In God's Perfect Time, Not My Convenience

God is amazing. Those of you who have read my posts over the past week know I had to deal with some issues. Well, my anniversary came and went without tears, sorrow, or regrets. Prayers were answered, life was celebrated, and the Lord was in it all.  WOW, what a few days they were!

So now it is Wednesday, June 25th, and 2014 as almost half over. Where is the year going in such a hurry? I wish it would stay around awhile longer. I am not ready for a granddaughter to go off to college. I will miss her. I am not ready for other grandchildren to be 7th, 10th, 11th, and 12th graders. I still want them in elementary dance programs, concerts, and science fairs. I am not ready for rapidly growing grass followed by falling leaves. I am not ready for winter gully washers and wild storms. In fact,  I'm not even ready for this summer even though it has already arrived.

I want the year (or just today) to slow down because there is something else I am not ready for--my mammogram. I keep putting it off, hoping Jesus will return first.

That reminds me of something one of my young granddaughters asked her mother after Sunday school one day.

"Mom, what's taking him so long?"
"Who?"
"Jesus."
"So long for what?"
"My teacher said he is in heaven preparing a place for me. What's taking him so long?"

That's what I would also like to know, because if he hasn't returned by 12:30 this afternoon, I have to drive all the way into town to face the dreaded boob smashing machine. Oh well, there are worse things in life than a few minutes of discomfort. Besides, I could treat myself to frozen yogurt afterward. Yeah, that is what I could do.

As much as I enjoy frozen yogurt topped with fresh fruit, I really would prefer Jesus to come before my 1:00 appointment; however, he is God and I am not, so he will return when all is ready for the big day, not at my convenience.

Thankful that God's perfect timing takes precedence over my selfish wishes,

tick-tock, tick-tock,
Jan

Spring Up, Oh Well

Today I am letting you read a letter I wrote to my pastor yesterday. His sermon, from beginning to end, spoke to me about my journey through my anniversary weekend. For those of you who have read my last few posts, you will get a recap that will tie everything together.

Sunday blessings, Pastor,

The opening words of your sermon today summed up my week beautifully. You said something about the Lord providing everything we needed to get us through tough times. The rest of your message supplied additional insights into the ways God has worked in my life the past four days.

Thursday--I was feeling sad, disappointed, angry and every other emotion possible as my 50 wedding anniversary rapidly approached. As I expressed my sad, teary, poor-me state in my blog that day, I closed off with a prayer of confession, a plea for forgiveness for myself and the ability to forgive as He forgives, a request for a heart to love as He loves, and the ability to weep tears of thankfulness, praise, and awe instead of anger, loss, and resentment. I felt better.

Friday morning--I was more joy-filled than the previous day, yet still sad. Once again I wrote about my emotional tug-of-war. I told of trying to explain anniversaries away as man made events that benefit only the florists, restaurant owners, and jewelers, but that didn't work. I ended my blog by thanking God for his faithfulness, grace and mercy during the 50 years following the day my husband and I stood before him and made our wedding vows. Happy Anniversary, Lord.

Friday night--During the Root Beer Float women's event, I sat at a table decorated with a strewn-about, messy streamer and un-inflated balloons. I hadn't realized that  the table I had chosen represented the ugly floats we women sometimes ride in our parade of life. I shared with the ladies that I had been riding on an ugly float the past few days instead of the anniversary float I had dreamed of, the one decorated with flowers and sporting a beautiful cake that my husband and I would cut as a crowd of family and friends cheered and celebrated. As I shared my struggle from self pity to praise that  the Lord was taking me through, I kept looking at the table in front of me. Between sharing and looking, I slowly realized that everything needed to make my table beautiful was sitting there waiting to be used. If I inflated the balloons and draped the streamer, my table could become as beautiful as the other two tables in the room. 

Saturday--Once more I wrote for my blog. In it I told of Friday night's revelation, then I proceeded to decorate my ugly float with memories and blessings that the Lord bestowed during Gary's and my years of marriage, our personal lives and spiritual journeys, and the lives of our children. The ugly float slowly became beautiful.

As you said this morning, a well of Living Water is in each one of us. In faith, we just need to call it up. That is exactly what happened to me over the course of the past few days. I called out, He sprang up and began helping me decorate my float by watering my dry and thirsty soul. As a result, my days changed from awful to awe-filled. That sounds quite similar to another sermon I heard recently.

Spring up, oh well.

With thankfulness and love,

Jeannette

Decorating an Ugly Float

Decorating an Ugly Float    6/21/14

The speaker at our women's retreat this summer spoke about seasons of our life, and then compared them to our life as a parade filled with floats. There are times when the float we are on is as beautiful and any seen in the Rose Bowl Parade. At other times we find ourselves on a float that is either ugly or not decorated at all, a float from which we want to jump. Neither kind lasts forever. Each is just part of the whole parade.

I had forgotten about all that float imagery until last evening when I attended a Woman's Root Beer Float Night at church. During the event, those who had attended the retreat could share what the Lord was doing in their lives since the retreat, and those who hadn't attended could hear all about it.

There were three tables set up in the room, each decorated differently. One had a July 4th theme, another was definitely luau themed, and the third had a pink party streamer jumbled in the middle of it along with a few balloons that hadn't been inflated. Don't ask me why, but I sat at the flat balloon table.

Once we were enjoying  our foamy, creamy root beer floats, one of the fearless leaders commented on the tables. They each represented a different parade float--two beautifully decorated and one not. I sort of laughed because I had planted myself right where I was emotionally at that time, on an ugly float. "You are funny, Lord." I snorted as I took a sip of my treat.

Then the evening began in earnest as women shared their good floats, bad floats, and transitions in between. Finally it was decision time for me. Do I share or don't I? Do I tell of the turmoil I had been going through over the weekend--my 50th wedding anniversary. Do I tell these women I had expected to be riding on a beautiful float full of flowers, standing with my husband, cutting a tiered cake, and waving to a crowd of well-wishers. Instead I had found myself surrounded by un-inflated balloons and un-strung streamers. I decided to share.

As I did, a different revelation took form. It was somewhat different from what I had written only hours earlier and forgotten to publish until minutes ago. (see 'Joyful, yet Sad) As I talked about sorrow and disappointments, I saw that the table before me had everything it needed to make it beautiful. If the balloons were inflated and the streamer draped, the table would be festive indeed.

That is when I more fully realized that during dark times, sad times, or angry times, the Lord has supplied all I need to bring beauty into the midst of it. I just have to look past the ugly and search for the beauty waiting to bloom. It is there.

Join me now as I begin decorating my 50th Anniversary Float with what the Lord has provided.

40 good years of marriage
3 healthy children
Supportive parents and friends
Good pastoral teaching
Lots of laughter
Memorable trips across the country
Family trip touring the western National Parks with my parents
Hiking along part of the Pacific Crest Trail in Oregon
Steady, secure job for my husband
Open doors for spiritual growth and ministry
Wisdom in child rearing
A good night's sleep before, and peace of mind during our oldest child's surgery
Highly anticipated family reunions
Puns, puns, puns
Camping in rain storms, electrical storms, and tornado watches--oh, the awesome power of God.
Snorkeling in Hawaii with my brother and his wife
Breakfasts in bed for Mothers day
A carnation in my root beer freeze following birth of our daughter
Time alone on Saturdays when husband took the kids to the mall
Faithfulness in tithing (my husband saw to that)
Opportunity to be part of a prison ministry
Unexpected provision in tight financial situations
Children who have become strong people of faith
Christian spouses for our kids
Healthy, loving grand-children
Years of safe travel
Family holiday celebrations and traditions

There is more unpacking of memory and blessing boxes to do, but my once ugly float is becoming more and more beautiful as I decorate and celebrate with all the Lord has provided and blessed.

Thank you, Lord, for this present float I'm riding in our parade of life.

Jan

Joyful, Yet Sad

Thoughts of my up-coming anniversary are still popping into my mind, even after my last posting where I did a paradigm shift. I guess I had hoped that writing about my sadness and reminding myself to praise instead of pout would do away with the sadness that kept rising to the surface (pout is not the word I really want to use, but it sounds good with 'praise')

I have since tried explaining away anniversary celebrations by making them man-made events that benefit jewelry stores, florists, restaurants, candy makers, and card shops. By thinking along those lines, I thought I could more easily tell myself that being married fifty years was no big deal except to those profiting from it. That didn't work out very well. For some reason 50 years did seems like a big deal to me. No matter how hard I tried to blame everything on today's society, there was something I was missing.

When I started this blog three years ago, I wanted to openly share my emotions and thought processes in my journey of healing and restoration, this journey called "Life with Christ". So, I am going to share a few thoughts I had as I searched for the missing pieces. Are they merely my way of trying to feel better or are they the Lord speaking to me? I am still not sure. Either way, there is truth in them.

Fifty years ago my husband and I stood before God, family, and friends and made a promise to our Lord as well as a covenant to each other--a promise and covenant to love, honor, obey etc., etc. for richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and health until death do us part. It wasn't always easy, but we did it to the best of our abilities. Over the ensuing years we experienced God's abundant blessings of wisdom in child rearing, strength though illnesses, and provision in difficult seasons. Our family grew not only in numbers, but also in faith. How did God do it? I don't know, but I don't need to know. I need only acknowledge that He did it.

Even though the covenant and promises were broken when my husband committed his felony, our Lord has remained faithful to each of us as individuals. As a young bride with hopes and dreams of the future, I could not have possibly imagined the pain of the past six years. As that young bride I also could not have imagined the awesome and unexpected ways the Lord has healed, supported, comforted, and given me peace.

My husband has also experienced the Lord's work in his life. I do not speak for him except to say that God has been, and continues to be faithful.

At this point I still cannot wish my husband a happy anniversary, at least not with a loving heart. Instead, I will joyously shout out, "Happy Anniversary, Lord. Thank you for fifty years of your faithfulness, provision, and grace."

With a joyful, yet still sad, heart,
Jan

Don't Cry. Don't Cry. I Cry Anyway

I don't want to write today, tomorrow, or the following few days because I don't want to feel what I am feeling. They, my thoughts and feelings, are slowly clawing their way out of my subconsciousness, and making their way into the light. So I must deal them with before they overcome me.

I must once again battle sadness, anger, disappointment, resentment, and who know what else. I thought the old emotions were gone, but they were merely resting in some hidden place, gathering strength for this onslaught. When the battle is over, the enemy will once more be defeated, but, in the meantime, tears keep trying to force their way though my tightly closed eyelids.

Don't cry, I tell myself. Don't cry. Leave the past in the past. Your healing has been good. Your scars are fading and your pain is almost gone. You memories are of the good times, not the bad. Just forget the upcoming event. Don't go there, Jan. Don't go there. Take those thoughts captive. But I go there anyway. And I cry.

I go back to that day in 1964 when my husband and I were married.  I go back to the birth of three children. I go back to fun picnics and adventurous camping trips, band concerts and track meets. I go back to Christmas pageants and youth choirs, kids' weddings, grandchildren and holidays.  I go back to those good days. I can't help it even though I feel tears coming. I guess the Lord has some unfinished business for me to deal with.

Get over it, I say. But it, the unmentioned, stares me in the face and breathes down my neck making itself impossible to ignore. "50th Wedding Anniversary," it yells at me. "50th Wedding Anniversary is my name." I plug my ears to those words. I don't want to hear them.  I want only to wipe away any past dreams I might have had--dreams of a joyous celebration with family and friends. My parents and grandparents had 50th celebrations, but for me there won't me any cake or dancing. I want to erase fantasy dreams of an Alaskan cruise or a trip to the British Isles with my husband. We had dreamed about them, talked about them, but never got to plan them. There will be no shipboard dinners, calving icebergs, or bagpipes. Nothing.

There will be nothing except my husband sitting in his jail cell, dealing with his own thoughts, and me sitting at home with my thoughts--each of us fighting off  sadness over losses that cannot be regained. And if the phone rings I will answer it with a cheery "hello" as if I hadn't a care in the world in spite of wet lashes and damp cheeks.

If I really look at my situation, I don't really have any cares. God has them all carefully cradled in his hands.He has provided for me in every situation. My kids and grand-kids have blessed me. Any tears I cry should be tears of joy, not disappointment. That is so easy to say, but difficult to do.

"Lord, I confess that anger and resentment toward my husband and his deeds still arise at times. I confess I feel sorry for myself at other times. Forgive me.  Let me forgive my husband ( it is an ongoing process) as you forgive me and have forgiven him. Let me love him as you love each of us.

"Let me celebrate what you have given me, and not wish for what I don't have.

"And Lord, help me through these next few days. When I cry may my tears be tears not of regret, loss, or resentment, but rather tears of thankfulness, praise, and awe."

I must add, I won't be alone. My kids, grand-kids, and I are getting together for a short weekend of food, games and good times.

Thank you, Lord.

Defeating the enemy by praising God and proclaiming Christ's victory,
Jan

Where Did They Go?

While sitting here thinking about this post, I glanced at a gum wrapper lazing on the end table beside me. It is sort of crumpled up, sort of folded up, and sort of sad knowing its usefulness has come to an end. Hmmm, I wondered, is there something I could write about that little piece of spearmint scented paper?  Something humorous perhaps?

Somewhere, somehow (don't ask me how)  my gum-wrapper thought made a detour from the Humor Room Road to the Where Did It Go Road, and barged in without even knocking. "Hey!" it yelled out. Anyone around here know where Black Jack went? You know what I'm talking about don't ya? The licorice flavored gum I loved as a kid, yeah, the kind in the blue and black package. No? No!. Oh, that is too bad.

"Well then, how about Beeman Pepsin  gum, or Clove? Haven't seen them either? OK, how about these bubble gums? Bazooka? Double Bubble? NO?"

That is where my gum wrapper took me at first, but I didn't stay there. I ended up on the internet checking out candy by the decade. Oh, the fond memories that surfaced. There were memories of walking home from school and stopping by the little corner store to buy a candy treat for the few pennies in my pocket, and if I were lucky, a nickle too. Sometimes I bought black licorice, sometimes Tootsie Rolls; however, other times I was brave enough to buy a package of candy cigarettes (if you blew into the paper on them, a whiff of powdered sugar smoke would come off the red tipped end) or bubblegum cigars complete with a paper 'ring' I would wear on my fingers. And don't forget the wax lips and mustaches.

Several pictures of specific candy brought back memories of Saturday matinees. I always challenged myself to nurse along a box of Jr. Mints or a Sugar Daddy sucker for the entire movie. Looking back, it's surprising how far ten cents would go.

Yep, there were the summers of blowing bubbles with friends--not the soapy kind, rather the skill requiring, gum kind. While we passed around the waxed Bazooka Joe comic that came with each piece of Bazooka gum, we would stuff our mouths with piece after piece of gum. Finally, after several minutes of chewing, swallowing sweet saliva, and forming the pink, pliable gum into a smooth wad of bubble-blowing perfection, we were ready to compete. Then came the laughter as bubbles either popped before barely forming or grew and grew with each steady breath until coming to rest on our noses or in our eyebrows. What greater fun could there be?

Aaaaah, the past. Is that the way it really was? I doubt it, but that is the way I remember a place to which I can never return except in my memories. If I really wanted a taste of the past, I could find it. I could take the time and effort to locate and order those discontinued brands of gum that are manufactured  only once a year or so. If I really wanted to, I could locate a store in our area that sells Sugar Daddy suckers.  I could. But why go back to the past when there is the 'now' with its Sour Patch Kids, Wasabi Almonds, and Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccinos?

In time, they too might be gone--replaced by something else, not necessarily better, but newer.


Even though so much from my early years no longer exist, there is one that remains completely unchanged--my Lord. I wasn't aware if his presence in those childhood years. I wasn't very aware of him in my young adult years. Why go back to those days, no matter how good I remember them as being, when I know that today I live in his presence?  I will admit there are times I'm not aware of him, but it never lasts long.

I find comfort knowing he was present 70+ years ago, he is present at this moment, and will continue being present until I stand before his heavenly throne. The fact he is present will never change.

Yes, in my case, it is fun reliving the distant past. It is humbling remembering the recent past. It is awe-inspiring living out each and every day. And the future? I think it will be glorious.

Remembering the past, living in the present, and awaiting what is to come,
Jan

Show Me How, Lord.

From my recliner
1:25 p.m.
June 14, 2014

Well now, that is a good start. At least I have officially written something. I was going to write at McDonalds this morning, but made up my shopping list instead. I was going to write after I put my groceries away, but glanced through today's paper, petted the cat, and read my snail mail, e-mail, tweets, and face book posts instead. At this point, the World Cup is in full swing; the NBA championship is almost over; the garage wants my car in for an oil change; pictures of grads with their happy families are everywhere I look; and the cat is contentedly purring away.

With all the above accomplished and my stomach growling, I was going to heat up the last of my turkey chili, take it into the sun-room, and enjoy a leisurely lunch-with-a-good-book break. Instead, here I sit typing letter-by-letter, word-by-word creating who knows what. We should all know within the hour. I can hardly wait.

Then I will eat lunch, and read a chapter or two of my book before doing some real work (as in physical labor) I need to attack the grass that is embracing the trees trunks and overtaking outdoor stairs, as well as the weeds cuddling up to the flower beds. Look out, over-takers, the weed whacker is coming for you.

But, I must be honest with you, The battery on my handy, dandy weed cutter-offer lasts only 15 to 20 minutes. At least I can get some work done in areas that will impress the neighbors. "Oh look, she finally tidied up under her trees."

Before signing off to heat my lunch, I need a high five from y'all. Yesterday I accomplished the impossible, yes I did. I, the lady with little arm strength, lifted my full 5 gallon gas can (30 lbs according to Google) all the way up to the  lawn mower engine (it's a riding mower), maneuvered the spout into the gas tank with one hand while holding the container with the other, and poured the gas in without spilling a drop or dropping the confounded thing. It was hard, and took time to figure out how to lift, support, and pour all at the same time. In the process I prayed, "Lord, how can I do this? Show me." He came through. It is amazing what arms, hands, elbows and knees can do when working together. I truly can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

From my recliner
Signing off
2:30 p.m.

Now for lunch.
Jan

Protect My Ears, Lord

Years ago, as I mowed the small field by the barn, a question reverberated in my ears all because a rather long snake skin grabbed my attention. I heard God loudly and clearly ask, "Are you going to molt or are you going to bolt?"

Yesterday afternoon I was again looking for and listening for a word from God as I mowed the same field. That is not something I do regularly, look and listen that is, but that is what our prayer group had prayed for hours earlier. I knew the Lord would answer those prayers; however, I didn't know how he would do it. Surprise me, Lord.

So, as the mower slowly devoured the grass jungle that had arisen out of nowhere, I bounced up and down, and back and forth like a bronco rider in a rodeo. I also watched and listened.

Lord, is there a lesson here in this jumble of grass, weeds, mole hills, and animal scat? Bear? Elk? I don't know what critter the droppings came from, but they certainly weren't deer. Really, Lord,? Are you trying to reveal yourself in a new way? If so, you're really quite funny.

I got no answers to these questions.

As I continued mowing I had to occasionally adjust my ear protection--those uncomfortable muffs used to buffer the engine's ear-damaging decibels. At one point I seriously considered removing them altogether because they not only tended to slip, but they also pushed my glasses into the sides of my nose. I didn't like the situation at all, but rules being rules, I kept them on. After all, I had to protect my ears. I didn't want to lose any more hearing than I have already.

I mowed some more before finally shutting off the mower. As I removed the protective device and once again adjusted them I heard a blackbird's call. Now the Lord had my attention. I began to consider everything my ears take in during a week's time or even a day's. There are the singing birds at daybreak, barking dogs, and purring cats. There are women's prayers on Tuesday, voices raised in song on Sunday, and awe filled sighs from my lips daily.These are the good sounds, the holy sounds.

Sadly, there are so many other sounds that assail my ears, the unholy ones.There is the gossip transmitted in conversations. There are the profanities, sexual innuendos, and abusive, degrading words I hear on TV, in movies, and in the market place. Then there are the words I hear with my eyes as I read books, newspapers, and social media posts. These are all words I need to protect my ears from when entering a world overgrown with weeds.

I know there was a time in my own life that I ignored words that dishonored God and his creation. I pretended I didn't hear abusive, evil talk, but listened anyway. I was shocked by the use of the Lord's name in vain, but turned a deaf ear. I had had unprotected hearing for so long that the unholy and profane was slowly becoming either acceptable, unquestioned or, worse yet, unnoticed.

Yesterday I had to ask this question, "Can unprotected hearing deafen us to the voice of God?"

I'm so thankful that the Holy Spirit allows us to recognize the harmful noises and words of the world so we can turn away from or speak against them before they cause damage. Our ability to hear God's voice must not be lost.

Protect our ears, Lord, so that we are hearing you, and only you.

Jan

Graduation Contemplation

The band's last musical note has faded into the bleachers. The speakers' last kudos have touched families' hearts. The din of excited conversation has finally beached itself among salty tears in corners of the high school Commons. My granddaughter's graduation is over, but it was a night I will not soon forget.

It is hard to find words to express the joy, the pride, and, at the same time, sorrow I felt seeing this beautiful young lady enter the gym. With head held high, eyes aglow, and academic medals clanking against her robe, she marched down the aisle and settled into her assigned seat.

It seems like only yesterday I watched this child entering her kindergarten classroom to begin a journey into the academic world in which she not only thrived, but also excelled. It seems like only hours ago I observed her serving volley-balls, guarding rival hoopsters, and making an occasional basket or turnover in that very same gym. It seems like only minutes ago I gazed at her name on the school's Track Record board. And seconds ago? heard her leading worship at her youth group.

But last night, the school fight song became Pomp and Circumstance. Names on record boards became tear-blurred smudges; and cheers for extended volleys or three-point shots became an echoing ovation for the class of 2014. And her singing? It was carried into the gym and shared with the entire community.

Seeing the honor stole, honor cords, and academic medals decorate a granddaughter's robe would make any grandma proud. So would the awards and scholarships, but its not the decorations, the plaques, or the "You have been awarded..." letters that makes this grandma most proud. It is the Christ-filled heart and Godly spirit beneath that robe that fills me to overflowing.  In other words, it is not about what she does, it is about who she is in Christ.
                                                                
Go into the world, Miss R, with joy, integrity, honesty, respect, and love. Use your gifts to the best of your ability, and acknowledge, honor, and serve Him well.

My sadness comes, as sadness does, with the end of an age. Joy comes, as joy does, with beginnings. So, granddaughter of mine, the memory-filled old has passed away and the un-revealed future lies ahead. I am excited for you.

Love ya, girl

Nana