Sneak, Sneak, Here Comes Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving, the holiday, not the state of thankfulness, has been creeping up on me for quite awhile.

Creep, duck down out of sight, creep some more. Get closer, creep, lie in wait, Then, all of a sudden, POUNCE!

It has jumped out of hiding, coming at me like a cat on the attack while I was busy with my watercolor class. I am not ready for this. In fact, I am not even ready to get ready, I don't have any lists made.

How many people are coming? I am not sure--eighteen for sure, maybe twenty, maybe twenty five. Who knows? I have been having Thanksgiving dinner at my house for so many years that I figure the more the merrier. Come as you are, bring a friend and some food (a bag of chips or a piece of fruit will do). There will be lots of turkey (I cook two), taters, and the usual thanksgiving fare including pumpkin desserts. I know from experience the Lord supplies all that we need. Come one and all. If there isn't room at a table, have a seat on the couch. I have TV trays somewhere around here.

Dinner time will be filled with laughter and our traditional calls back and forth between the dining room and living room tables.

"We've got turkey, yes we do. We've got turkey. How about you?"
"We've got cider, yes we do. We've got cider. How about you?"
"We've got teenagers, yes we do. We've got teenagers. How about you?"
"We've got grandmas, yes we do. We've got grandmas. How about you?"  And so it goes.

Of course, after dinner there will be the usual dish washing, board games, card games, word games, snacking, and (new this year) the recorded Seahawk game.

As I said, I am not ready. All month I have been dropping miscellaneous stuff by the front door instead of  putting it away when I make my heavy-laden grand entry. There is a plastic tote full of over-sized Legos, stuffed animals, castles and knights that had been arranged in my car trunk for the Harvest Festival at church. My theme was 'Where's Waldo?' He was hidden between Big Bird and the castle. Anyway, it is sitting beside the piano. There is also Licorice's cat carrier sitting close by. Oh, there is the sack of clothes for the clothing bank that I removed from the back seat of the car when I picked up some grand-kids last week.

These aren't the only things to redistribute. A sketch pad is on the sofa, paid bills on the window seat next to my chair, watercolor stuff spread over the dining room table as well as the kitchen bar, and some dried leaves have found their way onto the carpet.

Now back to Thanksgiving. I need to shop--turkey, cider, cranberries, ingredients for pumpkin-spice cupcakes, butter, celery and bread for dressing, rolls and mayo for sandwiches, At least the potatoes, beans, fresh veggies and fruit, salads, and more desserts will be brought by family and friends.

I was wrong when I said I wasn't ready for Thanksgiving. Thursday won't be about whether or not a tote of toys might still be by the front door or there might be some leaves on the carpet. It won't be about whether or not there might be only two desserts or at least five. I am and will continue to be ready for family and friends to gather in my home.

Speaking of home, my granddaughter is flying in from college tomorrow. When I talked to her yesterday, she sounded like a little kid on Christmas Eve--so excited to be with all her family, extended family, and friends for a few days. She is especially excited to watch the Seahawks with a family of fans.

I am so blessed. As I have written this, my thoughts have jumped from all I have to do, to all I have to be thankful for, how blessed I am, and finally to singing songs of praise like Chris Tomlin's "Shout to the Lord, let the earth hear us sing, power and majesty, praise to the King..."

Have a very blessed day of Thanksgiving next week. Sing praises to our King.

Jeannette-- I'm off to shop. "Here turkey, turkey."

Something from Nothing

Tonight was one of those nights I didn't want to fix myself something to eat, but I knew that wasn't the best solution to my inertia problem--neither was microwaved popcorn. Sadly, all the left-overs from previous meals had been eaten. I felt it was too late to thaw something, and my kitchen was devoid of food. At least in my eyes it was. Oh, what to do? What to do?

I went with the flow and ended up with a very tasty meal made from a little bit of something, yet a lot of nothing. I took the last two slices of drying-up bread from the sack (heels of course), the last of my cheddar cheese (got it on sale), half a yellow pepper (hiding in the back of the crisper, but not slimy yet), and the last of my grapes (keeping the pepper company all week).  With a presto-chango and an abracadabra, I soon was treating my taste buds to a grilled cheese sandwich accompanied by sliced peppers and cold, pop-to-the-bite grapes.

What a perfect way to end a long day--creating something wonderful out of almost nothing.

As I was giving myself a high-five and a slap on the back for my great work and creativity, the Lord sort of patted me on the top of my head and said, "Well done! Now try to create something from nothing." It wasn't a challenge or a boast. It was merely a simple reminder of his awesome power. Yet, it soon became much more than that--a kitchen parable.

While standing at my sink washing up the day's dishes, my thoughts turned to people, especially children and young adults, who feel like my kitchen cupboards and fridge had previously looked--either empty or holding nothing desirable or even usable. Hopeless, in other words, and having no future.

Well, if I can make a wonderful supper from almost nothing, and God can create the universe from absolutely nothing, just think what he can do with people who think they are nothing.

Jeremiah 29:11New International Version (NIV)11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

If only such people knew how much God loved them, sacrificed for them, and had planned for them. If only!! There is so much work to be done, and so little time to do it. So the question is, "Am I willing to work while I am still a work in progress?"

Since I will never be a perfect vessel this side of heaven, I had better do the best with what I have been given on this side of the pearly gates.   Jan

How Much, and What is All?

How Much is All? 

10/30/2014 

Around and around the questions go. It has been five days since the triggering comment was made. I don't even remember what was said, but the context was that all I have comes from God. Besides that, all that I am is because of him. He is all I need. That started my thinking, "How much, and what is ALL?"

I can look around my home and see the sofas, the carpets, the books, and the cupcake papers left from a couple mini cupcakes I just ate.. I can look around my yard and see the too-long grass, the shedding trees, the puddles of rain water, and the starlings looking for buried larva in the lawn. I can see it all, but I really don't see much of anything. I don't see parrots or flamingos, lightning bugs or dung beetles, rabbit brush or cacti. And the microscopic.......?  

 I don't see or even think about the millions of molecules and atoms my body works over each day just to keep me alive, Then there is  gravity and radiation, light waves and sound, heat and cold. Because my mind and understanding is so limited, as is all of mankind's, I know only what I know through my own experience, or by what I have read or seen about other peoples research and discovery. But ALL? I have no clue about the vastness of God's wondrous work. After all, astronomers can see no farther than the limits of their space telescopes. Oceanographers can explore no deeper than their fragile mini-subs can safely dive. Every advance in medical understanding is a mere baby-step into understanding this being called a human.

All that I have--what is all?

All that I am is too complex to even to consider. My body with its inner workings, my physical identity wrapped up in height, weight, eye color, and facial features, my DNA that decides how every cell in my body works, my mind that has continued being shaped from the time God planted my knowledge of him into me at conception--this is all me. There are spiritual gifts, talents, things I love, things I dislike, things I keep discovering about myself. But what is all and how much is it ? Only God knows.

Finally, God is all I need. That is true, but again, I can't really comprehend this concept because I usually have no idea that I really might have needs. At times I am aware of  needs I can't even pin a name on, but God knows what they are and remedies the situations before I can even pray about them. Of course there are the situations in which I have no choice but to turn to the one who gives me strength, wisdom, and provision. As for all?  I know I have had needs that God took care of before I ever understood I had the need.

I am so thankful that God's ALL is so much bigger than my all.

Oh, the marvel of ALL.

Jan



/

Birthday Time.

My eyes slowly open to walls of a darkened room and a brightly lit clock in the far corner.  Even without my glasses I can easily read 6:48. The time surprises me. I have slept a solid three hours since letting Licorice Kitty out. That is nice. I had also slept three hours before letting her out. That is also nice, but I really could use another hour or two of slumber.

So, don't ask me why I am up, why I'm sitting in a dimly lit living room, or why I'm watching the trees slowly take shape as another wonderful day is born. I guess I like being surrounded by darkness. It is comforting to me. I was going to add that I like being surrounded by silence too, but it is not silent. I can hear the hummmmm of the furnace as it takes the autumn night chill off the house. I can also hear the faint meow of Licorice Kitty as she waits for me to open the front door and welcome her in.

I oblige.

Now, in the fading darkness and with the new sounds of waking birds, I wait for activity to begin. I wait for my son and his wife to arise and find their way to the sofa across the room from me. I also wait for my son to perform his morning ritual when he is here--brewing a pot of COFFEE then perfectly flavoring and presenting a cup of it to his wife and a cup to me. Aaaah, what a perfect start to a perfect day. Strong coffee and quiet conversation can be heavenly.

Also heavenly is an aroma-filled kitchen that will soon follow. There is nothing like sausage, eggs toasted bagels and juice to start the day off right. By tonight, the morning scent will have been replaced by the tantalizing aromas of lasagna and brownies. It is October birthday party time!

We had everything figured out for celebrating three birthdays today, at least that is what we thought several weeks ago, but life in busy households can change things. Tonight is the homecoming dance. A granddaughter is going to the dance and her two brothers are accompanying her, her date, and her friends to dinner. Now what?

Well, maybe we could have a special breakfast instead. Nope. My grandson has his SAT test this morning and the rest of his family has cross country practice. A mid-day dinner was also ruled out because after the SAT test there is worship practice which includes my grandson as well as my daughter and her husband. Aaaaaand, another granddaughter is at a youth leadership retreat this weekend and won't be home until late this afternoon.

So, we are back to plan A--dinner at 5:00 for those who can make it. With the kids gone, there is more lasagna for the rest of us. At least all of us except the homecoming girl will be here for ice cream sundaes or banana splits and brownies.

These are fun days indeed.

Thanks, Lord, for time with family, birthday celebrations, lasagna and ice cream.

Jan

More and More

Lord, I prayed as I read the story of Zacchaeus in Luke 19 this morning, what is there in this story that I need to know. I soon discovered there were many things that spoke to me.

I knew Zacchaeus was a short man and a rich one. I also knew that he wanted to catch a glimpse of Jesus as he passed by, but I hadn't given much thought to the crowd who blocked his view of the road. I hadn't given much thought either to the fact that Jesus stopped by a particular sycamore tree--Zacchaeus's tree. He could have stopped anywhere, but didn't.

We are told that the road was full of people. I have a feeling they were calling out, "Jesus, heal me!"

"Heal my child."

"Rabbi, are you the Messiah?"

They were also probably trying to touch him--this man they had heard worked miracles. So, with all the crowd ruckus, what made Jesus look into the overhead branches of the sycamore?

Then Jesus said, "Zacchaeus, come down." He could have talked to the crowd or said, "Hey, you, what are you doing in that tree?" Instead, he called the little man by name, made a strong request, then waited. Would Zacchaeus come down or not?

After pondering all these things, plus more, I had to ask myself some questions. Here are some of them:

1.  Zacchaeus didn't use his height as an excuse not to see Jesus. What personal traits, quirks, or perceived failures hinder us from approaching Jesus i.e.: I'm not good enough, I'm not talented enough, I, I, I,...?

2. A crowd of people didn't keep Zacchaeus from trying to see Jesus either. What exterior hindrances do we use as excuses not to approach Jesus ie: my yard work, my job, my time, my family--all those so called things in our lives?

3. When excuses and hindrances finally crumble, and we find a 'safe' place from which to see and hear this Jesus person, he will stop where we are (he knows our location) and will call out to us. There will be no doubt about whom he is calling because he will call us by name. The question is, will we come to him when he does call?  

I would like to apply this story to the unsaved person, and her only, but that doesn't work well for me especially after I memorized the first few verses of 1 Thessalonians 4.

"Finally, brothers, we instructed you how to live in order to please God, as in fact you are living. Now we ask you and urge you to do this more and more. You know what instructions we gave you by the authority of the Lord Jesus."    (my italics)

Paul, Silas and Timothy then continue to spell out some of those instructions about holy and honorable living as well loving in the manner God had taught them to love.

At his point, Zacchaeus's story and 1 Thessalonians blend together. Suddenly they are both about me especially during those times I become content living both an unchanging spiritual life and natural life. Unchanging means not living the 'more and more' I am urged to live. Can I be more and more holy and honorable? Can I be more and more loving , and more and more giving? Yes, I can, to the degree that I desire and seek Jesus more and more, and ignore excuses more and more. Jesus desires me to come down from my lofty perch and walk more and more with him. That is what I also want, but time after time I climb back up into the safety of my tree, hiding in the branches and content to become an observer again.

By grace, he still calls me by name. "Jan, come down. I'm coming to your house today."

"Okay, Lord, I'm coming down." I replay, then mutter under my breath, "Wait for about an hour. I have some cleaning to do first."

"I know," he says, "let me help. I'm good at cleansing."

A life pleasing to God is not about I'm not; it is not about my things; it is all about you, Lord--more and more of you because you are.

Jan

(The more and more part of this was inspired by my Bible study of 1 Thessalonians, Children of the Day,  by Beth Moore.)

May My Heart Overflow

It is amazing how the process of memorizing 1 Thessalonians has opened my eyes to little things I had not noticed in merely reading it. At this point, I have worked through the first three chapters, more or less. There are still a couple places I can't remember the wording. There are also times I completely leave out a few sentences only to realize the omission several verses or chapters later. I'll get it down in due time--whenever that is.

So, what has jumped out at me? First off, I was surprised that the love, compassion, and concern Paul, Silas, and Timothy had for the new believers was so strong. For some reason, I didn't expect that (#1) a group of men would describe their love of the new believers in terms of a mother tending to her children; that (#2) dealing with them as a father deals with his children would include the word 'comforting'. 'Encouraging' and 'urging' from a father seems completely natural, but for some odd reason I associate comforting with a mother, not a father. Then (#3) when this group of men was forced to leave town after spending only three Sabbaths there, the apostles express an 'intense longing' to see the church at Thessaloniki, and to know how they are doing. As they said, "We can hardly stand it."

At first, I thought I was increasing my knowledge of Paul by learning that he was more than an educated man on fire for the Lord. He was also a passionate man who was not afraid to express his feelings of love and compassion. He also as not afraid to openly express his fears. "I was afraid that somehow the tempter might have tempted you and our efforts might have been useless." I wondered if this freedom of emotional expression was due to his culture or to his amazing encounter with the Lord.  It could have been either or both.  I don't know. But I do know this, strong feelings like these men had are foreign to me personally. I have no idea what intense longing feels like. I also have never loved anyone, other than my own family, as a mother tending her little children. Somewhere in this earthly body that houses a woman named Jan is a blockage that keeps me from either feeling or allowing myself to feel. Part of it stems from my upbringing, but that is no excuse. Something bigger prevents the Lord's love for me from being emotionally felt for or expressed to others.

I will let that last sentence stand, but upon further thought, I do express my love for others, but not by saying, "I love you." I am getting better about that, but I find it hard to say it in those words. Although my emotions remain largely unseen, encouraging, comforting words from my mouth speak loudly and clearly, as do my actions, reactions, and responses. I do what I do, and say what I say because that is what is on my heart to do and say. not because I am filled with an intense, heart-felt love toward, or intense longing for, the people involved.

I could try to say that I am honestly okay with things the way they are, but I can't do that. How can I actively, sincerely, and compassionately tell people that God loves them when I am not aware of feeling that way toward them myself?  I want to be at the place that I can't stand not knowing if the shopper at Walmart or the picnicker at the park is in need of prayer and healing for a physical malady, or if they need to know Jesus.  I want what Paul, Silas, and Timothy had--a heart of Love that overflows to all I meet as well as one that can't stand not knowing how they were doing through their afflictions.

Lord, I am afraid parts of my heart are still stony and wrapped in barbed wire. Break the stone, remove the wire, and completely replace what is there. Give me a heart that  breaks and grieves as yours, cries and rejoices as yours, and Lord, may it overflow with Love as yours. Amen

Jan

Scripture used or referred to are found in 1 Thessalonians 1-3.

The image of a stony, barbed wire wrapped heart comes from a self portrait I drew for my second therapy session in 2009.

Life By the Pacific

Less than fifteen miles from my home--surfers and a bull elk!

Photos by Marianne Porter 8/2014

The Fall

What a wonderful time of year, the fall? 

The sky alive with grey scudding clouds, and honking geese heading south.

Trees decorated in red, yellow and orange; my yard, the same. 

Cool air by day, cold by night, always filled with the scent of rain. 

Sweatshirts, and hot drinks replacing tee shirts and iced lattes.

What a wonderful time of year, the fall!

Enjoying the beauty of God's wonderful day.

Jan

Lovely Thing, The ...

 I love stars. I think that lying on the grass and looking at stars is one of the best childhood memories I have from my little hometown in the Nevada desert. I loved finding the North Star, then the Big and Little Dippers, Orion's Belt, and the Pleiades (in the proper season), And I can't forget the Milky Way, that swath of light that flowed from horizon to horizon, looking like an artist's glitter-filled paintbrush had just swept across the night sky. 

Even as an adult I love looking at the stars. I guess that is why I liked camping so much. Once away from city lights, I could once again see the diamond studded night sky of my childhood, a tapestry of God's gems which has been amazing and thrilling people since the dawn of creation. 

Lovely things, the stars. That is what I have always thought, at least until last night when my granddaughter tweeted this quote from Dr. Who on the popular TV show by the same name. It began,

"Lovely thing, the dark,..."

That statement really grabbed me.  For some reason, describing the dark as lovely made me do a double take right off the bat. The words lovely and dark seemed like a terrible pairing. Lovely and dark  didn't even make sense to me, but after all, I am not Dr. Who. What do I know?

I finally read past, "Lovely thing, the dark...," and read the rest of the quote. "...without it you couldn't see the stars." STARS!  At that point, I couldn't let the quote go. "Lovely thing, the dark...." "Lovely thing, the dark...." The more I considered the brilliance of that statement, the more wonderful it became, and full of deep spiritual truth.

As I considered the darkness I had gone through, with its anxieties, fears, and confusion, I also considered the stars that shined so brightly--stars that had been hidden by the day. There were friends who called, family who supported and encouraged, Bible studies, sermons, and praise songs that taught, enlightened and gave hope. Each one always had been in my life or been available to me, but it had taken the darkness to reveal them as they were meant to be--God's bright lights of blessing to help guide my way. 

I pray, Lord, that any future darkness that comes my way may be deemed to be as lovely as the stars of blessing it reveals. In the meantime, make me more aware of the lights of blessing surrounding me daily--glimpses of you. Help me recognize, acknowledge, and cherish them, especially when my busyness is shining too brightly for me to see them. Lord, let nothing outshine the brightest star of all, your SON.

"Lovely thing, the dark, without it you couldn't see the stars."   Dr. Who

Jan

Once, after I learned how to count beyond one-hundred, I attempted to count not only the stars in the sky, but in the Milky Way too. I got confused after one-thousand. 

.

He will rejoice over you with singing.

Have you ever suddenly been unable to find a child under your supervision? I will never forget the first time it happened to me. Thirty year ago it was. I was happily accompanying my young son's class on a field trip to a farm. We had had the excitement of riding on the big, yellow, school bus, checking out the pigs chickens, goats, cows, and horses, and eating our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and chocolate chip cookies all washed down with a container of milk. Finally it was time to head back to school..

One, two, three, four...I counted my charges clambering aboard only to discover that my own son was missing. He wasn't hanging out with other groups.He wasn't already on the bus. He wasn't in the Port-A-Potty. Where could he have gone? Panic began to set in as I backtracked our route through the farm. As I approached the horse barn, I saw a little male-child figure standing on an upper board of the pig sty enclosure. He was quite animated--waving his arms around. What on earth was he up to? With him, one never knew.

While hurrying toward him, not wanting to call out lest he startle and fall, I became aware of a sweet soprano voice ringing out.  What I observed as I got closer made me forget my worry. Instead, my heart swelled with happiness at the adorable sight. My little guy was standing on that battered, chewed-on fence singing Old McDonald Had A Farm at the top of his lungs. His skinny little arms waved with each "oink, oink," "honk, honk," and "moo, moo" that escaped his lips. "E,I,E,I,O." As he conducted his barn yard choir, the sows and piglets stared at him while noisily snorting away. In spite of being off-key and off-tempo, I think they rather liked the "With on oink, oink here and an oink, oink there"  part of the chorus.

This incident popped into my mind during a noon time visit to a local riverside park today. With my driver-side window rolled down, a crossword puzzle in my lap, and a burger in my hand, I began singing a silly ditty to the seagull pacing next to my car and giving me the evil eye. I sensed he was trying to guilt me into feeding him. I didn't fall for his valiant, "I'm a poor starving bird" act. Instead I sang a song of regret, explaining that people food wasn't good for gulls--something like, "Burgers and buns aren't good for the birds, little Buddy." He seemed to understand and flew away to see if he would have better luck getting salmon from the fisherman on the river bank.

As he took flight, I thought of Zephaniah 3:17

The LORD your God is with you,
       He is mighty to save.
       He will take great delight in you,
       He will quiet you with His love,
       He will rejoice over you with singing.

then asked myself, "Self, why not rejoice over all of God's creation with singing, too? You take great delight in them." Since I have sung over my own children, seen my son sing over, and with, the pigs, and sung to my first seagull, who knows where I will next take delight and rejoice with singing? Will it be Licorice Kitty? 

Maybe I should have sung a song of praise over her when she chased a mouse across the living room floor last night. Or, maybe I should have sung a song of lament over the poor victim of her attack when I gently scooped it onto a newspaper and took it out the door--with Kitty still in stalking mode..

.Seriously though, I think I will try singing over things in which I take delight--my roses and rhodies, the Autumn colored trees and migrating birds, scudding clouds and raindrops. I had better get my voice warmed up because I will soon be singing over everything.

If I don't post for awhile, check the mental hospital, I may have been committed. 

"Yes, 911 dispatch, my neighbor is standing in the rain, singing to her trees and to the frog hopping down the road. I think she has lost it. Hurry before she starts singing to the weeds and the gravel "

Thankful for all things, especially my Lord who rejoices over me with singing. I wonder what he sounds like. Someday I'll know.

Jan

Soily? Dirted? Mouse Heads? and Serving God!

Where, oh where, has this blogger gone? Where, oh where can she be? I know I haven't died. I'm not sick or depressed. I am not too busy. I haven't lost God's presence. He is still very much around here. My mind is just filled with so many un-measured, un-stirred, or half baked ideas that need to be more fully developed before I write about them that I have been silent.

Here it is, 4:30 P.M. on Monday, September 22, 2014. In an email to my Dad this morning I said I was going to get something written for my blog. So far I haven't even attempted to write. Instead, I completed my Bible study for today (Children of the Day by Beth Moore), memorized four more verses of 1 Thessalonians (I now have the first 2 chapters done), checked out yesterday's Facebook and Twitter entries, talked to my college granddaughter for half an hour, and ate all sorts of junk food. I am full of sugar, carbs, and empty calories: 2 slices of cold pepperoni pizza, 10 Ritz crackers with sliced cheddar cheese, 2 big bunches of super sweet, crunchy grapes, 1 small package of peanut M & Ms, 10 oz of cranberry juice, and, TADA, one hard boiled egg.

Now,...to the important things in life such as this question I pondered at the Three Course Challenge cross country meet for high school athletes in Seaside, Oregon on Saturday. It has nothing to do with running, but everything to do with running through the mud pit towards the end of each course.  If you get dirty playing in dirt, why don't you get soily when playing in garden soil? Instead, in soil you become soiled, but in dirt you never become dirted. Why, oh why? I will never know and certainly won't lose sleep over it. But from now on I will  think of my garden gloves as soily and my walking shoes as dirted.

And another question I have...what makes Her Royal Blackness, Licorice Kitty, decide whether or not to eat a mouse's head? Sometimes she does; sometimes she doesn't. Is it the length of the deceased's whiskers, the beady-ness of  the eyes? The color of the incisors? I'm not losing sleep over this one either. I'm just thankful for the little gray opossum who strolls across my porch at night, triggering the motion sensor on the light, and checking for a snack. But now I wonder what in the world make a mouse head so delectable to that 'possum? Is it the...?

In case anyone was wondering why I am memorizing 1 Thessalonians, It is a challenge for our Bible study of 1 and 2 Thessalonians. I took on a similar challenge when we studied James, but for some reason I am having a little more difficulty this time, at least I think I am. The problem might not be because of my aging brain, but instead, due to different writing styles. James' writing is simpler than Paul's. Paul's sentences get quit long, full of phrases and comments. But, if I can continue learning a chapter a week (3-4 verses a day), I can complete the two books by the end of the course.

Come on brain of mine. we an do this.

In closing, I will leave this with you, God is amazing. He thrills me every day with the patterns of sun and shadow on my garage and yard. He brings gasps of awe at his sun rises and sunsets. He continually prompts me to move beyond my comfort zones, and inspires me to believe his promises to me, about me, and for me. What an incomprehensible God we serve.

Paul told the church of the Thessalonians, "...In spite of severe suffering, you welcomed the message to you with the joy given by the Holy Spirit. And so became a model to all believers in Macedonia and Achaia. The Lord's message rang out from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia--your faith in God has become known everywhere. Therefore we do not need to say anything about it, for they themselves report what kind of reception you gave us, They tell how you turned from idols to serve the true and living God, and wait for his son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead, Jesus, who rescues us from the coming wrath." .  1 Thess. 1:6b-10 NIV

It is my prayer that the word of God working in me/you/our churches rings out loudly and clearly as it tell of our faith and our service to the true and living God. Through our words and our lives, may we be models of the Lord everywhere.

Have a God night, ya'll

Jan and Licorice Kitty, who is curled up between my thigh and chair arm, purring herself to sleep.

At A Loss for Words

With all the wonderful words in the English language to choose from, I can't find any that express what I want to say to a friend/acquaintance of mine, a mother with two elementary school children, whose forty-five year-old husband died from colon cancer this weekend. Saying "My condolences" seems so empty and impersonal. "I'm sorry" seems --- well, not quite right for the death of her husband.

Here is what I want to tell her in a letter...

Dear B.

I'm at such a loss for words right now. "My condolences" and "I'm sorry" seem so empty. I can't begin to imagine what you must be going through. Instead, I will picture myself holding you as I would my sons or daughters and telling you that...

It is OK to cry yourself to sleep, to cry in front of your kids, to cry when doing dishes or going grocery shopping. Crying is one great way to ease the pain. As a granddaughter once told me, "Crying lets the sad out." Just be sure to keep an ample supply of tissues with you.

It's OK to be angry at God. You can yell and scream at him if you want. He knows what you are feeling, so give him a piece of your mind if necessary. He can take it.

It's OK to be angry at your husband. Even though he did all he could to fight the cancer, you can still be angry at him for leaving you. It is a normal emotion that needs to be worked through even if it means writing him a letter.

Talk with your kids, cry with your kids, help them express their feelings through writing, drawing, looking at pictures or even breaking balloons.
 
Write. Write things you don't want to forget. Write down your fears and anxieties as well as those little times of blessing and joy--it helps put things in perspective, Write down your feelings, no matter what they are. They are neither right nor wrong. They are what they are at this moment in time.
 
Be thankful for all the years you had together.

Talk, talk talk. Find a friend who will listen without interrupting or giving advice--one who is all ears, yet can keep things confidential. This may even be a therapist.

I am praying for you and the kids as you begin a journey down a road you never expected to take. Because of your diligence and hard work at our scrap-booking retreats, your many beautiful albums of photos and stories about parties, vacations, fishing, and myriad mountains of fun will ease the journey.  Thankfully, these good times will never be forgotten.

And one other thing before I sign off. Grieving is a long, slow process. As hard as it is to grasp at this time, joy will return in time.

With lots of love,

Jan.

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Amazed by a "Fetus" (Baby)

I had an amazing experience today. I was invited to accompany a young mother to her prenatal ultrasound. My kids were all born in Neanderthal times, so the only way to tell anything about the baby was to... Well, to be honest there wasn't any way except x-rays which were known to be harmful. Of course, every woman I met had her own idea of boy or girl. Even though the predictions were many, each of my children still came sight unseen. Sort of like not peeking at Christmas presents before Christmas. What the doctor handed you, you marveled at, then unwrapped to count  its fingers and toes. One, two, three, four, five!

Today I got to marvel at and count fingers and toes on an unborn baby. Right off the bat we learned her gender. Remember the days of Xerox butt shots? That is what we saw today--a perfect butt shot of a little girl. It definitely wasn't a boy.

As the technician slowly moved the sensing device around, I saw her (the baby's) legs, then her curved spine, little ribs ,and beating heart. In the blink of an eye, an arm appeared from out of nowhere and settled by the baby's cheek. I was mesmerized as that tiny little thing moved her fingers one at a time. It was as if she was holding them up for us to count. Then her little chin moved. It wasn't random movement. For several seconds she opened and closed her mouth in a nursing motion. She was drinking amniotic fluid. Amazing.

Her eyes, nose and ears were all there--so small and perfect. The skull and brain were the right size for her age, 20 weeks. Every measurement was within normal limits. Back and forth the scan went--from head to butt and back. Suddenly, the baby stretched out her legs. There it was, a perfect little foot pushing on mama's bladder. Mama couldn't feel it yet, but knows from experience what is coming. The tech finally moved the scanner around to get a perfect photo of the sole of the foot--sort of a pre-birth print for her records. One, two, three, four, five. All the toes there accounted for.

Perfect she is, weighing in at 14 ounces. There is so much more growth to take place over the remaining five months.  The whole process is almost beyond comprehension.

How two special cells can combine, then share DNA that produces a complex individual, yet a blend of both parents is a wondrous thing. God did an amazing job when he created us and made us capable of reproducing. We may be capable of reproducing, but it is God who knits us together. Psalm 139:13. He does good work.

 He knows the plans he has for this little girl. I wonder what they are. Jer. 29:11

Still in a state of amazement,

Jan

Aaaargh, Internet Problems

I am so frustrated right now. I spent a couple hours writing a post this morning only to discover that my internet had gone down sometime during the writing process. After several phone calls to my provider, each promising help but not producing any, I finally got service restored. Now after logging in, I discover that I have lost everything I had written except the first two sentences.

I don't mind the inconvenience of no internet, but I don't like playing the run around game with service people. During my first call, I was transferred five times, giving my phone number, name and address each time. Finally I talked to someone who might have known something, He placed me on hold for a couple minutes before coming back on. "Sorry for your inconvenience, Jan, please disconnect your modem from its power source for three minutes, then plug it in again. That will take care of the problem. And thank you for calling Technical Support."

I should have told the guy that I had already tried that and it didn't work. Instead, I assumed I hadn't left the modem unplugged long enough, So, with a smile in my voice, I thanked him for his help and disconnected the power again. It didn't work this time either. I wasn't very happy.

I wasn't very happy for a couple reasons. Firstly, I think the advice was the standard, "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning, and hope she goes away." It often works, but not always. Secondly, it meant I had to make a second call. I do not like making phone calls, but I did it anyway. After jumping through more of the same hoops and waiting on hold again, I was told, "Jan, I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Our engineers are trouble shooting  your line right now. As soon as it is fixed we will call you. After receiving their call, unplug your modem for fifteen seconds and reboot your computer. Thank you for calling Technical Support."

I waited--for over an hour. Finally the call came in, a recorded message at that, "A problem with your internet service was detected and has been corrected. Sorry for any inconvenience this has caused. Thank you for calling Technical Support."

I quickly got off the phone, unplugged my modem for fifteen seconds, clicked the save button on my blog website, and rebooted my computer. I was ready to get back on line, post what I had written hours earlier, and check my e-mail. A quick glance at my modem told me that the green internet light was not lit. WHAT? You have got to be kidding me. The phone message I had just received said it had been fixed.

Now, I still couldn't log on because I still didn't have any service!! I called a third time, but the smiling voice had vanished. I was a little more agitated now. "I'm sorry for your inconvenience, Jan. Yes, ma'am, there had been an outage in your area. Yes, ma'am, they did fix it, but it went down again. According to the latest information from our engineers, service will be restored by 10 p.m. You will receive a personal call when the work is done. It will not be a recording. Thank you for calling Technical Support. "

Oh great. I was even more unhappy.  I didn't want strangers calling me by my first name, and I didn't like being called ma'am. I wanted to get on line. I wanted to see if my granddaughters had been on Twitter or Facebook. I wanted to see how the Mariners' game was going. If I had known how to throw a hissy-fit or go into a tizzy I probably would have. But I don't know, so didn't. Maybe I could take an on-line class on expressing ones emotions some way other than saying, "This is so stupid. I think I'll have a popcicle"

All afternoon I checked my modem for signs of internet life even  though I was told Tech Support would call. At 4:30 p.m. I did a double take. All four modem lights were lit up. The internet was back. Hooray.

With superhuman speed I logged in and discovered that the Mariners had won, my granddaughters had been fairly quiet on Facebook and Twitter, and I had no new e-mail. That is also when I learned I had lost my morning's hard work called, "Autumn Brings..." I guess without an internet connection anything saved isn't saved because there is nothing to save it to. So, with the click of a mouse, all had been lost and a lesson was learned. Next time I need to copy and past into a word document.

It is now 10:50 p.m. and my internet provider has not called to inform me that service has been restored--not even a recording. Maybe they will call before I go to bed at eleven.

So, here is the deal. This morning I wrote these words on Facebook,

While writing an email several years ago I accidentally typed, "Have a god day" instead of, "Have a good day." Wow, I thought, a day with God is always a good day, a special day. So, to all my friends and family out there, "Have a God day."

I should have listened to my own words. It wasn't until a few hours ago that I realized I hadn't been living my God day. Instead I had treated myself to a poor-me day complete with a pomegranate popsicle. How something as frivolous as an internet connection could ruffle this old hens feathers is beyond me. I know electronics will falter and corporations will fail my expectations. However, life will go on and new blog posts will get written. But, in the midst of it all, God will not falter, he will not fail, and yes, he will show me that my poor-me day really was a good day because it was a God day after all.

Wishing you all a God night too,
Jan

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  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.

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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. 

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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