? Not usually. I either look the other way or cross the street. Can I sit beside a smelly woman on the bus and talk with her? I'd rather not answer that question. Can I drive by a panhandler without judging or questioning his lifestyle? Sometimes, but not often.
I'm not talking about giving them money. I'm talking about seeing them as Christ sees them. Do we see them as people who need unconditional love and acceptance? Do we even see them at all, really see them?
I thinks Christ weeps over them just as he did over Jerusalem. He weeps for their loneliness and pain, their hopelessness and lost-ness. (that's not a word, but I'm using it anyway) Some are lost sheep without a shepherd. Still others know the shepherd's voice but have either wandered away or are waiting for his help to arrive.
That's why I think Jesus cries even more for us, we aren't arriving. We have chosen not to see those who suffer; therefore, we are not loving, we are not helping, we not not ministering.
"If he/she got cleaned up a little and showed up in church, then I might see what I could do."
"I'd be willing to buy him a sandwich, but I'm not getting close to him now. When he doesn't reek like whiskey anymore, I'll consider helping him"
"As I always say, God helps those who help themselves."
Sadly, we do the same with family members. It might not be as overt as the following conversation I overheard at the mall one day, but the "I love you" hook can be there.
"You always buy Suzy things and not me. Why do you love her more?"
"I don't. I love you both the same. You know that."
"Then why don't I get earrings too?"
"Because today I decided to buy your sister some, not you. (long pause while mother thinks) Okay, to prove that I love you I will buy whatever earrings you want when you take off five pounds. Deal?"
I could understand the earring situation if it were a reward for grades or a promise kept. But in this scenario the older, slender sister gets earrings because mom decides so. Little sister gets earrings if she loses weight. That is how she will know her mom loves her. This was not unconditional love. This was love with Mom's hook in it. I wanted to cry.
To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what God's unconditional love is like. There is no way I can wrap my finite mind around that concept. That is part of my problem: I tend to see unconditional love as a concept. It isn't a concept. It is reality. I understand it intellectually and conceptually--God loves me no matter what I do or don't do. He loves me because he loves me. I have even experienced that love microscopically through answered prayers, prophetic words, and soul rattling corporate prayer. But to be overwhelmed by the power of his love, to be swept off my feet is my desire.
How can I even begin loving the unloved, disenfranchised people in my community unconditionally, if I have not let myself experience that kind of love. How can I pray for spiritual revival and the ouster of the enemy camp in my community if I don't see its people, feel them, smell them, or cry for them as my Lord does?
I must press closer to the Lord. I must listen to his heart, and learn to love as he loves. My pride must go. Maybe then I can give to others what he has given me, unconditional love. But for now, God knows my heart and its desires for my community, church and family. Although my love still tends to be conditional, I will continue to pray to the best of my ability knowing God will answer as he wills.
And what about forgiveness? He has given that to me too. Can I also give it away? That is another topic for another day.
I'm off to bed with my mind full of more questions than answers.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family
(I am very happy with the little ones today. I had to clean their litter box.)
All of a sudden my mind was working at warp speed, and that is fast.
He loves me unconditionally. I want that kind of love, but do I love others that way? Can I look into the eyes of a woman sitting on the sidewalk and greet her with a smile? Not usually. I either look the other way or cross the street. Can I sit beside a smelly woman on the bus and talk with her? I'd rather not answer that question. Can I drive by a panhandler without judging or questioning his lifestyle? Sometimes, but not often.
I'm not talking about giving them money. I'm talking about seeing them as Christ sees them. Do we see them as people who need unconditional love and acceptance? Do we even see them at all, really see them?
I thinks Christ weeps over them just as he did over Jerusalem. He weeps for their loneliness and pain, their hopelessness and lost-ness. (that's not a word, but I'm using it anyway) Some are lost sheep without a shepherd. Still others know the shepherd's voice but have either wandered away or are waiting for his help to arrive.
That's why I think Jesus cries even more for us, we aren't arriving. We have chosen not to see those who suffer; therefore, we are not loving, we are not helping, we not not ministering.
For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’
They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
For some reason, we tend to add an egocentric, barbed hook to the end of "I'll do it for the least of these" We add a but, an if only,or a when you. We do it without thinking. We do it to the guy on the corner and the gal in the doorway.He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’ Matthew 25:31-46
"If he/she got cleaned up a little and showed up in church, then I might see what I could do."
"I'd be willing to buy him a sandwich, but I'm not getting close to him now. When he doesn't reek like whiskey anymore, I'll consider helping him"
"As I always say, God helps those who help themselves."
Sadly, we do the same with family members. It might not be as overt as the following conversation I overheard at the mall one day, but the "I love you" hook can be there.
"You always buy Suzy things and not me. Why do you love her more?"
"I don't. I love you both the same. You know that."
"Then why don't I get earrings too?"
"Because today I decided to buy your sister some, not you. (long pause while mother thinks) Okay, to prove that I love you I will buy whatever earrings you want when you take off five pounds. Deal?"
I could understand the earring situation if it were a reward for grades or a promise kept. But in this scenario the older, slender sister gets earrings because mom decides so. Little sister gets earrings if she loses weight. That is how she will know her mom loves her. This was not unconditional love. This was love with Mom's hook in it. I wanted to cry.
To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what God's unconditional love is like. There is no way I can wrap my finite mind around that concept. That is part of my problem: I tend to see unconditional love as a concept. It isn't a concept. It is reality. I understand it intellectually and conceptually--God loves me no matter what I do or don't do. He loves me because he loves me. I have even experienced that love microscopically through answered prayers, prophetic words, and soul rattling corporate prayer. But to be overwhelmed by the power of his love, to be swept off my feet is my desire.
How can I even begin loving the unloved, disenfranchised people in my community unconditionally, if I have not let myself experience that kind of love. How can I pray for spiritual revival and the ouster of the enemy camp in my community if I don't see its people, feel them, smell them, or cry for them as my Lord does?
I must press closer to the Lord. I must listen to his heart, and learn to love as he loves. My pride must go. Maybe then I can give to others what he has given me, unconditional love. But for now, God knows my heart and its desires for my community, church and family. Although my love still tends to be conditional, I will continue to pray to the best of my ability knowing God will answer as he wills.
And what about forgiveness? He has given that to me too. Can I also give it away? That is another topic for another day.
I'm off to bed with my mind full of more questions than answers.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family
(I am very happy with the little ones today. I had to clean their litter box.)
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Freewill Parable
I love finding surprises. As I cleaned out desk drawers full of miscellaneous items last week, I stumbled across a yellow file-box filled with index cards, most of them blank, but not all. Some of them contained notes I had written several years ago. One was a granddaughter story I had forgotten about.
It seemed that my five-year-old granddaughter and her mother had differing opinions about that night's bedtime routine. Mom was tired, had a migraine headache, and wanted to retire early. Child was full of energy, wanted another ice cream snack, and wanted to watch a video. "I'm not sleepy," was her reasoning.
Not up to dealing with a confrontation, Mom looked at her blonde, tousled-haired daughter in footy pajamas and sighed, "Okay, if you think you can be your own boss, I'll let you. You know where the ice cream is. Eat is all. There is some candy hidden behind the cereal bowls. Eat that if you want. Put on a video. Stay up as long as you want, but be ready for kindergarten in the morning. I am going to bed. Oh, don't forget to check the doors and turn off the lights before you come upstairs. Good night. Have fun."
With that, Mom headed upstairs to her room. A heartbreaking wail followed her. "No, Mommy, don't go upstairs. I don't want to be the boss. I don't want anymore ice cream. I don't want to turn off all the lights. I want to be with you." P.J. girl then scampered up the stairs and hugged her mother.
As Mom tucked the headstrong daughter into bed, the child said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I love you."
"Love you, too, Boo-Boo. Sleep tight."
The day my daughter recounted that story, I thought what a wonderful illustration of free will that was. We know what God expects of us. He's the boss, after all. But so often we want to do whatever we want to do, and do it right now. It might not be the right thing, or even the wise thing to do, but we think we know what's best. We can be my own bosses. "I've got this, Lord."
God says, "Go, do what you think best. When you learn what you have to learn and are ready to join me, you're more than welcome back. I'll be watching for you."
I pray that during those times in my life that I want to do my own thing, I can honestly, and in a timely manner, cry out, "I really don't want to be the boss; I just thought I did. I want to be with you. I'm sorry, Lord, and I love you."
Thankfully, we have the story of the prodigal son to remind us of our Father's love in situations like this. Luke 15:11-32
Not wanting to be a headstrong, stiff-necked daughter of the King,
Jan, (Licorice Kitty and family),
(The kittens now climb onto the bed for their naps. Coming back down is a humorous sight. At least one comes down head first, leaping the last couple feet. Another has learned to turn around and back down the overhanging blanket.)
It seemed that my five-year-old granddaughter and her mother had differing opinions about that night's bedtime routine. Mom was tired, had a migraine headache, and wanted to retire early. Child was full of energy, wanted another ice cream snack, and wanted to watch a video. "I'm not sleepy," was her reasoning.
Not up to dealing with a confrontation, Mom looked at her blonde, tousled-haired daughter in footy pajamas and sighed, "Okay, if you think you can be your own boss, I'll let you. You know where the ice cream is. Eat is all. There is some candy hidden behind the cereal bowls. Eat that if you want. Put on a video. Stay up as long as you want, but be ready for kindergarten in the morning. I am going to bed. Oh, don't forget to check the doors and turn off the lights before you come upstairs. Good night. Have fun."
With that, Mom headed upstairs to her room. A heartbreaking wail followed her. "No, Mommy, don't go upstairs. I don't want to be the boss. I don't want anymore ice cream. I don't want to turn off all the lights. I want to be with you." P.J. girl then scampered up the stairs and hugged her mother.
As Mom tucked the headstrong daughter into bed, the child said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I love you."
"Love you, too, Boo-Boo. Sleep tight."
The day my daughter recounted that story, I thought what a wonderful illustration of free will that was. We know what God expects of us. He's the boss, after all. But so often we want to do whatever we want to do, and do it right now. It might not be the right thing, or even the wise thing to do, but we think we know what's best. We can be my own bosses. "I've got this, Lord."
God says, "Go, do what you think best. When you learn what you have to learn and are ready to join me, you're more than welcome back. I'll be watching for you."
I pray that during those times in my life that I want to do my own thing, I can honestly, and in a timely manner, cry out, "I really don't want to be the boss; I just thought I did. I want to be with you. I'm sorry, Lord, and I love you."
Thankfully, we have the story of the prodigal son to remind us of our Father's love in situations like this. Luke 15:11-32
Not wanting to be a headstrong, stiff-necked daughter of the King,
Jan, (Licorice Kitty and family),
(The kittens now climb onto the bed for their naps. Coming back down is a humorous sight. At least one comes down head first, leaping the last couple feet. Another has learned to turn around and back down the overhanging blanket.)
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Everyone Counts
Ever since yesterday afternoon the same idea keeps going through my mind: everyone counts, everyone counts, EVERYONE COUNTS. Here's what triggered that thought. One of my granddaughters called from Eastern Washington to report the girls's results of the State Cross Country Meet. Their team took second place. That alone was fantastic, since they were seeded 4th. The amazing part is how they did it. That is where everyone counts enters the picture.
In cross country, runners are scored by the place in which they finished. The first runner across the finish line receives one point, second runner gets two points, etc.. Each team's final score is the sum of their first five finishers' points.
Our team's fans cheered our runners while still trying to keep track of what place each girl was in. Our first runner across the finish line usually ran second. Our second runner usually ran third. The third one across the finish line for our team usually ran first. Then came the fourth runner. It wasn't our usual runner. The girl coming across usually ran fifth or sixth. The fifth runner wasn't who the fans expected either. This was our other fifth or sixth place runner. Where was our girl, one of the strengths of our team. She came in as number six, and in tears. She had tried so hard, but knew she had failed. Many of the fans felt the same way as they waited for the race results.
Our number six runner had had an extremely rough day. She was fighting a cold, and before the race started, her asthma started acting up. During the race she knew she was slipping from her usual fourth place down to fifth, then to sixth, as two teammates passed her. She started to give up because she felt that if she wasn't able to finish as one of her team's top five, she no longer mattered. She had let the team down. But this young lady's competitive spirit finally took over. She decided to push through by giving it all she had. It wasn't much, but it was something. Her something allowed her to pass a couple runners on the team they ultimately beat.
What she didn't know was that during her struggles, her teammates' strengths were making up for her weakness. One girl increased her own personal record in the three mile race by thirty seconds. Another increased by twenty. The rest of her teammates remained fairly consistent.
Everyone anxiously waited for the results. It took forever before the final scores were posted. Our girls took second place with ninety-five points. The third place team also had ninety-five points. The determining factor was our struggling runner, number six, and her "do the best I can" thinking. Her passing the other teams' number six runner made the final difference. But it wasn't just her. The girls with p.r.s helped achieve the ninety-five points. Everyone had counted. Everyone had made a difference.
The team coach took advantage of the victory to encourage all his runners; whether number one or number eight, they are each important to the team.
As I kept thinking about this yesterday, I thought of the church--the body of Christ.There are always those in the top-five lime-light, so to speak. They are looked up to and admired for their leadership. They often receive recognition, thanks, and the praise. Too often, those of us in the middle of the pack, or bringing up the rear, tend to feel we have nothing to contribute, therefore we are not important. Why try?
We are so wrong.
We, you and I, are the body of Christ. Yes, the leaders are important. They set the pace and set the path that has been determined, but everyone of us is needed.
Years ago I learned a song that went something like this,
That's why we try. We are the people. We are the church. We do count! each and everyone of us. Not everyone can organize an event. Not everyone can lead worship, play the keyboard, guitar, or drums. Not everyone can preach or teach.
Why organize small groups, Bible studies, family picnics, or clothing banks if no one comes or invites others?
Why lead worship if no one worships?
Why preach or teach if no one listens?
That is where we come in: to attend, to worship, to listen, and to invite.
Our attentiveness to a sermon, or our "Amen" might be just the encouragement that energizes the pastor. Our smiles and friendly "hello" at worship or a gathering might be the touch a person needs in their sorrow, loneliness, or depression. A smile to a stranger at the grocery story can work wonders. The Lord can use a note we write, a phone call we make, an invitation we extend, or a word we speak to answer someone's prayer or draw them closer to him.
A personal touch expresses Christ's love in a way that a flow chart can't. We do count.
And those days we fall short? The Lord has someone who can step in, someone who is having an exceptionally good day. On our bad days, we keep pressing on, giving what we have, and overcoming what opposition we can. On our good days we do more that we ever thought we could. Because God puts my ups together with your downs, and vice versa, we have a winning team. Everyone counts.
I want to run a great race, but am thankful for team support when I have an off season. Thankfully we don't have to wait for the final results. We know the Lord's team ultimately wins the race.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family,
(The kittens spent ten minutes this evening climbing up and down my pant legs. Man alive, their little claws are sharp!)
In cross country, runners are scored by the place in which they finished. The first runner across the finish line receives one point, second runner gets two points, etc.. Each team's final score is the sum of their first five finishers' points.
Our team's fans cheered our runners while still trying to keep track of what place each girl was in. Our first runner across the finish line usually ran second. Our second runner usually ran third. The third one across the finish line for our team usually ran first. Then came the fourth runner. It wasn't our usual runner. The girl coming across usually ran fifth or sixth. The fifth runner wasn't who the fans expected either. This was our other fifth or sixth place runner. Where was our girl, one of the strengths of our team. She came in as number six, and in tears. She had tried so hard, but knew she had failed. Many of the fans felt the same way as they waited for the race results.
Our number six runner had had an extremely rough day. She was fighting a cold, and before the race started, her asthma started acting up. During the race she knew she was slipping from her usual fourth place down to fifth, then to sixth, as two teammates passed her. She started to give up because she felt that if she wasn't able to finish as one of her team's top five, she no longer mattered. She had let the team down. But this young lady's competitive spirit finally took over. She decided to push through by giving it all she had. It wasn't much, but it was something. Her something allowed her to pass a couple runners on the team they ultimately beat.
What she didn't know was that during her struggles, her teammates' strengths were making up for her weakness. One girl increased her own personal record in the three mile race by thirty seconds. Another increased by twenty. The rest of her teammates remained fairly consistent.
Everyone anxiously waited for the results. It took forever before the final scores were posted. Our girls took second place with ninety-five points. The third place team also had ninety-five points. The determining factor was our struggling runner, number six, and her "do the best I can" thinking. Her passing the other teams' number six runner made the final difference. But it wasn't just her. The girls with p.r.s helped achieve the ninety-five points. Everyone had counted. Everyone had made a difference.
The team coach took advantage of the victory to encourage all his runners; whether number one or number eight, they are each important to the team.
As I kept thinking about this yesterday, I thought of the church--the body of Christ.There are always those in the top-five lime-light, so to speak. They are looked up to and admired for their leadership. They often receive recognition, thanks, and the praise. Too often, those of us in the middle of the pack, or bringing up the rear, tend to feel we have nothing to contribute, therefore we are not important. Why try?
We are so wrong.
We, you and I, are the body of Christ. Yes, the leaders are important. They set the pace and set the path that has been determined, but everyone of us is needed.
Years ago I learned a song that went something like this,
The church is not a building.
The church is not a steeple.
The church is not a resting place.
The church is the people.
That's why we try. We are the people. We are the church. We do count! each and everyone of us. Not everyone can organize an event. Not everyone can lead worship, play the keyboard, guitar, or drums. Not everyone can preach or teach.
Why organize small groups, Bible studies, family picnics, or clothing banks if no one comes or invites others?
Why lead worship if no one worships?
Why preach or teach if no one listens?
That is where we come in: to attend, to worship, to listen, and to invite.
Our attentiveness to a sermon, or our "Amen" might be just the encouragement that energizes the pastor. Our smiles and friendly "hello" at worship or a gathering might be the touch a person needs in their sorrow, loneliness, or depression. A smile to a stranger at the grocery story can work wonders. The Lord can use a note we write, a phone call we make, an invitation we extend, or a word we speak to answer someone's prayer or draw them closer to him.
A personal touch expresses Christ's love in a way that a flow chart can't. We do count.
And those days we fall short? The Lord has someone who can step in, someone who is having an exceptionally good day. On our bad days, we keep pressing on, giving what we have, and overcoming what opposition we can. On our good days we do more that we ever thought we could. Because God puts my ups together with your downs, and vice versa, we have a winning team. Everyone counts.
I want to run a great race, but am thankful for team support when I have an off season. Thankfully we don't have to wait for the final results. We know the Lord's team ultimately wins the race.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family,
(The kittens spent ten minutes this evening climbing up and down my pant legs. Man alive, their little claws are sharp!)
Friday, November 8, 2013
Hoarding Tendencies?
I don't call myself a hoarder. Others might, but I don't. I merely hang on to items that could be used at a later date, maybe. Take cottage cheese and large yogurt containers for example. Several stacks of these wonderful, plastic containers are neatly arranged under my kitchen sink. And, of course, I also have their lids.
Why? Well, I never knows when I might want to send leftovers home with a family member. When given the word, a Greek, honey yogurt container leaps to the rescue, lid in hand, and the day is saved.
With my wonderful collection, I will also be ready if my daughter, an elementary teacher, sends out a distress call. "Mom, Help! I don't have enough plastic containers for my class painting project. Do you have any? Even lids will help out."
Laughing silently, I imagine myself yelling "Charge!" as I dash into the classroom armed with a couple dozen containers. Mom saves the day, and a swarm of second graders cheer. With all the heroics out of my system, I finally say, "You know I do. How many do you need?"
How many of anything do I really need? I am in the process of rearranging my office area. In the shelving around my laptop I have tablets of every size, shape, and stage of use. There are seven 8 1/2 x 11 spiral notebooks (one from my oldest son's high school days, and a couple that are starting to rust), three steno pads (one has only five pages), four yellow legal pads, six white pads, two inches of small note pads and a little drawer full of post-it notes of various sizes. I didn't even mention the pack of ledger pages that my father-in-law had, a folder full of assorted decorative printer paper, and a folder containing six blue pee-chees.
Stepping on William Shakespeare's toes for a moment, to keep or not to keep, that is the question. One thing is for certain, though. If any of the grandkids need paper for anything, and I do mean anything, I have it all beautifully arranged on my shelves. Need a plastic lid or container? Help yourself.
From soup to nuts, or more appropriately plastic containers to writing paper, I am truly ready for anything life throws at me all because I don't throw very much away. Sadly, if I don't deal with most of it, my children will have all of it when I'm gone. Lucky them.
Spiritually, we as people also have a tendency to hoard. We hand onto negative thoughts and emotions that we should lay at the foot of the cross. We stick them in back closets of our mind instead of confessing them. Then we shut the door thinking that someday we might need to haul them out to remind ourselves what someone did to us. But somehow they continues to grow, accumulate, and putrefy until they contaminate not only us, but also those around us. It can reach the point where so much sin and darkness clutters our hearts, souls, and minds that there isn't much room left for God to work.
Notice, I said, "There isn't much room."? One of the many things I love about God is his spirit can always find room. He can find the tiniest places to seep into, minute cracks in our closed doors and erected walls. Then be begins his work. How he does it, I don't know, but he does it. He softens hard hearts to restore relationships. He cracks solid walls to allow light in. He overturns rebelliousness to create new, Godly desires. He helps us clean house, and then gifts us with a housewarming fruit basket. I don't even have to pay for his heavy reconstruction/housekeeping services. They're free. So is the fruit basket.
“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law” (vv. 22–23).
- Galatians 5:22–23
Lord, no matter what I once was, I have been washed, I have been sanctified, and I have been justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God! 1 Corinthians 6:11
We can't afford to be sin hoarders.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family
(The little ones are learning to pounce and jump. They are so funny.)
Why? Well, I never knows when I might want to send leftovers home with a family member. When given the word, a Greek, honey yogurt container leaps to the rescue, lid in hand, and the day is saved.
With my wonderful collection, I will also be ready if my daughter, an elementary teacher, sends out a distress call. "Mom, Help! I don't have enough plastic containers for my class painting project. Do you have any? Even lids will help out."
Laughing silently, I imagine myself yelling "Charge!" as I dash into the classroom armed with a couple dozen containers. Mom saves the day, and a swarm of second graders cheer. With all the heroics out of my system, I finally say, "You know I do. How many do you need?"
How many of anything do I really need? I am in the process of rearranging my office area. In the shelving around my laptop I have tablets of every size, shape, and stage of use. There are seven 8 1/2 x 11 spiral notebooks (one from my oldest son's high school days, and a couple that are starting to rust), three steno pads (one has only five pages), four yellow legal pads, six white pads, two inches of small note pads and a little drawer full of post-it notes of various sizes. I didn't even mention the pack of ledger pages that my father-in-law had, a folder full of assorted decorative printer paper, and a folder containing six blue pee-chees.
Stepping on William Shakespeare's toes for a moment, to keep or not to keep, that is the question. One thing is for certain, though. If any of the grandkids need paper for anything, and I do mean anything, I have it all beautifully arranged on my shelves. Need a plastic lid or container? Help yourself.
From soup to nuts, or more appropriately plastic containers to writing paper, I am truly ready for anything life throws at me all because I don't throw very much away. Sadly, if I don't deal with most of it, my children will have all of it when I'm gone. Lucky them.
Spiritually, we as people also have a tendency to hoard. We hand onto negative thoughts and emotions that we should lay at the foot of the cross. We stick them in back closets of our mind instead of confessing them. Then we shut the door thinking that someday we might need to haul them out to remind ourselves what someone did to us. But somehow they continues to grow, accumulate, and putrefy until they contaminate not only us, but also those around us. It can reach the point where so much sin and darkness clutters our hearts, souls, and minds that there isn't much room left for God to work.
Notice, I said, "There isn't much room."? One of the many things I love about God is his spirit can always find room. He can find the tiniest places to seep into, minute cracks in our closed doors and erected walls. Then be begins his work. How he does it, I don't know, but he does it. He softens hard hearts to restore relationships. He cracks solid walls to allow light in. He overturns rebelliousness to create new, Godly desires. He helps us clean house, and then gifts us with a housewarming fruit basket. I don't even have to pay for his heavy reconstruction/housekeeping services. They're free. So is the fruit basket.
“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law” (vv. 22–23).
- Galatians 5:22–23
Lord, no matter what I once was, I have been washed, I have been sanctified, and I have been justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God! 1 Corinthians 6:11
We can't afford to be sin hoarders.
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family
(The little ones are learning to pounce and jump. They are so funny.)
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Book Intro
I have just spend over nine hours editing and re-editing what you are about to read. The original was written months ago as a post that some of you might remember. It has changed quite a lot since then. In fact, this is the fourth draft. I am considering it for the intro to the book I am starting. For this post, I have replaced names with letters that are not even initials.
Even as I write this, I think I will use fictitious names in the book to protect my family's, especially my granddaughters', identity.
************
Laughter and loud voices filled C. and E.’s
living room. An evening of birthday fun at our younger son’s home was off to a
great start. Everyone was there: my husband and I, our three adult
children, their spouses, and all seven grandkids. The adults visited and
snacked on chips, salsa, and veggies in the living room while the grandchildren
played in the bedroom.
Sometime during the evening, the four-year-old
granddaughters both decided to dress up. With the help of the older kids, they
donned angel costumes, complete with beautiful, sparkling wings. Then, oh so
gracefully, they flapped into the middle of the adults’ conversation. Before
long they were flying high overhead, supported by my husband’s hands--first one
girl, and then the other.
As each little girl got brave enough to let go of
Papa’s arms and spread out her own arms, her imagination took over. We watched
her slowly transform from a costumed little girl, hanging on for dear life,
into a beautiful, soaring angel. The glow on each girl’s face changed a living
room full of happy people into a heavenly place of angelic beings and admiring celebrants.
That birthday party had become truly magical.
Now, let’s fast
forward from the evening with angels to a different evening that took place six
years later--one that wasn't magical at all, one that still haunts me. That day
had been like any other. Even the phone call I got from C. during dinner,
“Mom, I need Dad to come over for a few minutes. It won’t take long,” was not
unusual.
“Sure,” I
told him, “I’ll let Dad know.”
Twenty minutes later, my husband returned home with these
softly spoken words, “The kids are on their way over. There is something we
have to discuss.”
I sat there at the table and didn't move for a long time. Not wanting to look at him, I just stared at my half-finished crossword puzzle instead, and then finally asked, “How bad is it?”
“It could be worse,” was his simple reply.
The evening
of my once-ordinary day suddenly became a nightmare. Unspoken questions filled
my head. The kids are coming over? All of them? Why didn't I know that O. & O. were in town? Are their boys with them? Are they staying
overnight? What’s wrong?
Right away?
Why didn't I have more than a
fifteen minute warning? Do I have time to fix a dessert or something? Is it an
emergency?
I had known nothing before my husband got home; however, I now knew
two things for sure. Our out-of-town kids were in town, and all three of our kids were on their way over for a discussion.
To be perfectly honest, though, while I asked
myself all those questions, I knew exactly what was going down. It was
not good. Fear and dread had flooded every cell of my body, and my heart had sunk
the moment my husband made his announcement of the family gathering.
At that moment,
I knew in my mind, I knew in my gut that all my confusion and concerns about
my husband’s relationship with our granddaughters had not been unfounded. I had been
right. My concerns had not been honestly addressed. My questions had not been
honestly answered. I had been lied to and deceived. Finally, I was going learn the truth
about my husband and what he had done.
That entire evening is etched into my mind. I can
replay it all. Our daughter sits on the floor. O. & O. cuddle together
on one sofa. C. sits next to me on the other sofa. My husband sits on the raised
fireplace hearth facing us all. The only family members missing are our son-in-law, daughter-in-law, and all seven grandkids.
Anyone looking into our dimly-lit living room can
see nothing overtly unusual about this cozy family setting because they cannot
possibly hear the silence that roars in my ears. They cannot see my mind as it
races in circles, trying to make sense of the coming destruction. They
cannot feel my heart beating at an ever increasing rate, knowing it will soon
be broken. All my thoughts, senses, and emotions are too thickly veiled for
anyone to see, even my own family.
So, there I stoically sit in a silent living room
that echoes with noise-filled memories. I look at my three kids and
daughter-in-law, and wonder what these people I deeply love are going through.
I look at my veiny, spotted hands, and know old age is approaching. I look at
my husband of forty-four years, and feel nothing. I look at everything, wonder much, know some things, yet feel
nothing because, in the midst of my mental turmoil, my emotions have become
numb with the thought, how in the world did this happen?
The silence suddenly shatters as my oldest son
speaks, “Dad, I think you have something you want to tell us.” I become alert. I know, yet am not fully prepared
for what is to come.
Along came hell is the only way I can describe those first minutes. The reason I felt that way was merely because I hadn't remembered that God is the head of our household. Thankfully, our daughter-in-law O. did remember. After my husband's confession of molesting the two little granddaughters he had helped fly like angels, and the ensuing discussions on the next steps to take, O. beautifully reminded us that God can take something evil and use it for his good. She also stated that Satan would love nothing more than to destroy our family through this, but declared that he would not succeed. God is the victor.
That is what our family prayed that night, and continues to pray.
By the time morning finally arrived, our prayers were already being answered. The Lord had brought to mind instance after instance of his hand preparing us for such a time as this. That is when I added a disclaimer to Along Came Hell, "or so I Thought."
Hopefully I can clearly show the mysterious ways the Lord has worked in not only my life, but also the lives of my children, grandchildren, and husband as we travel this unexpected, rocky road. God's love, provision, faithfulness, grace, and healing power have truly touched our lives, eased our journey, and increased our strength. Our God is a mighty God.
(I would appreciate any comments or suggestions. jansjournal@hotmail.com )
Turning in at 1:45 a.m., or so I think, (2:26 actually)
Jan, Licorice Kitty and family,
All the feline family members are fast asleep.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
My Tuesday Song
The Christmas Song, written by Robert Wells and Mel Torme inspired me to write today's post. Most people know it as Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.
My Tuesday Song
Chicken burbling in an open pot
Making broth for yummy soup.
Sunshine beams shining warm on the floor
and clean clothes to be put away.
Everybody knows a broken car that will not run
Makes one's day a dreary one.
Haircuts are out. Grocery stores and the bank
Will wait until another day.
I know my son will come along.
He'll push my car into the driveway by the house.
And leave his car behind for me to use
To hit the highway going east into town.
And so I'm offering this simple prayer
To thank and praise my loving Lord,
"You meet my needs many times, many ways.
Thank you, Lord God, thank you."
Having fun writing something different,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and kittens
The kittens love the wicker basket I put in their room this morning. The basket it on its side with a towel in it for padding. They have climbed over it, charged out of it, wrestled with the towel, and are now sleeping piled up in the middle. Licorice Kitty watches their every move from her perch on the bed.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Stupid Car and My Frustration
Okay, here's the deal. I am not a happy camper. I am bummed out. I am ticked off. There, those should be enough cliches to describe how I feel right now.
This day started out so promising. Now it is up to me to determine how it will play out.
Here is the prelude to this moment:
To-do List
Make grocery list check
Grab car license renewal form check
Grab bank deposit check
Get cell phone check
Get hair cut
Go to women's meeting
Buy groceries
Buy food for kittens
Buy car tabs
Make Deposit
That seemed very straight forward at the time. It was straight forward until I backed my car out of the garage, closed the garage door, and put the car in reverse. It died! Not again. I thought I had taken care of that problem days earlier. The car worked fine Friday night and Saturday morning.
I tried it again. This time the car went backward until I turned into the roadway. It died again and refused to start. So, there I sat in a dead car that was halfway into the road. I shifted into neutral, got out, and tried to push the car back far enough to turn into the driveway again. No can do. Back in the driver's seat I get, and straighten out the wheels. Then, with one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on the door jamb, I pushed forward. Yeah, old Betsy began to move. I suddenly had to jump in because there was a slight downhill slope, not much, just enough for the car to start rolling on her own. Toward a post, I might add. She now sits inches off the road on the grass under my big tree.
She will probably have to sit there until one of my kids can come over this evening and push her back up the driveway.
Somehow I need to get to town within the next few days. The kittens need to start eating food and drinking on their own. They also need to start litter training. My friend, the vet, says to start them at five weeks of age. We're there now.
I could check out the bus schedule, but won't. I don't really want to walk to the highway to catch the bus, then walk from the bus station to a store, back to the station, then from the highway back to my house. It's raining. There is always tomorrow. I might have to borrow a car.
It is times like this I get frustrated and feel so helpless I want to cry. I was excited about getting my hair cut. I was also excited about getting the check deposited, license tabs purchased, and groceries hunted down for the next couple weeks. Those are errands I don't like doing. Today was the day I would be doing them. And the women's meeting! I love the ladies, the luncheon, the presentation, but I had to cancel. There is absolutely nothing I can do about any of this at the present time. I just have to wait--wait and hope no one hits my car.
Yes, I could pray, but what? "Lord, please send an angel mechanic to fix my car." I don't think so; although, God does work in mysterious ways.
Yes, I could pray, should pray, will pray, "Lord, help my neighbors be alert as they drive by, and remove my frustration and helpless feelings. I want this day to be the good day you made it to be. Don't let me ruin it because of my stinking attitude and disappointment."
I'm seeking joy in the midst of frustration,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and kittens.
The kittens now totter from under the bed as fast as they can when they hear my voice. Licorice is not very pleased when they leave the protection of their quarters, but she has to learn to let them go a little. Being a mom is hard sometimes.
This day started out so promising. Now it is up to me to determine how it will play out.
Here is the prelude to this moment:
To-do List
Make grocery list check
Grab car license renewal form check
Grab bank deposit check
Get cell phone check
Get hair cut
Go to women's meeting
Buy groceries
Buy food for kittens
Buy car tabs
Make Deposit
That seemed very straight forward at the time. It was straight forward until I backed my car out of the garage, closed the garage door, and put the car in reverse. It died! Not again. I thought I had taken care of that problem days earlier. The car worked fine Friday night and Saturday morning.
I tried it again. This time the car went backward until I turned into the roadway. It died again and refused to start. So, there I sat in a dead car that was halfway into the road. I shifted into neutral, got out, and tried to push the car back far enough to turn into the driveway again. No can do. Back in the driver's seat I get, and straighten out the wheels. Then, with one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on the door jamb, I pushed forward. Yeah, old Betsy began to move. I suddenly had to jump in because there was a slight downhill slope, not much, just enough for the car to start rolling on her own. Toward a post, I might add. She now sits inches off the road on the grass under my big tree.
She will probably have to sit there until one of my kids can come over this evening and push her back up the driveway.
Somehow I need to get to town within the next few days. The kittens need to start eating food and drinking on their own. They also need to start litter training. My friend, the vet, says to start them at five weeks of age. We're there now.
I could check out the bus schedule, but won't. I don't really want to walk to the highway to catch the bus, then walk from the bus station to a store, back to the station, then from the highway back to my house. It's raining. There is always tomorrow. I might have to borrow a car.
It is times like this I get frustrated and feel so helpless I want to cry. I was excited about getting my hair cut. I was also excited about getting the check deposited, license tabs purchased, and groceries hunted down for the next couple weeks. Those are errands I don't like doing. Today was the day I would be doing them. And the women's meeting! I love the ladies, the luncheon, the presentation, but I had to cancel. There is absolutely nothing I can do about any of this at the present time. I just have to wait--wait and hope no one hits my car.
Yes, I could pray, but what? "Lord, please send an angel mechanic to fix my car." I don't think so; although, God does work in mysterious ways.
Yes, I could pray, should pray, will pray, "Lord, help my neighbors be alert as they drive by, and remove my frustration and helpless feelings. I want this day to be the good day you made it to be. Don't let me ruin it because of my stinking attitude and disappointment."
I'm seeking joy in the midst of frustration,
Jan, Licorice Kitty and kittens.
The kittens now totter from under the bed as fast as they can when they hear my voice. Licorice is not very pleased when they leave the protection of their quarters, but she has to learn to let them go a little. Being a mom is hard sometimes.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Mishmash of Stuff
I just caught sight of a small flock of birds fly by my window. At least I thought I did. In reality, it was a rustle of leaves (sounds better than flock) leaving the confines of the trees and twirling off to explore the rest of the yard. I hope the strong winds keep blowing until every member of that dying community of leaves is off its trees and settled in the field across the road for the winter. That sure would cut down on raking projects.
That is what I hope for, wish for, desire. This is what I will get instead, a porch covered in soon-to-be-soggy leaves, and flower beds cloaked in brown and yellowed leaves waiting for a slug attack. That is what I will get; and that is okay.
********************* Nine hours later **********************
I am back home. My porch is covered in wet, soggy leaves, and my flower beds' coverings are now prime targets for slugs. Got the picture?
This was a great day for a Cross Country District meet. Two hours of driving each way, rain, wind, and intermittent sun breaks were bearable when almost every possible family member was there to cheer our three kids on, a regular family reunion time. Three grandmas, two sets of aunts and uncles, and a couple cousins watched our kids run the three mile course quickly enough to qualify for the state competition next Saturday. Yeah family.
jmdkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Oooops, I dozed off a second there. My mind is tired, hands and feet are cold, and body tired. I should shut this old gal (me) down, fix her some dinner and put her to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. I will think more clearly then than I am right now. I sure hope so, anyway.
Signing off until the 'morrow. Blessings to all.
Jan, Licorice and family,
That is what I hope for, wish for, desire. This is what I will get instead, a porch covered in soon-to-be-soggy leaves, and flower beds cloaked in brown and yellowed leaves waiting for a slug attack. That is what I will get; and that is okay.
********************* Nine hours later **********************
I am back home. My porch is covered in wet, soggy leaves, and my flower beds' coverings are now prime targets for slugs. Got the picture?
This was a great day for a Cross Country District meet. Two hours of driving each way, rain, wind, and intermittent sun breaks were bearable when almost every possible family member was there to cheer our three kids on, a regular family reunion time. Three grandmas, two sets of aunts and uncles, and a couple cousins watched our kids run the three mile course quickly enough to qualify for the state competition next Saturday. Yeah family.
jmdkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Oooops, I dozed off a second there. My mind is tired, hands and feet are cold, and body tired. I should shut this old gal (me) down, fix her some dinner and put her to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. I will think more clearly then than I am right now. I sure hope so, anyway.
Signing off until the 'morrow. Blessings to all.
Jan, Licorice and family,
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