Default Mode

When we buy a computer, it usually comes ready for action because the developers want to make life simple for us. Its word processing program comes installed with the margins and page size already set. Even a font type and size has been chosen. We need only start typing. The predetermined default mode does everything else.

As for the rest of the computer, that is also set to a default mode. The screen brightness, the mouse speed, the file folders for certain documents, privacy settings--everything is preset. If there is anything we want done differently, we have to intentionally make the changes.

There are online helps to figure this stuff out if we don't have a clue what we are doing, or if you are like me, you seldom get out of default mode except to occasionally change the font.

Even Blogspot comes preset. I am using the default font and don't even know what it is called. Out of five font sizes, I am using the preset normal size, and the normal formatting mode. If I want changes, I have to make them.

So, I desire to make a change. This is Georgia, Large, Minor Heading, Bold. 

Where am I going with this, you ask. Well, it seems that we too, like my laptop, came with a default mode. We came set with selfishness, laziness, envy, jealousy, hatred, strife, self-centeredness, dishonesty, immorality, etc., etc., etc. This is the way we were when we were purchased by the Lord.

And he desires to change us.  He has plans for each and every one, special plans, each one different from the other. He wants our default setting gone; however, he doesn't force the changes on us. He gives us the manual instead, and says, "Here is the WORD." I am here to help you understand it. I will supply whatever power you need to get rid of your default settings and set my customized ones, but the actual work is up to you. Together, we will make a difference.

So the work begins. Little by little, step by step the changes come. Hatred slowly becomes love. Envy becomes contentment, A self-centered person becomes a servant. Addictions are overcome, and anxieties are replaced with peace. These are obvious changes, but there are certain default modes we either ignore or easily slip back into because they aren't that bad. For me, it is wasting time sitting in my chair, and staring at a bright electronic display. After checking Facebook and Twitter, e-mail and a daily jigsaw puzzle, I have spent at least one to two hours I could have been working in the yard or volunteering someplace.

The TV shows I watch on HULU at night, I consider entertainment. I don't watch shows containing profanity, nudity, sex or immoral behavior. Instead I watch the good shows that have murders, bombings, armed robberies, and such. Since the good guys always win, these programs fall into the "aren't that bad" category. Not bad compared to what? The world's book or the Lord's book.

I am not saying television  and social media are all bad. I am merely asking myself if I have slipped completely into default mode where I am doing what I want to do instead of being in the setting the Lord has for me at that particular time--doing what he has for me to do. So, tonight instead of watching Single Handed, a detective show set in Ireland, I am making myself write this post that arose from a discussion at my prayer group this morning. The easy thing for me to do is watch the show and put writing off until tomorrow. Then, when tomorrow rolls around and I finally set my mind to it, I will have forgotten what I was going to write. I know because it has happened before.

Lord, in all I do, let me make sure I haven't changed any of your settings back to my old default mode.

Jan

Sweetness that Heals

Yesterday I kept thinking about a line from a Mercy Me worship song we had sung in church, "Thy name is like honey on my lips." Sweetness and honey are used over and over throughout scripture in relationship to the Lord, his word, wisdom, nourishment (manna), etc. I could spend days studying the various references and how they relate both to the Lord and to my life. But for today, I want to share what was stirred within me during worship.

Following surgery on my foot almost two years ago, the long incision didn't want to heal. A staph infection had decided to hinder the process. As expected, antibiotics were called into the battle, but so was honey. The sweet medicinal ointment fought the staph from the surface while antibiotics fought from inside. The battle was long and hard fought, but ultimately won. I healed.

I don't understand the chemistry of the sugars in honey or how they react to outside things. I don't understand the scientific data about its molecular structure, but honey is a proven healing agent. In the same way, I don't understand the workings of the Lord. I don't understand the power of his word. I don't understand how something can be both sweet and sharper than a two edged sword. I don't, and never will, understand. But I know.

I know the Lord works because I have been on the receiving end. I know there is power in his word because it has brought about change in my life. I have experienced both the sweetness and the sharpness of his word. And, I know that like the medicinal honey used on my foot, the sweetness of his word and its nourishment has brought healing to a broken heart and repair to a shattered soul.

I don't think I will ever again read scriptures or sing praises about the sweetness of honey without knowing that with its sweetness comes healing.

May your day be sweetened with his honey.
Jan

Fog Horns, Soup, and Train Whistles

While I surfed through an on-line college class catalog this morning, I had so many random thoughts meandering around and through Writing Non-Fiction and Writing for Publishing that I am amazed I could keep everything separated. This randomness won't mean much of anything to anyone but me, and I'm not even sure about me;  however, I will share it anyway.

***I thoroughly enjoy a bowl of homemade turkey vegetable with rice soup fresh from the freezer. I never truly enjoy cooking up a turkey carcass or beef bones, and removing whatever meat I can find. I don't particularly like preparing the fresh vegetables that I add to the broth. I certainly don't like figuring out the best way to cool the delectable results in a rapid and safe manner, especially in the summer. But I love tossing in frozen leftover veggies, rice, and miscellaneous broths that I find hiding in various freezer containers. I love the tantalizing aroma that fills my home. I love the sight of soup-filled containers stacked in my freezer. And most of all, as I did today, I love popping frozen soup into the microwave, heating it up, and enjoying every morsel. Aaaaah, good stuff.

***Besides loving soup, I love (are you ready?) crows. I wish I knew what they talked about. It seems many hours of every day are filled with their extremely loud discussions, debates, and arguments. I also wish I knew what in the world they are doing when they toss old, damp, moldering leaves out of the gutters onto my porch and sidewalk. Either they are trying to send me a not-so-subtle message on gutter cleaning, or my gutter is their private pantry where they store bread crusts, apple chunks, and my hazelnuts. Do the robins lose worms on the roof, worms that roll into the gutter and live on wonderful decaying matter? Or are raucous, leaf-tossing crows like children playing in a dirt pile? Wheeee! It doesn't really matter. I love crows.

***I love the sound of the fog horn. I don't hear it very often since the fog isn't usually very thick, but I heard it this morning. I think the horn I hear is attached to a buoy in the shipping channel of the harbor about one-half mile from my house. There is something quite lonely and haunting about its deep, resonant "oooooooooooo, ooooooooooooo." Yet, there is also comfort in the sound that filters through the thick gray blanket engulfing my home. "I'll lead you in," it sings.

The comfort coming from a fog horn goes back to the time I was 4-5 years old. My younger brother and I spent happy months with my folks by Lake Union in Seattle, Washington. We lived there while Dad was receiving Naval training. About the only thing I remember from that short stay was looking outside on foggy mornings and seeing nothing but gray--thick, thick gray, and hearing, "oooooooooo." To this day, the sound of any fog horn brings back my childhood memories of another horn calling from somewhere beyond the Aurora Avenue Bridge. Those were good days for this child.

***The train whistle is also a sound I love. I don't know why I find something majestic and alive in the sight and sound of trains. I count the number of cars rumbling past as I wait at a crossing. I marvel at the graffiti scrawled across many of the cars. Although such artistic expression is considered to be defacing property, some taggings are truly works of art. And, I wonder about the places the cars have been, the sights they have seen, and the sounds they have heard. I am sure the train has many stories waiting to be told.

I also wonder about the cargo. Where is it coming from and where is it going? Who toiled endless hours to load and unload the payload. Who are the paying passengers, and who is riding in an empty box car? To me, a train whistle calls out, "Come and hear. Let me tell you my tale." It warns me, "Watch out! I have important work to do. I'm coming through." And it invites. "Come explore with me. Come see this wonderful country and its people. Come."

If I believed in reincarnation, I was probably a railroad tramp in another life. But I don't, and I wasn't, so I guess it is time to hop the train in this life. I can be a hobo in a sleeper car for a few days. I will listen to the stories the train tells, and write them down.

Thus my thoughts went, jumping from one thing to another. They kept me amused for awhile. Writing this post has kept me amused a while longer. The day is now gone. I have done nothing noticeable around the house. There is still hope though, I could still get some mowing done before dark. I could.

Loving another day blessed with sights, sounds, and musing,

Jan

Goodbye Snakeskin

On May 21, 2012 I posted "Molt or Bolt" on this blog. It was a piece inspired by a snakeskin I had discovered on my grass-clipping pile in the far back of my property. I think the dried out grass heap provided a perfect place at the perfect time for a snake to molt. Little did I realize when I picked it up, put it across my lap, and continued mowing that it was God's perfect time and place to talk to me.

As I said in that post, when I found the skin I was at a point in my healing process where I wanted to run away. I wanted to take refuge with my sister and my dad.  I didn't want to deal with the challenges, life changes and adjustments that stared me in the face, but I felt that my kids and grand-kids needed my here with them. As I piloted my mower around and around the field with that beautiful, yet damaged, snakeskin on my lap, God whispered to my spirit, "Will you molt, or will you bolt?" I had a choice to make.

Yesterday at church, that snakeskin image flooded my mind once more when Pastor Sean talked about the up-coming baptisms, of dying to self--shedding the old you to take on the new Him. Then came his snakeskin analogy with this twist. We, unlike the snake, often try to crawl back into the old skin--the life we once knew, but no matter how hard we try, it no longer comfortably fits.

I could surely identify with that. In the molting process, I had to leave behind things I loved. I didn't want to leave them, but I had little choice in the matter. Prison ministry was one of those things. Although I have been out of that arena for six years, I have still gone to refresher courses to keep my volunteer status up to date. I have gone to Volunteer Appreciation Banquets and seen inmates I knew. In these situations I received many "We miss yous" from inmates and staff alike. That always made me feel good and wanting to return, which I can do at any time now.

But here is the truth that hit me between the eyes Sunday. I keep trying to climb back into that old, dried out skin that no longer fits. It has taken this long to realized that I am still vulnerable when it comes to attention and praise. That is not what ministry, especially prison ministry, is about. I hated to admit that I am still an easy mark for any offender.

So, I finally had to admit it is time to let the molted skin blow away. I can't keep it crammed in a junk drawer filled with things I might need someday.

If the Lord desires me in prison ministry in the future, he will provide a new, perfectly fitted skin--one without the vulnerabilities that the rips and tears in my old one bring.

Goodbye old skin, goodbye.

Praising God,
Jan

"I AM NOT A FERAL CAT!" says Queen Licorice

While I get my thoughts together for today's post, I am going to run to the kitchen, make a pot of coffee, and wash up the breakfast dishes. Then I should be ready. In the meantime, I will put my laptop on the chair beside a deeply slumbering, snoring Licorice Kitty. ...be back in a jiffy.

This is Her Royal Blackness, aka Licorice Kitty to you readers, writing this post. My Personal Assistant Jan is careless this morning. She has just left her black picture-letter-noise-box unattended. I think she calls it her laptop, but she is very, very wrong. Only I am the allowed on top of her lap--me, Her Majesty. All others are interlopers.

While she is rattling around the kitchen and thinks I am sleeping (I do not snore), I will put in my two meows worth--plus a purr or two-- about life on my royal estate. She thinks it is hers She is mistaken. It's mine. She also tells people that I am a feral cat she discovered and rescued from a life in the wild. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Here is the real scoop.

I am sleek, black, beautiful Queen Licorice, her Royal Blackness, who rules over and protects many acres of land. My eyes are a beautiful, almost florescent, yellow-orange. My whiskers are not white like those of common, lowly cats. These royal whiskers are long and as black as a moonless night. The fur embracing my body brings amazement to those who touch me. "She is so soft!" they murmurer as they stroke my head. "Oh, wow! In the sun, she looks auburn" they exclaim, confirming what I already know. I represent feline purrfection. 

As for her "feral cat" story, it's completely untrue. She is the feral one. For days I had watched her fight her way around the blackberries that protect my land. I had seen her try to cut and tame them. I had seen her valiant, bloody battle. I had seen it all from deep within the darkness of the threatening brambles. 

Finally, I could take the carnage no longer, and intervened. It was time to summon her. I knew not to hiss or roar. I didn't want her running off in terror. I did what I had spent my lifetime perfecting. I used my most beautifully pitched, softest meow mixed with my deepest, rumbling purr. She immediately responded to my call. 

"Hello, Kitty," she rasped, then followed it up with an abominably sounding meow. I would have prefurred a respectful, "Good morning, your Highness." She didn't know that one does not greet royalty with a flippant hello, and one certainly doesn't utter a lowly meow.But her greeting was better than no greeting at all. After all, what could I expect? She was feral. 

Progress with her taming process was slow. I had decided our contact would be by speech only until she was ready to see my awesome face in the filtered sunlight. For a week I had to listen to her feeble attempts to purr and meow, but finally reveal day arrived. And, as expected, within minutes of catching sight of me, she had succumbed to my gorgeous eyes. I gazed at her from the shifting shadows and purred. She stared back, trying to purr in response. This is going well I thought. Before long, she will be feeding me from her bramble-scared hands.

Excuse me, I must paw off now. I hear my personal assistant returning, but will continue my story when she again gets careless. In the meantime, I will resume my royal repose on her laptop. But please remember, I , her Royal Blackness, Queen Licorice, am the real laptop, and from the top of her lap I reign. 



THAT CRAZY CAT!!!  I still haven't decided what to write today, so I will let her creative tale stand. I had no idea she was so delusional--or that she could type for that matter.

Have a blessed God-day

Jan,
Personal Assistant to Her Royal Blackness, Queen Licorice

Actions/Reactions

I am so excited. I don't know if anyone else is, but that is OK. My excitement isn't about the Seattle Mariners. It isn't about the Seattle Seahawks. It is about something that is coming (at least I hope it is). I have been hearing promising sounds of its approach for the last hour. Closer and closer--louder and louder. THUNDER; and I think that means RAIN.

I feel like a little girl on Christmas eve. I keep glancing at the windows in the sun room expecting to see rain drops running down them. I have moved my planters out from under the porch eves. I have celebrated the increasing darkness as thunder clouds roll in.

I love electrical storms. I love rain. It's coming. It's coming. I feel it. Oh happy day. Join me in celebration. Sing a song; hum a ditty; whistle a tune or dance a jig for the rain is coming.

Or is it? Nope, not right now  I just checked the radar weather map. Instead of watering my yard and planters, the rain is refreshing the hills a few miles south of me. And besides that, I think I heard my furnace kick on for the first time in weeks, my toes are going to sleep, and my coffee is cold. Forget the happy music. Let's turn off the lights, sit in relative darkness, and mourn. Bah. Humbug.

But wait, ladies and gentlemen. Hold it right there while I walk all the way across the room and look out the window. YES!! The sound I am hearing is not my furnace coming to life. It is the sound of wonderful rain falling by the buckets-full. It is finally running down my windows, bouncing on the porch steps, and moistening the dry, dry ground. It has finally arrived. The rain has come accompanied by clapping thunder. Hooray.

Crank up the music again. Oh happy day.

This post has been written in real time which includes editing as I write and wonder where this is leading. Yes, I really did go from excitement and anticipation to sadness and disappointment and back in less than an hour's time. This emotional swing was based entirely on my expectations and desires, not having them fulfilled, and then finally seeing it all happen abundantly. How crazy is that?

This has been a good illustration for me--an illustration of how emotions can direct my outlook on things. Having my toes go to sleep often happens when I sit on one position too long. My coffee getting too cold is going to happen when I let it sit for an hour. I usually get up, walk around, put my coffee in the microwave and not give the inconvenience a second thought. That is the way life works.

But today, when the rain wasn't cooperating, my numb toes and cold coffee ticked me off. So instead of getting up, walking around, and nuking my coffee, I chose to get grumpy and complain.

How often do I let unfulfilled expectations control my action or reactions? If a friend cancels a luncheon date do I decide never to invite her to lunch again, or do I wish her a good day and reschedule? If my spouse doesn't do the expected chore do I explode, give him the cold shoulder, and tell my facebook friends he is being a jerk or do I talk to him about it?

What I feel is what I feel. It is real and needs to be acknowledged, but how I act or react is determined by me. I have no one else to blame. "It's not my fault," doesn't work here. I don't want to spend time belaboring this point. We can each use it as we will. But here is something I have to often ask myself, "Was my action/reaction Spirit led, bringing glory of God or was it brought about by selfish motivations that brought increased brokenness to a relationships, and/or more stress and guilt to my own life?

Until my heart and mind are completely renewed, my actions/reactions will continue to reveal where I am in tune with God and where there is work to be done.

===============

Proverbs 3:6In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. 

Proverbs 3:5  Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;

Ephesians 4:26–27  Be angry, and yet do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not give the devil an opportunity. 

===============

The thunder is gone. The rain has stopped. My cold coffee is finished and my toes are awake. This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it. (rain or shine) Psalm 118:24

Jan

Wind Up Jesus into Your Heart

Traffic on Doing and Being Avenue was moving quite smoothly this sunny Monday morning--at least at first. Nothing had slowed me down as I made my way from Bed Making Junction to Breakfast Plaza. All was going well as I rounded the corner at Dish Washing Street and made the leisurely drive to Coffee Causeway, but when I approached Blog Post Parkway everything was slowing down,

s l o w i n g   d  o  w  n,

until it finally came to a complete halt. So here I sit, wondering how long this delay will be.

While I sit here waiting for something amazing to write, let me tell you about something I might have already told you. If I did, it was so long ago I don't remember writing it and am too lazy to read through 400 previous posts to check. Maybe you don't remember it either. It is about a song my college bound granddaughter wrote when she was four or five years old. As family and friends surrounded her during a prayer time at church yesterday, I recalled that song.

"Nana, I wrote a song today!"

"Really? What did you call it?"

"Wind up Jesus into Your Heart."

"And what is it about?" I couldn't imagine.

"Jesus is like a kite on a string and you have to wind him into your heart."

"Can you sing it for me?" She proceeded to sweetly sing the title line several times, then finished with a curtsy.

"Beautiful!" I responded.

As I said, that song from years ago came to mind yesterday as we prayed for my granddaughter. Deep inside I silently prayed that as she enters a world she has never know but excitedly awaits, she will not let winds, whether small breezes, gusts, or violent storms, of temptation pull Jesus away from her.

Before we said our tearful "goodbye--see ya later" I hugged her and said quite impulsively, "Remember to wind up Jesus into your heart every day." She got a funny, somewhat confused, look on her face, and then, as only she can do, cracked up laughing and said, "I'll remember, Nana, I'll remember."

Blog Post Parkway is now clear. I'm off again, but am not sure to where. Blackberry Boulevard might be a nice place to stop awhile; however, I must check that I have Jesus wound into my heart before I pull out into today's traffic.

Jan

How Long Will You Tarry, Oh Lord.

I don't want to believe the Iraqi news I am hearing on the radio. I am deliberately not viewing photos and videos posted on the internet and various forms of social media. I don't want the sights and sounds of innocent people (Christian and Muslim alike) being martyred entering my mind. But, they enter anyway, shaking me to the core.

Part of me wants to believe this is propaganda at its worst. Part of me want to believe Photoshop is being flagrantly misused. Part of me want to believe this is blown out of proportion and misrepresented. Yet I know these atrocities are taking place. I know I am witnessing mankind in his basest, most fallen form because he is acting on his own understanding and doing what he thinks is right. I feel more than ever that the end times are quickly approaching.

I am grieved. I am helpless, but not hopeless.  I pray.

From Genesis to Revelation, events like we are now witnessing have taken place. Probably every generation tells itself that martyrdom, genocide, and other unfathomable deeds will not take place again, at least not in its life time. We have come too far, are too wise, too compassionate, and too civilized to do such things. But we haven't and we aren't. Apart from Christ we can be barbarians. Death and destruction will continue until He returns.

 

As I am writing this, Revelation 6:9-10 keeps coming to mind.

 "When the Lamb broke the fifth seal, I saw underneath the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God, and because of the testimony which they had maintained; and they cried out with a loud voice, saying, "How long, O Lord, holy and true, will You refrain from judging and avenging our blood on those who dwell on the earth?"…

Yes, Lord, how long will you refrain? When will enough be enough? Surely not much longer. Only you can truly stop the carnage. Only you can protect, strengthen, and deliver every persecuted man, woman and child. Only you can destroy the enemy. Come in all your glory. Reveal your splendor. Come wrapped in robes of judgement, redemption, restoration, and grace. Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come quickly I beg. And Lord, if this is not your time for deliverance, I will try to understand that your grace and love for the lost souls of this world are much greater than my desire for vengeance. May I love and grieve for the lost people as much I do for the found.

Jan

Another McDonald's Morning

I am surprised how difficult it can be to write after not doing so for a couple weeks. I had planned to write the day after I got home from the family reunion. Obviously I didn't do that. Yesterday was going to be the day, the real day, I was going to write. In an e-mail to my dad I even said I was going to spend the morning writing for the blog. Well, that didn't happen either. Instead I did laundry, paid bills, figured out my August budget, did the Sunday crossword and Sudoku puzzles, made turkey soup, let Licorice Kitty out, let Licorice Kitty in, let Licorice Kitty out, let Licorice Kitty in, and wasted time checking out Facebook and Twitter.

Push has finally come to shove. It is now time to write. Breakfast at McDonalds has always worked before. My tummy is full and happy. Full because I filled it, and happy because I chose the most healthy menu item I could--an egg McMuffin with no cheese. So, let's see if sitting in the midst of six noisy children gets the blood flowing. If I weren't awake when I came in here at 7:30 a.m., the combination of noise and coffee should wake up some sort of creativity.

Here is what my proposed day looks like. When I am through writing, I am doing some grocery shopping. That is a task I don't really enjoy doing, but am thankful I can do it. When that is completed I am going to a park by the river to paint. I haven't brought out the water colors for several years now. It is time. That means there is a bag in the back seat of the car holding my water-color paper, pencils, paints, white plates to mix colors on, a couple plastic containers to hold brush-cleaning water, and a plastic container full of water to use as needed. I am ready.

This evening there is an early 18th birthday celebration for my granddaughter who heads off to college tomorrow. That will be a tough one. I am excited for her, but sad at the same time. I will miss her.

This place is filling up, so I had better hit the road. I realize what I have written isn't inspirational. It isn't even thought provoking. It is just where my head is this morning--no where.

As I process all the activities of last week's family reunion, I will write about the thoughts. I am anxious to see what is hidden inside this brain of mine. Stay tuned.

The Lord is good. This day will be good also,
Jan