He Arose. I Ate.

Good Friday has come and gone. I had a couple ideas to post, but wasn't sure if I had used them before, so didn't use any of them. Our family Easter celebration on Saturday came and went. Again, another day with no post. So, I was going to write yesterday, Easter itself, but didn't. I had a very different day instead.

I decided to attend the Easter service at my previous church. I used to play in the hand bell choir there, and wanted to hear them play during worship. I had not been back for six years. There were quite a few people in attendance I hadn't seen since leaving that congregation. There were also many people I had never seen before. I had never met the new pastor either.

Going back into a form of worship that is complete different from my present church was sort of a distraction. I am no longer used to an organ, hand bells, sung liturgy, and hymnbooks. I felt bad, and guilty, because I really had to work to concentrate on celebrating my holy, all-powerful God who raised his crucified son from the tomb. For the first time in years I didn't raise my hands in praise; I needed both hand to hold the heavy hymnal.

As I just wrote that last sentence, I realize I didn't have to use the book. I could have sung the verses I knew, and listed to the rest.

Worship might have been a different style than I am now used to, but the people were the same. We shared lots of hugs, greetings, and brief conversations about our now-adult children and almost-adult grandchildren. That part was wonderful. They made me feel right at home.

Immediately after church a friend of mine who lives about a mile from my home asked if I had plans for the afternoon. I told her I was going home and doing a lot of nothing. As it turned out, she, her husband, and a friend were having a ham dinner at two o'clock. "Why not join us?" she asked. "Sounds good." I replied. With a cheery, "See you later." she headed home.

Then I did something completely different for me. I succumbed to pressure and stayed after church for a small, noon, Easter potluck to celebrate the baptism of a women I didn't know. As a result I got more visiting in, and met new people including the pastor.  I really enjoyed myself as well as the baked chicken, ham, and numerous salads.

Then I headed for home and my dinner date with my friend. There I enjoyed another wonderful meal: ham, yams, broccoli, deviled eggs, and fresh strawberries and tea. It was wonderful. Then my friend and I had an enjoyable time getting caught up on our busy lives.

I was finally home by five. My tummy was quite full, my spirit joy-filled, a my Lord risen.

Alleluia!

Jan and Licorice Kitty

Comforting Peanut Butter

Comfort foods are not anything I give much thought to--mainly because they take work to prepare. Be that as it may, I still absolutely love creamy, buttery, mashed potatoes. They are the best. Then, if there is a dark, rich, roast beef gravy to add to the little well on top of the tater pile, or a scrumptious chicken/turkey gravy, all the better. I even enjoy creamed tuna or creamed chipped beef (childhood staple) as a topping, but I will settle for butter.

Warm cornbread with honey butter is another favorite of mine. Do I make it? No. To make the perfect cornbread meal, just add a bowl of hot, homemade, chili con carne--spicy of course. Aaaah. Good stuff.

Then there is a turkey sandwich with cranberries, dressing, lettuce, and mayo. I could eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner until there is no more turkey left. There is nothing better. Well, there is homemade turkey soup, though.

As much as I love all these foods, I prepare them  only for special occasions.How sad it that? But, I have discovered a new comfort food, one that takes no prep-time at all, one that I have enjoyed almost every day for the past month, and one that is high in salt, calories, and hydrogenated fats. Peanut butter.

In the past, I always  bought natural, stir until your arm drops off, peanut butter. But one day while craving something to snack on, I discovered a jar of the no-no, bad for you kind of peanut butter. I succumbed mainly because the spread was quickly approaching its use-by date. I couldn't let it go to waste could I? Of course not. All it took was one, big teaspoonful and I was hooked. That peanut butter was so creamy, so tasty, so soothing, and so comforting that I had to get a second spoonful. Now, a month and a jar later, my teaspoon has become a tablespoon, and my waste-not motto is probably causing added inches around my waist. (I just checked. All is A-OK in the waist area. Whew)

So, there you have it, my story of comfort food as well as instant gratification. As much as I do enjoy that spoonful of peanutty goodness, I must remember where my true comfort comes from. It comes not from food, but from the one who heals the sick, makes the blind see and the lame walk, raises the dead, casts out demons, feeds the hungry, and calms the storms. He, my Lord and Savior, is also my comforter. My true comforter. But, I still enjoy my peanut butter...and mashed potatoes...and....

Off to a track meet in the rain. Go Team.
Jan.

Hurdle Movers

I have never seen a track meet like the one Saturday, especially the girls' 400 meter run. This meet was so small, there were only two competitors in this particular race.  Both girls were seniors, and both girls were from the same school as well as best friends. Girl A was faster than girl B, so held a fairly large lead as they reached the 200 meter mark. That is when A suddenly realized there were hurdles placed in B's lane. By this time, B had also realized there were hurdles in her lane. Both girls' minds raced to solve the quickly approaching problem. They both saw disqualification staring them in the face if either one stepped out of her lane.

That is when the unexpected happened. Runner A, without leaving her lane, reached out, grabbed the hurdle from the lane to her right, spun around, placed the hurdle in the lane on her left, then sprinted until the next hurdle was close enough to grab. The "pick up-spin around-put down" move was repeated over and over until each hurdle was cleared away.

B could now breathe a sigh of relief. She didn't have to become a hurdler and she didn't have to risk disqualification by going into another lane.  The girls then crossed the finish line with huge grins on their faces, and I believe I heard a few giggles coming from them. (They later learned there would have been no penalty if either girl had left her lane.)

As for the spectators, those of us watching thought runner A had pulled a muscle or something when she appeared to lose her balance. As we began to realize what was happening, a murmur rose up followed by smiles, then laughter. By the time the girls headed down the final stretch, we were all clapping and cheering. This race of speed, quick thinking, and almost ballerina-like grace won't be forgotten any time soon.

This fun, funny race sprang to mind as I pulled into the church parking lot this morning. God's still, small voice asked me these questions, "Who have been your hurdle movers? Are you willing to change up your race plan to remove hurdles for someone else? "

Hmmmm.

As I walked across the parking lot I realized I had some material for the blog at my finger tips. I would give it some thought after church, then get busy writing. But my mind didn't wait for later. All during worship I considered my life these past six years. I could write about those dark days after my husband went to prison, those days that every where I looked hurdles seemed to appear out of nowhere. Then, soon after they had appeared, they were moved by my family and friends, my pastor, my therapist, and my new church friends. At exactly the right time they each, in their own way, reached out with encouraging words, financial and physical help, and prayer so I could continue on this new journey.

Everything I just said is only part of the story, part of the truth. The real truth is that the Holy Spirit, not people, is the ultimate hurdle mover. I think he probably moved some hurdles out of my way without my knowledge of a problem or potential problem. They were the hurdles I never had to deal with at all. As for the rest of the hurdles, he is the one who clued everyone in on the junk blocking my way. I only saw and heard about a few of the people involved, but I know he is the one who asked them to change their race in order to help me run mine. It might have been inconvenient or uncomfortable for them at times; however, they chose to be obedient hurdle movers anyway.

I am so thankful for those people. That is what I could write about--or not. I say, or not, because I still haven't answered the second question about my willingness to move hurdles hindering the progress of another person. Can I be that selfless? I pray I can, but I know that deep down inside me is the caveat, "If it's not too demanding or time consuming."

"Lord, help me be willing to hand you that selfish streak. Let me truly be a hurdle mover when asked to be one. May I help a brother or sister run the race you have before them. That is the only way I can win the race you have set before me."

Jan

Singing in Color

What does a twelve-year old grandson see when he hears a bird sing? 

The above painting is the glory my young friend Ryan saw. Below is what I heard the painting say.

Singing in Color

Little bird outside your nest, you sing a wondrous song.

Do you welcome the arising sun and move the night along?

Do you sing to woo a winsome mate or claim your territory?

Or do you merely sing your song to fill the world with glory?

Your joyous music fills my ears. It sends away all worry.

My spirit soars. My tears well up. My vision grows all blurry;

Yet, through the tears I see a sight, a sight I've never known. 

Those swirling hues of glorious sounds engulf God's Heavenly Throne.

Little bird outside your nest, may I live my life as you 

By welcoming the coming day and bidding night adieu.

May my song speak grace to all I meet. May it tell them Christ's love story.

May it bring God gifts of praise and thanks, and shower Him with glory.

 Red, and yellow, indigo are some colors in my song,

 Also pink and green, and orange. Why don't you come sing along. 

Let us sing our songs together. Let us sing them loud and clear.

Sharing love, joy, hope, and comfort to everyone who's near.

Little bird outside your nest never stop your singing.

I want your song before my eyes and in my ears a-ringing

I want to hear its tune proclaim, even after eggs are laid,

"This is the day, the glorious day, our loving God has made."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Never again will I hear a chirp, tweet, coo, quack or caw in black and white. They will always be in vibrant, moving, heaven-bound color. 

Blessed by Ryan's vision, God-given talent, and first attempt with acrylics.

Jan. 

The photo of Ryan's work was used by permission.

The Beat Goes On

I love worship music on Sunday mornings. Today I heard it through different ears. It wasn't the voices, the harmonies, the guitars, or the lyrics that transported me into the throne room of God. It was the drum set. As I listened to the beat of the bass, I heard God's heartbeat--sometimes pounding like an army's feet, sometimes barely audible like a still, small voice, but always steady.

Then came the varying rhythms of the snare drum and tones of the toms. I would smile to myself when I could mentally anticipate the beats, the syncopation, and the use of different toms. Then, part way through a song, a change would come--something new that completely changed the feel of the music. Sometimes a calmness settled in. Other times an excitement built. In one song, the bass quit all together; however, the beat continued with the soft tap, tap, tap on the snare and a ting, ting, ting, on the cymbal. No matter what was happening in the music, I was very aware of the Spirit of God through the beat. My body clapped and bounced at times, yet remained perfectly still at others.

As I listened to all this, I envisioned God's presence--the very beat of his heart in mine. It is my life force. There have been times when I have felt that beat all the way to my little toes, but there have been other times I have had to turn off all outside noise in order to hear a faint beat, beat, beat, but it was always there.

The snare and the toms reminded me of life in general with its activities; some days are busy and loud, some are calm and quiet, but most are a mixture of all. Each one is a little different from the other, changing at a moment's notice in rhythm or tone. However, that doesn't matter because the beat remains steady and sure.

For some unknown reason, this morning I especially loved the accents of the cymbals. Whether a ting or a crash, they made me take notice. For me, the beauty of spring begins as a cymbal's ting, ting, ting. A crocus here or a daffodil there subtly catch my attention. Then I round a corner and stand face to face with a cherry tree in full bloom and an ear-shattering, crashing cymbal. God has gotten my full attention.

I think I will start paying more attention to the beat of God's heart, the rhythm of my life in Him, and the cymbals that draw my attention to the beauty around me.

His beat goes on. I don't know what song tomorrow will bring, but I can hardly wait for the sounds and songs of Easter.

Jan

Does God Get Excited?

Do you ever wonder? I do--all the time. In fact I wondered this morning at Bible study. A young mother of four children was sharing about going to the store without her little ones and seeing cute sippy-cups with curly straws for only $1.00 apiece. Her kids loved cups and they loved straws. Her eyes shined and even teared up with a mother's love as she painted a verbal picture of how she imagined the excitement in her children's faces if they received such a simple gift. I don't know whether or not she bought those cups because my mind went elsewhere for a few moments--to my wonder-land.

I wondered if this mom's face, filled with joy and love, was merely a dim reflection of the Heavenly Father's face when he considers little things his children would enjoy. When he thinks of me, does he ever intentionally have a doe and her fawns bed down in my yard knowing they would thrill me to pieces? Does he know that a rainbow in the heavens or a chipmunk on my porch will quickly brighten my day?

And today, did he know how blessed and excited I would be seeing a friend at the grocery store, a friend I hadn't seen in years. I was going in. She was coming out. We had both run several errands, and I had even backtracked because I had forgotten to go to the bank. So there we were, at the same place at the same time, shopping cart to shopping cart. I do think God had a big grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes at that moment of encounter.

That is what I wondered. I know there can be danger in giving God human attributes like ours, but he was human for a moment in time, and he did create us in his image. I haven't spent time searching scripture to support or disprove my thoughts, but I do know this. When the deer appear or the chipmunk and rainbow; when I see a long-lost friend, those are the times the Lord is blessed as I give him thanks and praise for the encounters.

Does God get excited and tear up as he pictures us entering the glory of his Kingdom and standing in awe before his throne? I think he does.

Jan and Licorice Kitty, who thinks 4 A.M. is the purrfect time to arise and get going. She is wrong.

Rebuilding from the Ruins

I pray I can say what I want to say despite the fact that my thoughts come out of the Oso tragedy. Over and over again I check out the news feeds on Twitter to find out what is going on in that small corner of the world. There are over twenty people missing in that mudslide, over 20 dead, and the search goes on. Not only are the searchers recovering bodies of beloved community members, they are also recovering pictures, photo albums, toys, and whatever else might be of value to the survivors or victims' families. These items are then cleaned up, decontaminated, and stored until they can be claimed.

I look at those news photos, and try to put myself in the shoes of everyone involved. I can't. I can't imagine having a home demolished by supersaturated mud, and trees. I can't imagine losing a spouse or children, or both. I can't imagine.

But then I can. Here is what the Lord has laid on my heart this past week. What I am watching on the news footage is an re-enactment of what I went through emotionally when I discovered that my husband had molested our granddaughters. Everything that was life as I knew it was destroyed in a blink of an eye. For months I felt trapped in a quagmire I didn't understand. I dug through the carnage around me: broken trust, financial instability, lost ministries, and anger. I dug and I searched for anything resembling my life before the crisis hit, any hint of normalcy. For a long time everything I found cried of filth, shame, embarrassment, and helplessness. Nothing was good.

Thankfully I didn't dig and search alone. My family dug along side me. My church family was giving me their support. My therapist helped me see more clearly and have some understanding of what had transpired. But most important was my Lord who never let go of me. We all worked together to discover items from the "before" life. I don't know what I expected to find, but I wanted nothing to do with photographs, memorabilia, and memories when they popped up. Don't show me pictures of family camping trips. Don't show me maps of places we visited as a couple. At the time, I saw them all as contaminated.

I don't know when decontamination started taking place, but it did. I reached a point where I could go through all the albums I had lovingly and painstakingly put together and written in. I could talk about trips and parties without avoiding the use my husband's name. Decontamination had taken place--not of the pictures or memories, but of my heart.

Today I will no longer say that my life was destroyed. It was merely reconfigured, remodeled, or whatever the changes might be called. God was at work then and still is today. He is in charge of the recovery and rebuilding effort.  There are still things being discovered and uncovered in the ruins. Some of them need to be recognized for what they are (sinful thoughts and misdirected emotions) and destroyed. Others things the Lord puts away until I'm decontaminated enough to bring them back into my life. And then there are those things that bring me immediate joy. I love when those are brought to my attention.

I am thankful the Lord has used the tragedy at Oso to show me how he helped me through my own personal destructive landslide. I know he is also working along side the people of Oso as they are beginning their journey out of a pit of destruction. They don't travel alone.

A weary, but joy-filled traveler,
Jan