I love spending Sunday mornings singing to the Glory of God with a congregation of believers. I find it refreshing, uplifting, and renewing. Here is what I mean. Getting my mind off the mundane thoughts that fill my head most of the time and onto an all-powerful, all-loving God who gives me all I need (including strength) and adores me (even when I goof up) boggles my mind and fills me to the brim with thankfulness, amazement, joy, and ... . I really can't explain what I feel. But to me, I love (more than really, really, really like) knowing someone bigger than I, stronger than I, and more loving than I cares about me.
Yes, worship was excellent, but so was the rest of the service. We baptized four adults and one young girl. We prayed for a young woman who is heading off for Y.W.A.M. training. (Youth With A Mission). And we heard the conclusion of Pastor's sermon on the principle of tithing and generosity. I came home feeling very blessed and thankful.
As so often happens, the Lord reminded me of his faithfulness to our family over the years, especially financially. I went back forty years to a little town in central Washington where we lived on the edge of a park. Our three children were small, pay day was several days away, and the cupboard was bare. "Lord, please increase this dab of peanut butter to cover these slices of bread." was hardly off my lips when the doorbell rang. There stood my across-the-park neighbor with a big covered casserole in her hand.
"Could you use a pot of spaghetti?" she asked. "Our dinner guests had sick kids and had to cancelled at the last minute." I was almost too stunned to say thank you. But I finally got the words out as I took the dish from her. She then smiled and said, "Enjoy!"
As I stood in my doorway watching her traipse back across the park, I realized she and her spaghetti had been on their way to our home before I had even finished praying. Matthew 6:8 is so true, "Your father in heaven knows your needs even before you ask."
As that memory from so long ago flooded my mind, my concerns about the little things of every day living fled. My heavenly father is so good and faithful.
On the way to church, he even parted the clouds and let a little sunshine splash out.
Living today in gratitude, praise, and sunshine.
Jan and Licorice Kitty
Monday, March 31, 2014
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Sitting in the Rain
What do you find wrapped in painter's plastic and propped at the top of metal bleachers in the pouring rain? My family and me at a high school track meet! That is right. It is 11:30 am, the infield is filled with javelin throwers, high jumpers, and young men and women in different colored warm-ups as well coaches and officials milling around. The bleachers are filled with the three of us wearing ten-foot squares of plastic over our bodies while cold rain pelts our protective baseball caps and runs downward. We are prepared to stay dry while cheering the grand-kids/nieces on to victory.
That was the idea anyway until I suddenly became aware that my pants felt very wet. Not damp--WET. Yep. WET. When I had sat down, I had failed to get the plastic completely under me, so the water running down the plastic was pooling on the bleachers and soaking into my sweats.
So there I sat feeling like a toddler with a diaper problem. At least I was warm and didn't have to get up for any reason other than to fix my plastic problem. I didn't even get up to eat lunch. I merely tucked my head under my plastic tent, opened my zippered tote and proceeded to dine on tuna salad, pineapple slices and a banana. That was dining al fresco at its finest.
We had an adventuresome time, especially when the sun occasionally made an appearance. That seemed to create a little condensation inside the plastic. Now we had water dripping not only down the outside of our protective covering, but down the interior as well. Oh happy day.
I came home happy, wet, and tired. By the time track season is over, I will have this plastic tarp system down to a science. But maybe not. All the rest of our meets have covered stands for the spectators. Every one but the State meet that is. All three years I have gone to State, we have had at least a few hours of rain. I guess I will have to practice staying dry by sitting on a chair in my back yard whenever the opportunity presents itself--which could be every day.
To be perfectly honest, I have quite a few more weeks of coming home happy, wet, and tired--happy because our kids did well, wet because the jaunt from the parking lot to the bleachers is not covered, and tired from the wind, the cold, and the intensity of the competition. Oh, but it is all so worth it.
Lovin' track season and knowing that the Lord reigns even when it rains.
Jan
That was the idea anyway until I suddenly became aware that my pants felt very wet. Not damp--WET. Yep. WET. When I had sat down, I had failed to get the plastic completely under me, so the water running down the plastic was pooling on the bleachers and soaking into my sweats.
So there I sat feeling like a toddler with a diaper problem. At least I was warm and didn't have to get up for any reason other than to fix my plastic problem. I didn't even get up to eat lunch. I merely tucked my head under my plastic tent, opened my zippered tote and proceeded to dine on tuna salad, pineapple slices and a banana. That was dining al fresco at its finest.
We had an adventuresome time, especially when the sun occasionally made an appearance. That seemed to create a little condensation inside the plastic. Now we had water dripping not only down the outside of our protective covering, but down the interior as well. Oh happy day.
I came home happy, wet, and tired. By the time track season is over, I will have this plastic tarp system down to a science. But maybe not. All the rest of our meets have covered stands for the spectators. Every one but the State meet that is. All three years I have gone to State, we have had at least a few hours of rain. I guess I will have to practice staying dry by sitting on a chair in my back yard whenever the opportunity presents itself--which could be every day.
To be perfectly honest, I have quite a few more weeks of coming home happy, wet, and tired--happy because our kids did well, wet because the jaunt from the parking lot to the bleachers is not covered, and tired from the wind, the cold, and the intensity of the competition. Oh, but it is all so worth it.
Lovin' track season and knowing that the Lord reigns even when it rains.
Jan
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Driving in A Car, But Waiting for A Train
I have 45 minutes to speed write this post, whatever it will be. Then I am off to meet my granddaughters' other grandma, and we are off to an out-of-town track meet. I am ready: wool socks, leg warmers, sweat pants, extra large jeans, turtleneck sweater, sweatshirt, seat cushion, blanket, and bag with timer, camera, knit cap, cell phone, ID, paper, pen, and some money. Once there, I will put on my hooded sweatshirt, rain coat, and gloves. Bring on the runners, and jumpers, especially my three grand-kids. I am ready for whatever the weather will bring. It may be sun, rain, hail, or all three. All I can say is bring it on.
Now, let's get down to serious business--the desires of my heart. As I wrote last week, one of the desires of my heart is a cross-country adventure by rail. Just to sit back in the quietness of a train (clickity-clack doesn't count as noise) and watch the wonders of nature, from purple mountains to fruited plains, pass by would be wonderful.
By the way, for those of you who have only seen the green forests and snow-capped mountains of the Pacific Northwest, the mountains in the desert do look purple.
While traveling from one area to another, I love watching the shades of green change from blue-greens and yellow-greens to gray-greens and beige-greens, then wondering how to mix those colors if I were to paint them. Mighty cedars and struggling sage each have a beauty of their own. I just want to watch and feel, and share. That is a desire of my heart.
BUT!. But, is that my desire alone, or did the Lord place it there? I am not sure. I know I am to write. I also know I would love a change of scenery. I would love to discover who else travels by train. I want new opportunities to hear the Lord. I do think this desire is more than just mine.
Several day ago I said I would apply for the #AmtrakResidency program for writers. Well, I did it today. This is a huge step for me, sort of like walking through my house in complete darkness. I know where everything is, yet I don't. Now I wait and see what happens. It is all in the Lord's hands.
By the way, I did open a Twitter account, so am beginning a tweet adventure. If anyone wants to follow me, my handle is @OcostaGirl.
Now I must quickly fix myself a sandwich and head out.
Driving in a car, but waiting for a train,
Jan
Now, let's get down to serious business--the desires of my heart. As I wrote last week, one of the desires of my heart is a cross-country adventure by rail. Just to sit back in the quietness of a train (clickity-clack doesn't count as noise) and watch the wonders of nature, from purple mountains to fruited plains, pass by would be wonderful.
By the way, for those of you who have only seen the green forests and snow-capped mountains of the Pacific Northwest, the mountains in the desert do look purple.
While traveling from one area to another, I love watching the shades of green change from blue-greens and yellow-greens to gray-greens and beige-greens, then wondering how to mix those colors if I were to paint them. Mighty cedars and struggling sage each have a beauty of their own. I just want to watch and feel, and share. That is a desire of my heart.
BUT!. But, is that my desire alone, or did the Lord place it there? I am not sure. I know I am to write. I also know I would love a change of scenery. I would love to discover who else travels by train. I want new opportunities to hear the Lord. I do think this desire is more than just mine.
Several day ago I said I would apply for the #AmtrakResidency program for writers. Well, I did it today. This is a huge step for me, sort of like walking through my house in complete darkness. I know where everything is, yet I don't. Now I wait and see what happens. It is all in the Lord's hands.
By the way, I did open a Twitter account, so am beginning a tweet adventure. If anyone wants to follow me, my handle is @OcostaGirl.
Now I must quickly fix myself a sandwich and head out.
Driving in a car, but waiting for a train,
Jan
Monday, March 24, 2014
May Spring Return to Oso
Some yellow still lingers in the eastern sky this morning, but blue is coming. Brown fir needles and green moss decorate my garage roof, and pink flowers are beginning to open on my tulip tree. What a colorful day this is promising to be!
It is colorful from where I sit anyway. Spring always is. But further north I doubt the color of springtime is even noticed. I can hardly imagine what it was like to have a mountain side break loose and bury twenty percent of a towns population. Today, residents of Oso, WA still await word of family, friends and acquaintances who are not accounted for--at least thirty-eight missing and eight confirmed dead in a town of 200.
The numbers of searchers and support personnel is absolutely amazing. So is the amount of money and other donations. But the battle has just begun. Survivors will be located, and bodies will be found. The mud will ultimately be removed, and the highway well be rebuilt. New homes will go up, and demolished ones will be hauled away.
But the people, Lord. What about the people? How do they cope with all that? How do they keep the darkness and the bleakness of tragedy from moving in?--a darkness that not only wants to consume the mind, but also the emotions.
Only you can do that. Only you can ward off darkness and despair. Only you can use this cataclysmic event to touch lives. You know the broken relationships, haunting memories, fears, angers, guilt, and loss that need healing. You, only you.
But Lord, may your people help. Open the ears that will listen in silence so brokenness can speak. Open the mouths that will speak words of comfort and hope as your Spirit prompts, and open the hearts that will patiently love this hurting community no matter how long it takes. It will be a long, slow, process.
Lord, may spring return to Oso as it experiences your strong yet gentle hands that never let go..
Jan
( The number of missing people continues to rise)
It is colorful from where I sit anyway. Spring always is. But further north I doubt the color of springtime is even noticed. I can hardly imagine what it was like to have a mountain side break loose and bury twenty percent of a towns population. Today, residents of Oso, WA still await word of family, friends and acquaintances who are not accounted for--at least thirty-eight missing and eight confirmed dead in a town of 200.
The numbers of searchers and support personnel is absolutely amazing. So is the amount of money and other donations. But the battle has just begun. Survivors will be located, and bodies will be found. The mud will ultimately be removed, and the highway well be rebuilt. New homes will go up, and demolished ones will be hauled away.
But the people, Lord. What about the people? How do they cope with all that? How do they keep the darkness and the bleakness of tragedy from moving in?--a darkness that not only wants to consume the mind, but also the emotions.
Only you can do that. Only you can ward off darkness and despair. Only you can use this cataclysmic event to touch lives. You know the broken relationships, haunting memories, fears, angers, guilt, and loss that need healing. You, only you.
But Lord, may your people help. Open the ears that will listen in silence so brokenness can speak. Open the mouths that will speak words of comfort and hope as your Spirit prompts, and open the hearts that will patiently love this hurting community no matter how long it takes. It will be a long, slow, process.
Lord, may spring return to Oso as it experiences your strong yet gentle hands that never let go..
Jan
( The number of missing people continues to rise)
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Glory
"God continues to interrupt the ordinary with Glory"
Beth Moore
I love this quote! It is a perfect example of the way God works. That is what he did for the shepherds watching their flocks on a Bethlehem hillside (1). That is what he did for Zacchaeus who climbed up into a sycamore tree to see Jesus pass by (2). Over and over again ordinary people living ordinary lives and doing ordinary things encountered holiness up close and personal. Sometimes that holiness was an angel (3), and once it was the voice of God calling from a burning bush (4). Another time it was a man from Nazareth applying mud to the eyes of a blind man (5), and during yet another, tongues of flames dancing on the heads of people gathered for the day of Pentecost (6).
As you know, I am not a theologian, so my idea of Glory and their's are probably miles apart; however, I feel there is no mystical formula to solve before we can experience Glory. We don't have to do or say anything special before it manifests itself. There is no hocus-pocus or abracadabra. It happens when a Loving God reveals his presence, and we stand speechless and amazed. I think it is his way of saying, "I love you."
God interrupted my ordinary with Glory the day I came home from a week visiting my dad and sister to find that my yard and small field had been mowed, flowerbeds cleaned, and weeds whacked by a local church's youth group. It was hard for me to believe my eyes. I beheld Glory.
No, my place didn't radiate light; there weren't visible angles camped around it; and Jesus wasn't sitting on my front porch.There was only me having my ordinary day interrupted by Glory as God whispered in his still, small voice, "This is my gift to you, Jan, to remind you that I love you, and that I know all your needs before you ask (7). Be blessed, my child." For me, that was Glory.
I also experience God's Glory in a softly colored morning sky and blazing sunset, in the yellow daffodil and new-born fawn, in the phone call from a friend and the smile of a child. Each one interrupts my ordinary with God's presence reminding me, "Enjoy all I have placed before you as a token of my love. My Son died not only that you come to heaven, but also that heaven may come to you."
May our days be interrupted by Him,
Jan
Jan
- Matthew 2:9
- Luke 19: 1-6
- Luke 1:21-38
- Exodus 3:1-6
- John 9
- Acts 2:1-4
- Matthew 6:8
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Speak Blessing, Speak Life
I just finished reading "Love Says Go" by Jason Chin this morning. So much of it brought conviction, yet blessing. I have a real challenge ahead of me, but I sort of started reaching out this morning. Jason stresses seeing through the dirt in people's lives, focusing on the gold God has placed there, and loving them by speaking blessing and life to them. Them, as in complete strangers That is who he is talking about.
Here is what happened to me this morning. I was just finishing up washing my car windows at the gas station when a guy at another pump said, "Excuse me, ma'am. The lady at our motel told us about a great place to eat breakfast, but I forgot what she told me. Do you have any idea where that might be?"
I thought a moment, then proceeded to give him directions to a nearby little cafe that sounded like the same place the motel had recommended. Before I left the station, I checked out the address for the restaurant in the phone book I keep in my car, told him what it was, and took a quick peek at their license plate. They were from California. I asked where they were from and where they were headed. As we stood there exchanging pleasantries and getting lightly misted in the process, I wished them well with these words, "As you explore the Olympics and experience our abundance of rain, keep in mind that the rain around here is like God's blessings--it just keeps coming and coming. Have a wonderfully blessed trip." With that I left and headed for my Dr. appointment.
Well, my appointment had been changed, and I had neglected to erase today's visit from my cell phone calendar when I added the new one. So what did I do next? I went out to breakfast at the place I had recommended to the California couple.
There they were, enjoying a huge breakfast. As soon as I walk in they recognized me and told the waitress I was the one they had just told her about. Anyway, I ordered my breakfast, talked to the couple a little bit, and showed them my photos of the elk herd in my back yard in case they didn't see any on their trip around the peninsula.
After they had finished their meal and paid, the gentleman came over to my table and said something to this effect, "When you mentioned the rain coming like God's blessings, I could feel your love. I really believe that that blessing will continue with us on our trip. Thank you."
Wow, or as Jason says, "BAM!" I merely spoke words of blessing and life. Holy Spirit did the rest. Thank you, Jesus.
So simple, yet so profound.
Jan and Licorice Kitty
Here is what happened to me this morning. I was just finishing up washing my car windows at the gas station when a guy at another pump said, "Excuse me, ma'am. The lady at our motel told us about a great place to eat breakfast, but I forgot what she told me. Do you have any idea where that might be?"
I thought a moment, then proceeded to give him directions to a nearby little cafe that sounded like the same place the motel had recommended. Before I left the station, I checked out the address for the restaurant in the phone book I keep in my car, told him what it was, and took a quick peek at their license plate. They were from California. I asked where they were from and where they were headed. As we stood there exchanging pleasantries and getting lightly misted in the process, I wished them well with these words, "As you explore the Olympics and experience our abundance of rain, keep in mind that the rain around here is like God's blessings--it just keeps coming and coming. Have a wonderfully blessed trip." With that I left and headed for my Dr. appointment.
Well, my appointment had been changed, and I had neglected to erase today's visit from my cell phone calendar when I added the new one. So what did I do next? I went out to breakfast at the place I had recommended to the California couple.
There they were, enjoying a huge breakfast. As soon as I walk in they recognized me and told the waitress I was the one they had just told her about. Anyway, I ordered my breakfast, talked to the couple a little bit, and showed them my photos of the elk herd in my back yard in case they didn't see any on their trip around the peninsula.
After they had finished their meal and paid, the gentleman came over to my table and said something to this effect, "When you mentioned the rain coming like God's blessings, I could feel your love. I really believe that that blessing will continue with us on our trip. Thank you."
Wow, or as Jason says, "BAM!" I merely spoke words of blessing and life. Holy Spirit did the rest. Thank you, Jesus.
So simple, yet so profound.
Jan and Licorice Kitty
Monday, March 17, 2014
I Can Apply, Yes, I Can Do This.
A couple days ago I read about a program Amtrak is doing this year. It is a Writers' Residency program. Twenty-four writers will be provided complete accommodations (including bed, desk and outlets) for a 2-5 day round trip train trek so that the writers can work on projects of their choosing, whether those in progress or something new. The destination and dates will be determined by Amtrak. They want to provide an opportunity for writers to write without the usual interruptions of the day-to-day world. Oh how I would love to do that.
There is one main problem, though. The company is looking for not only writing skills, but also for social media involvement. I'm sure they anticipate the chosen ones will share with all their thousands of followers. Well, I don't have a Twitter account, and I don't have an Insta-gram account. I have only Facebook. But then, I do have this blog which should count for something.
One part of the application involves telling why I want the opportunity to write on the train (not as in graffiti), and what the experience will do for my writing. Another part is submitting an example of my work. Those two sections I can easily do. I am thinking about submitting my post from last July about dreaming of a cross-country train trip so I could write.
Since my son-in-law and oldest granddaughter have been encouraging me to get a Twitter account, I should ask them how to go about that. As for Insta-gram, I'm not even sure what that is. I will ask one of the grand-kids. They know the social media world extremely well.
Right now, my negative, uncertain self says, No Twitter, no chance. It also says, Meals not provided? too expensive; however, my faith side says, This is a desire of my heart. If I don't apply, how can the Lord fill that desire. If he fills my desire, he will help me open my purse.
I need to listen to my faith side, and mute the rest.
So, this week I will muster all the strength I have, and conquer my silly fears of Twitter and Insta-gram by signing up. (Note to self: It's not my strength, but His) Then I will encourage my Facebook, blog, and other tech-savvy friends to follow me on my 'I think I can, I think I can' adventure. While all that is happening, I can fill out and submit the application that is due by the 31st, AND PRAY. I could be selected. I could. How exciting that would be.
If that doesn't happen, the Lord has something even better in store.
Tweet, tweet, tweet. There, I have sent my first ones--tweets that is. And I don't even have an account.
"Whatever this is about, Lord, help me move forward."
Jan and Licorice Kitty
There is one main problem, though. The company is looking for not only writing skills, but also for social media involvement. I'm sure they anticipate the chosen ones will share with all their thousands of followers. Well, I don't have a Twitter account, and I don't have an Insta-gram account. I have only Facebook. But then, I do have this blog which should count for something.
One part of the application involves telling why I want the opportunity to write on the train (not as in graffiti), and what the experience will do for my writing. Another part is submitting an example of my work. Those two sections I can easily do. I am thinking about submitting my post from last July about dreaming of a cross-country train trip so I could write.
Since my son-in-law and oldest granddaughter have been encouraging me to get a Twitter account, I should ask them how to go about that. As for Insta-gram, I'm not even sure what that is. I will ask one of the grand-kids. They know the social media world extremely well.
Right now, my negative, uncertain self says, No Twitter, no chance. It also says, Meals not provided? too expensive; however, my faith side says, This is a desire of my heart. If I don't apply, how can the Lord fill that desire. If he fills my desire, he will help me open my purse.
I need to listen to my faith side, and mute the rest.
So, this week I will muster all the strength I have, and conquer my silly fears of Twitter and Insta-gram by signing up. (Note to self: It's not my strength, but His) Then I will encourage my Facebook, blog, and other tech-savvy friends to follow me on my 'I think I can, I think I can' adventure. While all that is happening, I can fill out and submit the application that is due by the 31st, AND PRAY. I could be selected. I could. How exciting that would be.
If that doesn't happen, the Lord has something even better in store.
Tweet, tweet, tweet. There, I have sent my first ones--tweets that is. And I don't even have an account.
"Whatever this is about, Lord, help me move forward."
Jan and Licorice Kitty
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Drip....Drip....Drip....UGH!
I am a little upset right now, not an anyone, but at the rain and my chimney, and my gas fireplace insert. I became aware of a possible problem a couple days ago, but ignored it--the drip, drip . . . . drip. . . drip...drip, drip of water somewhere nearby. It wasn't coming from the living room ceiling. It didn't dare. My roof is only a few years old. But, there it was as plain as day. Drip...drip...drip. Then it would stop. And I would explain it away as water dripping off the rain gutters all around the house. Riiiight.
This evening it started in again. Only this time it sounded like water dripping into water. Drip, splash....drip, splash. So I got my handy-dandy flashlight from the bedroom, then approached my fireplace with fear and trembling. After remembering how to open up the glass door, I succeeded in lowering it and shining some light onto the subject. There in the front, left corner was a steady drip of water falling onto the faux-rocks and ultimately onto the hearth underneath. UGH. Where was the water coming from?
I then lifted up some grill work on the very top of the insert and discovered a big puddle of water, some pieces of rock, and a piece of soaking wet insulation. Double UGH.
Now. after an hour of problem solving, figuring out what to do, and keeping Licorice Kitty out of the way (I know she wanted to help, but I was in no mood for a fuzzy tail in my face), the gas is turned off, a towel is soaking up the water from the top of the insert while catching new water dripping from above, a plastic container is catching any water that might escape the towel above it, another towel is shoved against the base, wicking water out from under the fireplace insert, and my wrist is itching like crazy from insulation I touched while retrieving the rocks and wet insulation. TRIPLE UGH!
Thankfully all is finally under control, at least for now. Stop-gap measures are in place and working.
As I said in the beginning, I am a little upset. I don't like dealing with "stuff" like this. I would like to think that all this rain is making its way down the special exhaust vent installed the full height of the chimney, but I know better. The chimney is very old. It is probably deteriorating and in need of repair.
There is good news, though. It is not raining at the moment, and the dripping sound from inside the stove has finally stopped.
Now that all is quiet in my home once more, part of me wants to sputter and fume. I want to exclaim aloud, "What is all this anyway, God? I don't need this." But I don't. He knows those thoughts are in my mind. I will instead inhale deeply, knowing he is in control. Really, he is. If I am to learn something, let me learn it. If I am to contact a specific person, may I do so. But for now, I will enjoy the Lord's peace, and seek His guidance on what to do next.
Lord, please show me your plan in this whole messy water thingy, and what you want me to do or who you want me to contact. But Lord, I know are a miracle worker. You heal broken bones, paralyzed limbs, and even raise the dead. Do you mend leaking chimneys too? I could really use a repair job about now.
Jan and Licorice Kitty (She just went outside. Checking out the chimney I think)
This evening it started in again. Only this time it sounded like water dripping into water. Drip, splash....drip, splash. So I got my handy-dandy flashlight from the bedroom, then approached my fireplace with fear and trembling. After remembering how to open up the glass door, I succeeded in lowering it and shining some light onto the subject. There in the front, left corner was a steady drip of water falling onto the faux-rocks and ultimately onto the hearth underneath. UGH. Where was the water coming from?
I then lifted up some grill work on the very top of the insert and discovered a big puddle of water, some pieces of rock, and a piece of soaking wet insulation. Double UGH.
Now. after an hour of problem solving, figuring out what to do, and keeping Licorice Kitty out of the way (I know she wanted to help, but I was in no mood for a fuzzy tail in my face), the gas is turned off, a towel is soaking up the water from the top of the insert while catching new water dripping from above, a plastic container is catching any water that might escape the towel above it, another towel is shoved against the base, wicking water out from under the fireplace insert, and my wrist is itching like crazy from insulation I touched while retrieving the rocks and wet insulation. TRIPLE UGH!
Thankfully all is finally under control, at least for now. Stop-gap measures are in place and working.
As I said in the beginning, I am a little upset. I don't like dealing with "stuff" like this. I would like to think that all this rain is making its way down the special exhaust vent installed the full height of the chimney, but I know better. The chimney is very old. It is probably deteriorating and in need of repair.
There is good news, though. It is not raining at the moment, and the dripping sound from inside the stove has finally stopped.
Now that all is quiet in my home once more, part of me wants to sputter and fume. I want to exclaim aloud, "What is all this anyway, God? I don't need this." But I don't. He knows those thoughts are in my mind. I will instead inhale deeply, knowing he is in control. Really, he is. If I am to learn something, let me learn it. If I am to contact a specific person, may I do so. But for now, I will enjoy the Lord's peace, and seek His guidance on what to do next.
Lord, please show me your plan in this whole messy water thingy, and what you want me to do or who you want me to contact. But Lord, I know are a miracle worker. You heal broken bones, paralyzed limbs, and even raise the dead. Do you mend leaking chimneys too? I could really use a repair job about now.
Jan and Licorice Kitty (She just went outside. Checking out the chimney I think)
Friday, March 14, 2014
"Surprise!"
One thing I often tell God when I pray is, "Lord, surprise me." I guess that is my way of saying I desire His will, not mine, but it is also an invitation to knock me along side the head if necessary. Of course, the latter option is not what I have in mind, but if I didn't like surprises at all, I probably wouldn't pray that way.
God surprised me this evening when two of my grand-kids stopped by for a visit. They had gone to town to get a burger after track practice. As they got to my road on their way home, they decided to come on by. It is so much fun hearing their stories of classes, friends, sports, and siblings. We had lots of laughs.
This had been a day of laughter. I had been laughing earlier in the day while reading 'Love Says Go', a book on the supernatural life style (as in Holy Spirit centered life style). The author Jason Chin, who had wanted nothing to do with Christianity, wrote of his conversion experience in a little country church. He related that Jehovah-Sneaky had tricked him by "answering the petitions of his Holy Spirit filled, praying mama."
One thing that made the Jehovah-Sneaky comment so funny is I know the author of the book. He not only has a crazy sense of humor that always makes me laugh, he is also my nephew. I love that kid. But more than that, I love Jehovah-Sneaky who surprised my nephew those years ago and answered my sister's years of prayers.
Love the way the Lord's surprises people,
Jan
God surprised me this evening when two of my grand-kids stopped by for a visit. They had gone to town to get a burger after track practice. As they got to my road on their way home, they decided to come on by. It is so much fun hearing their stories of classes, friends, sports, and siblings. We had lots of laughs.
This had been a day of laughter. I had been laughing earlier in the day while reading 'Love Says Go', a book on the supernatural life style (as in Holy Spirit centered life style). The author Jason Chin, who had wanted nothing to do with Christianity, wrote of his conversion experience in a little country church. He related that Jehovah-Sneaky had tricked him by "answering the petitions of his Holy Spirit filled, praying mama."
One thing that made the Jehovah-Sneaky comment so funny is I know the author of the book. He not only has a crazy sense of humor that always makes me laugh, he is also my nephew. I love that kid. But more than that, I love Jehovah-Sneaky who surprised my nephew those years ago and answered my sister's years of prayers.
Love the way the Lord's surprises people,
Jan
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
White Whisker or Black?
Licorice jumped onto my lap earlier today, looked me right in the eyes, and said, "Meow." That is nothing new for her. She does it several times a day. It is her way of saying, "Try and figure out what I want. After you check my water, pet my tummy, and hold the front door open for thirty seconds, I will go take a nap."
This time was different. (Not for her, but for me.) I looked at her, blinked twice, shook my head once, and thought, What in the world?
I have had this black cat in my life for at least nine months, and in my house for six of those months. During all that time I never realized that her whiskers were black also--every single one of them. I've had other cats in my life over the years. I've also petted a lot of cats, but I'm sure they all had white whiskers.
As you readers might have guessed by now, I had to go on-line and check out cat faces. Siamese--white whiskers, Tabby--white whiskers, Tuxedo--white whiskers. Maine Coon and Calico also have white whiskers. And a black cat? They usually have black whiskers.
Now, a couple hours have sped by while I read articles and cat chat rooms to learn more about cat whiskers. What I determined from the photos I looked at generally holds true, but there are exceptions. Cats can have gray whiskers, striped whiskers, and a black whisker or two mixed in with white ones, and visa-versa.
I learned cats are far-sighted, so they depend on their whiskers for navigation, judging the size of openings, as well as sensing near-by motion. They may not see an un-moving mouse that is quite close to them, but they can feel any vibration it is giving off. Poor mousy doesn't have a chance.
Many people said their cats don't like eating out of deep bowls that brush against their whiskers--too uncomfortable. The other thing about whiskers, which is probably known by everyone, is this, "Never cut a cat's whiskers!!!" They can become very disoriented and unstable on their feet.
I also learned that some people collect their pets' whiskers! Oh well, if that is what they enjoy doing, happy collecting. Here I thought I hung on to crazy memorabilia. But cat whiskers I will pass on. Of course that may change when I find my first little, stiff, black whisker.
I did read something that is sending me back to the internet, though. One article said black cats have black whiskers and black claws. Sorry, writer of that article, my black Licorice Kitty has white claws. I knew she was special!
Now that my cat-weaponry curiosity is piqued, I will just have to go back on-line and read about claws. No matter what I learn, I will still look into Licorice's big, yellow eyes, admire her long black whiskers and white claws, and say, "What a magnificent kitty you are."
Celebrating God's wonderful animal kingdom!
Jan and Licorice Kitty (Note to self: Don't throw out the empty match box I found in the drawer. I think it is whisker sized.)
This time was different. (Not for her, but for me.) I looked at her, blinked twice, shook my head once, and thought, What in the world?
I have had this black cat in my life for at least nine months, and in my house for six of those months. During all that time I never realized that her whiskers were black also--every single one of them. I've had other cats in my life over the years. I've also petted a lot of cats, but I'm sure they all had white whiskers.
As you readers might have guessed by now, I had to go on-line and check out cat faces. Siamese--white whiskers, Tabby--white whiskers, Tuxedo--white whiskers. Maine Coon and Calico also have white whiskers. And a black cat? They usually have black whiskers.
Now, a couple hours have sped by while I read articles and cat chat rooms to learn more about cat whiskers. What I determined from the photos I looked at generally holds true, but there are exceptions. Cats can have gray whiskers, striped whiskers, and a black whisker or two mixed in with white ones, and visa-versa.
I learned cats are far-sighted, so they depend on their whiskers for navigation, judging the size of openings, as well as sensing near-by motion. They may not see an un-moving mouse that is quite close to them, but they can feel any vibration it is giving off. Poor mousy doesn't have a chance.
Many people said their cats don't like eating out of deep bowls that brush against their whiskers--too uncomfortable. The other thing about whiskers, which is probably known by everyone, is this, "Never cut a cat's whiskers!!!" They can become very disoriented and unstable on their feet.
I also learned that some people collect their pets' whiskers! Oh well, if that is what they enjoy doing, happy collecting. Here I thought I hung on to crazy memorabilia. But cat whiskers I will pass on. Of course that may change when I find my first little, stiff, black whisker.
I did read something that is sending me back to the internet, though. One article said black cats have black whiskers and black claws. Sorry, writer of that article, my black Licorice Kitty has white claws. I knew she was special!
Now that my cat-weaponry curiosity is piqued, I will just have to go back on-line and read about claws. No matter what I learn, I will still look into Licorice's big, yellow eyes, admire her long black whiskers and white claws, and say, "What a magnificent kitty you are."
Celebrating God's wonderful animal kingdom!
Jan and Licorice Kitty (Note to self: Don't throw out the empty match box I found in the drawer. I think it is whisker sized.)
Monday, March 10, 2014
Except The Lord Builds The House...
I loved watching my dad design homes and draw up house plans when I was teenager. That wasn't his actual job, but it was a way he earned extra income to help support our family of six. I loved watching his large sheet of paper, secured to the drawing board with masking tape, transform from blank white into a two dimensional rendering of his ideas. All he needed was a T-square, an architect's triangle, a three sided ruler that allowed him to draw to different scales, a slide rule to make quick calculations, a special mechanical pencil, and an art-gum eraser.
Dad toiled away during evenings and weekends deciding where to put a furnace and hot water heater, and how to arrange the kitchen and bathroom so the plumbing would be the easiest to install. Then there were decisions about the size and placement of bedroom closets, where the bathroom should be located, and on which end of the room a door should be placed. Window size and placement was another decision to be made--a serious decision since the home's exterior appearance was influenced by the window placement--and looks are important. Dad always wanted the home to be beautiful.
Finally, after long hours of work, he would holler out, "Hey, Wife! (He always call my mom, "Wife".) Come look at this." Within minutes, my mom would appear at his side to check out his work. She would scrutinize and think, then think and re-scrutinize as she moved her pointer-finger from room to room. It was as if she were living in that architectural drawing. Finally, taking a deep breath, some important questions were asked. Questions like, "Where do the vacuum, mop, and broom go?" And this one, "Where are the bedding and towels going to be stored?" I don't know if Dad always forgot important areas, or if it was a game they played. Either way, Wife added practicality to Dad's creativity. They made a great team.
So what?
That is what I asked myself at church today when memories of those years poked their heads up. What does any of that have to do with today's sermon on being righteous--not doing "righteous"? What does any of it have to do with being reformed and transformed instead of hanging on for dear life and trying to play the part of a good Christian?
As usual, God had a message for me in those childhood memories.
Even before I was conceived, I was on God's drawing board. He knew who I would be, and what he wanted me to do. He knew when I needed to be born, where I needed to live and go to school, and even worship. He created me to be a beautiful place, a functioning place, a perfect place His spirit could reside in and work from. And I have no clue what the finished me will look like. I haven't seen the plot plan, the floor plan, the roof construction, or the detail drawings.
Here is the problem (mine, not God's). I want to be like my mom, and approve God's plan before any work is done. I want to check it all out and make suggestions. I even want to go a step or two further and tell him what I like, don't like, want and don't want. If there are changes that seem necessary, I want them done, and done now. I want to be in charge. After all, it is my life isn't it?
Abba Father gives me the option to do just that. He will let me install doors that lead to places I shouldn't go. He will let me build walls where no wall should be built. He will even let me wall up the doors he wants me to go through. Since I usually foul up Do-It-Yourself projects, I can even consult the architectural firm of E. Ville Satan & Sons--they will listen to me and my desires. The firm will support and encourage me to build my lovely home in the sand dunes, if I desire, instead of on the rock where Abba wants it. They will recommend building locked storage rooms in which to hid my angers, jealousies, resentments, fears, selfishness--the list of things for locked storage goes on and on--instead of handing my sins, iniquities, and transgressions to God's son to dispose of. (Hiding appears to ease the shame and guilt, but doesn't.)
Houses on sand, and locks on doors aren't in God's building plans for my life, but somehow they find their way into the plans I make for myself. Sadly, when my plans are put into action, my house starts to collapse after a few rain and wind storms. And it starts to stink as my sins rot behind locked doors.
If all that weren't bad enough, there are times I think I know exactly what kind of house I am, what every room is for, and I am wrong. I remember well the "Prison Ministry" room I had. I loved that place, and sometimes spent more that one evening a week in it. God had built a beautiful place for me and I was going to "live" there forever. I didn't need the rest of the house. Then came the storm that destroyed that wonderful room. At least I thought it was destroyed. I was furious with God for ruining my life. What was I going to do now?
Oh, alas! Woe is me! I am ruined.
"Vanity, vanity, all is vanity." King Solomon said in Ecclesiastes 1:2. That is so true. In this case the vanity was my idea of who and what I was. I will never know how I thought that wonderful place I named Prison Ministry defined me. If I had seen the blueprints I would have known that place was and is merely a tool-room that equips me for the next building stage of my life.
I don't know what God is building. I don't know how many more rooms are either planned or in progress, or what they are even for. He just lets me know when I need to know. Shows me when I need to see. I am often surprised. In the meantime I try to use everything He has given me to the best of His ability, for the blessing of others, and most of all, to His Glory. My life is His, after all, not mine.
Now, back to Sunday's sermon--Be Righteous, not Do Righteous. Building the life I want, the way I want it, when I want it, ignoring all the garbage rotting inside me, and pretending to be what I'm not is doing righteous. It is only by letting God build what he planned eons ago, seeking his help on house-cleaning and upkeep, and firing E. Ville Satan & Sons as architects, consultants, or sub-contractors that I can be righteous as my Father in heaven is righteous. (Read all of Matthew 5 for the complete picture of God's righteousness we are to be like)
Lord, may I want what you want me to want, be who you want me to be, living as you want me to love--righteous like you. ( A Spirit caused typo? I thought I typed "live", but love is so much better.)
Dad toiled away during evenings and weekends deciding where to put a furnace and hot water heater, and how to arrange the kitchen and bathroom so the plumbing would be the easiest to install. Then there were decisions about the size and placement of bedroom closets, where the bathroom should be located, and on which end of the room a door should be placed. Window size and placement was another decision to be made--a serious decision since the home's exterior appearance was influenced by the window placement--and looks are important. Dad always wanted the home to be beautiful.
Finally, after long hours of work, he would holler out, "Hey, Wife! (He always call my mom, "Wife".) Come look at this." Within minutes, my mom would appear at his side to check out his work. She would scrutinize and think, then think and re-scrutinize as she moved her pointer-finger from room to room. It was as if she were living in that architectural drawing. Finally, taking a deep breath, some important questions were asked. Questions like, "Where do the vacuum, mop, and broom go?" And this one, "Where are the bedding and towels going to be stored?" I don't know if Dad always forgot important areas, or if it was a game they played. Either way, Wife added practicality to Dad's creativity. They made a great team.
So what?
That is what I asked myself at church today when memories of those years poked their heads up. What does any of that have to do with today's sermon on being righteous--not doing "righteous"? What does any of it have to do with being reformed and transformed instead of hanging on for dear life and trying to play the part of a good Christian?
As usual, God had a message for me in those childhood memories.
Even before I was conceived, I was on God's drawing board. He knew who I would be, and what he wanted me to do. He knew when I needed to be born, where I needed to live and go to school, and even worship. He created me to be a beautiful place, a functioning place, a perfect place His spirit could reside in and work from. And I have no clue what the finished me will look like. I haven't seen the plot plan, the floor plan, the roof construction, or the detail drawings.
Here is the problem (mine, not God's). I want to be like my mom, and approve God's plan before any work is done. I want to check it all out and make suggestions. I even want to go a step or two further and tell him what I like, don't like, want and don't want. If there are changes that seem necessary, I want them done, and done now. I want to be in charge. After all, it is my life isn't it?
Abba Father gives me the option to do just that. He will let me install doors that lead to places I shouldn't go. He will let me build walls where no wall should be built. He will even let me wall up the doors he wants me to go through. Since I usually foul up Do-It-Yourself projects, I can even consult the architectural firm of E. Ville Satan & Sons--they will listen to me and my desires. The firm will support and encourage me to build my lovely home in the sand dunes, if I desire, instead of on the rock where Abba wants it. They will recommend building locked storage rooms in which to hid my angers, jealousies, resentments, fears, selfishness--the list of things for locked storage goes on and on--instead of handing my sins, iniquities, and transgressions to God's son to dispose of. (Hiding appears to ease the shame and guilt, but doesn't.)
Houses on sand, and locks on doors aren't in God's building plans for my life, but somehow they find their way into the plans I make for myself. Sadly, when my plans are put into action, my house starts to collapse after a few rain and wind storms. And it starts to stink as my sins rot behind locked doors.
If all that weren't bad enough, there are times I think I know exactly what kind of house I am, what every room is for, and I am wrong. I remember well the "Prison Ministry" room I had. I loved that place, and sometimes spent more that one evening a week in it. God had built a beautiful place for me and I was going to "live" there forever. I didn't need the rest of the house. Then came the storm that destroyed that wonderful room. At least I thought it was destroyed. I was furious with God for ruining my life. What was I going to do now?
Oh, alas! Woe is me! I am ruined.
"Vanity, vanity, all is vanity." King Solomon said in Ecclesiastes 1:2. That is so true. In this case the vanity was my idea of who and what I was. I will never know how I thought that wonderful place I named Prison Ministry defined me. If I had seen the blueprints I would have known that place was and is merely a tool-room that equips me for the next building stage of my life.
I don't know what God is building. I don't know how many more rooms are either planned or in progress, or what they are even for. He just lets me know when I need to know. Shows me when I need to see. I am often surprised. In the meantime I try to use everything He has given me to the best of His ability, for the blessing of others, and most of all, to His Glory. My life is His, after all, not mine.
*************************************
************************************
Here is what I know today:
- God doesn't want me to build what I think I want, or tear down what He has built--no matter how badly I want or don't want it. HE is the builder. "Except the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain." Psalm 127:1 NKJ
- I don't want to labor in vain.
- I need to get rid of any faux architects or sub-contractors I have on retainer. Their work might sound good and look good, but it is garbage. "If God doesn't build the house, the builders only build shacks." Psalm 127:1 The Message
- I don't want to live in a shack either.
- His plan is perfect. His timing is perfect. My plans or timing will never turn out the way I desire. They are vanity, vanity.
- I want to smell like the incense of praise, not the stench of sin
Lord, may I want what you want me to want, be who you want me to be, living as you want me to love--righteous like you. ( A Spirit caused typo? I thought I typed "live", but love is so much better.)
In Love, Jan
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Going to A Play
I am so excited! Tonight I am attending a local theater production of Les Miserables. Our community is filled with talented people. One of our church's worship leaders and her two sons are performing. So is a friend's college-age son. I also have a couple friends in the orchestra, and one doing makeup. I am looking forward to taking at all in--the scenery, the costumes, the music, the talent, and the audience response.
I am also anticipating the invisible--God's hand. Last Tuesday, our prayer group prayed for not only the actors, musicians, and stage crew involved in the production, but also for the audience. We prayed that the Lord would touch hearts through the strong redemption and forgiveness message within the play.
I was taken aback at the director's recent remarks in a radio interview. He said that Les Miserables was about the student uprising in France in the 1800s. Yes, that is in the play, as is the squalor present in 19th century France, the inhumanity of people to each other, and their greed. But to me, the main message is about a life redeemed, reformed, and transformed.
Although Christ isn't specifically named, I pray he will reveal himself to those in attendance tonight and at the coming performances.
Can hardly wait.
Jan and Licorice Kitty who is watching the rain come down.
I am also anticipating the invisible--God's hand. Last Tuesday, our prayer group prayed for not only the actors, musicians, and stage crew involved in the production, but also for the audience. We prayed that the Lord would touch hearts through the strong redemption and forgiveness message within the play.
I was taken aback at the director's recent remarks in a radio interview. He said that Les Miserables was about the student uprising in France in the 1800s. Yes, that is in the play, as is the squalor present in 19th century France, the inhumanity of people to each other, and their greed. But to me, the main message is about a life redeemed, reformed, and transformed.
Although Christ isn't specifically named, I pray he will reveal himself to those in attendance tonight and at the coming performances.
Can hardly wait.
Jan and Licorice Kitty who is watching the rain come down.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Loggin' In
I am so frustrated. My internet has not been working well today. I can occasionally connect with my web browsers, but I haven't been able to connect with any sites such a blogger.com, Facebook, or my e-mail. I tried every hour from 6 am until 7 pm. That is when I finally succeeded.
I figured part of the reason is all the stormy, rainy weather we've had around here--over 25 inches of rain since January 1 and almost 3 inches the last couple days. That is just a guess on my part. All the water might not have anything to do with my internet service. Anyway, here is one of my few coherent thoughts for the day.
I am sure glad God doesn't go off line or can't be contacted. No matter what, I can always log in with Him.
Just a random thought I wanted to share.
Jan and Licorice Kitty
I figured part of the reason is all the stormy, rainy weather we've had around here--over 25 inches of rain since January 1 and almost 3 inches the last couple days. That is just a guess on my part. All the water might not have anything to do with my internet service. Anyway, here is one of my few coherent thoughts for the day.
I am sure glad God doesn't go off line or can't be contacted. No matter what, I can always log in with Him.
Just a random thought I wanted to share.
Jan and Licorice Kitty
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Stop, and Rest
I don't know why some memories jump into our minds seemingly out of nowhere. Yesterday, I vividly remembered a beautiful, sunny Nevada day that came straight from the pages of my childhood. I was around seven years old. That made my brother between five and six. I see him now. He's pedaling his bicycle--without training wheels--around and around the block.
Our town was quite small. There was neither traffic nor crime to worry about. Besides, our neighborhood was on the edge of town where nobody needed to be unless they lived there. In fact, the town was so small, our phone number was 9-R. Those were the old dial-up, party-line days.
Anyway, back to my story. My brother had just learned to ride. Mom had pushed him, and steadied him, and run along side him. Over and over again the routine was repeated until he could finally ride all by himself. He was one happy kid with a huge grin on his face, determination in his eyes, and hands working hard to keep the wobbles away. At last he was one of the big boys.
"Here he comes! Yea, Jim!" we shout.
"There he goes. Bye."
"Here he comes again! Yea!" We wave.
"There he goes." Jim, tightly gripping the handle bars, wiggles his fingertips at us and grins an even bigger grin.
After several laps Mom and I went inside and let Jim enjoy his new-found freedom. While he pedaled, I immersed myself in my library book, Nancy Drew of course. Mom washed dishes while keeping a watchful eye on her son as he went by again and again. After several minutes I heard Mom exclaim, "I wonder why Jim is crying?" Out she ran. I was hot on her heels.
Around the corner he came, wobbling like crazy and crying his little, blue eyes out. "Help! I don't know how to stop. I'm going to fall!"
Mom grabbed the bike, lifted Jim off, and set him on solid ground. Her little boy was scared, tired, helpless, and alone. As the tears ran down his cheeks, and his tired little legs trembled, Mom just hugged him real tight.
She felt so bad she hadn't taught him how to stop.
As that memory of my teary, little brother flashed before my eyes, I thought to myself, isn't that the way life itself can become? I get on my bicycle of busyness and start pedaling. I am so happy to be doing something. Round and round I go with a smile on my face and my feet on the pedals. But sometimes I start getting so tired I could cry, or other times I feel scared, or helpless, or alone. I need to get off and rest a spell.
Like my mom did with my brother, God shows me how to ride his special bike. He steadies me, walks along beside me, pushes me, and cheers me on. But, he does something else. He also shows me (us) when and how to stop, get off, and rest.
He gives us the Sabbath as a day of rest. Exodus 20:8-11
Jesus shows us how to take time to be alone with him. Luke 5:16
He also shows us how to sleep in the midst of storms when fears may arise. Matthew 8:24-26
Thank you, Lord, for showing us how to stop and seek refuge in you.
Jan and Licorice Kitty
Our town was quite small. There was neither traffic nor crime to worry about. Besides, our neighborhood was on the edge of town where nobody needed to be unless they lived there. In fact, the town was so small, our phone number was 9-R. Those were the old dial-up, party-line days.
Anyway, back to my story. My brother had just learned to ride. Mom had pushed him, and steadied him, and run along side him. Over and over again the routine was repeated until he could finally ride all by himself. He was one happy kid with a huge grin on his face, determination in his eyes, and hands working hard to keep the wobbles away. At last he was one of the big boys.
"Here he comes! Yea, Jim!" we shout.
"There he goes. Bye."
"Here he comes again! Yea!" We wave.
"There he goes." Jim, tightly gripping the handle bars, wiggles his fingertips at us and grins an even bigger grin.
After several laps Mom and I went inside and let Jim enjoy his new-found freedom. While he pedaled, I immersed myself in my library book, Nancy Drew of course. Mom washed dishes while keeping a watchful eye on her son as he went by again and again. After several minutes I heard Mom exclaim, "I wonder why Jim is crying?" Out she ran. I was hot on her heels.
Around the corner he came, wobbling like crazy and crying his little, blue eyes out. "Help! I don't know how to stop. I'm going to fall!"
Mom grabbed the bike, lifted Jim off, and set him on solid ground. Her little boy was scared, tired, helpless, and alone. As the tears ran down his cheeks, and his tired little legs trembled, Mom just hugged him real tight.
She felt so bad she hadn't taught him how to stop.
As that memory of my teary, little brother flashed before my eyes, I thought to myself, isn't that the way life itself can become? I get on my bicycle of busyness and start pedaling. I am so happy to be doing something. Round and round I go with a smile on my face and my feet on the pedals. But sometimes I start getting so tired I could cry, or other times I feel scared, or helpless, or alone. I need to get off and rest a spell.
Like my mom did with my brother, God shows me how to ride his special bike. He steadies me, walks along beside me, pushes me, and cheers me on. But, he does something else. He also shows me (us) when and how to stop, get off, and rest.
He gives us the Sabbath as a day of rest. Exodus 20:8-11
Jesus shows us how to take time to be alone with him. Luke 5:16
He also shows us how to sleep in the midst of storms when fears may arise. Matthew 8:24-26
Thank you, Lord, for showing us how to stop and seek refuge in you.
Jan and Licorice Kitty
Exodus 20:8-11 "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labor, and do all thy work: but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates: for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day, and hallowed it."
Luke 5:16 "However, he continued his habit of retiring to deserted places and praying."
Matthew 8: 24-26 "And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being covered with the waves; but Jesus Himself was asleep. And they came to Him and woke Him, saying, "Save us, Lord; we are perishing!" He said to them, "Why are you afraid, you men of little faith?" Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and it became perfectly calm.…"
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Rainy Wednesday
Alright, I think I am ready to write something. Monday's luncheon has been prepared, eaten, and cleaned up after. My research paper has been presented.Tuesday and Wednesday morning commitments are fulfilled, and now I am wrapped up in a flannel blanket while wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and debating whether or not to turn up the heat, turn on the gas fireplace, or tough it out. The thermostat for the hear-pump is set for 70 degrees; the thermometer by my chair says 64; but it feels like 60. Maybe putting stockings on my bare feet will help.
Have you ever seen a cocoon with my laptop on its lap? That is me--a lap-topped cocoon with ears full of pouring rain sounds. It has been pouring all afternoon, and is supposed to get worse as night comes--two to four inches the experts say. I think at least an inch has already arrived. My rain gutters have had trouble keeping up with the roof runoff.
I should have expected this weather no matter what the meteorologists had to say. I should have expected it not because spring is in the air, but because high school track practice started yesterday. As we parents and grandparents of track athletes say, "If it ain't rainin' it ain't track season."
(Excuse my English or lack of it. I usually cringe at the use of ain't, but it was the most fitting word at this moment in time. Tomorrow I will probably cringe; today I won't)
Some practices and meets are so bad that SCUBA gear is needed for participants and spectators alike! (Maybe I should write a poem for the team about training with tanks on their backs and fins on their feet. Oh my, I make myself laugh.)
In closing, my feet are warm and I am quite comfortable now. So I will continue to sit here after I finish this post, pull out a good book, kick back in my chair, and enjoy what is left of the day. If I start seeing animals coming by two-by-two, I'm out of here and looking for an ark.
Enjoying the rain,
Jan and Licorice Kitty (who refuses to go out in the downpour)
Have you ever seen a cocoon with my laptop on its lap? That is me--a lap-topped cocoon with ears full of pouring rain sounds. It has been pouring all afternoon, and is supposed to get worse as night comes--two to four inches the experts say. I think at least an inch has already arrived. My rain gutters have had trouble keeping up with the roof runoff.
I should have expected this weather no matter what the meteorologists had to say. I should have expected it not because spring is in the air, but because high school track practice started yesterday. As we parents and grandparents of track athletes say, "If it ain't rainin' it ain't track season."
(Excuse my English or lack of it. I usually cringe at the use of ain't, but it was the most fitting word at this moment in time. Tomorrow I will probably cringe; today I won't)
Some practices and meets are so bad that SCUBA gear is needed for participants and spectators alike! (Maybe I should write a poem for the team about training with tanks on their backs and fins on their feet. Oh my, I make myself laugh.)
In closing, my feet are warm and I am quite comfortable now. So I will continue to sit here after I finish this post, pull out a good book, kick back in my chair, and enjoy what is left of the day. If I start seeing animals coming by two-by-two, I'm out of here and looking for an ark.
Enjoying the rain,
Jan and Licorice Kitty (who refuses to go out in the downpour)
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