Visitors and My Happy Place

Everyone should have a Happy Place.  For some of us, it is a mental place that we escape to when the stresses of life grow to great to endure.  Some have, however, a physical Happy Place we go to and just being there brings us a sense of well-being.  I have (for the time being) traded my mental Happy Place (places, actually) for a physical one.

It all started when I got the bright idea some weeks ago to power wash our huge deck (12X36).  It has not been cleaned since we moved in in 2009, and most likely, since the house was vacant for some years before we bought it, the time span was even greater.  My husband (we call him McGyver because he can build/do anything) had planned to tear down the old boards and make something of them, and replace them with new because they looked so terrible.  But, when you work excavation, when you have the money (the summer when you are working 50-60 hours a week) you have no time; and when you have time (the winter, when you are laid off) you have no money.  And so the deck remained in its original state: grey, moldy and gross.

Enter the wife with the pressure washer.  Who would have known that water was so powerful?  Not only did it take off the old paint, the mold and crud, it also gouged a couple of holes in the wood (before I figured out the right pressure).  It should also be noted at this point that aiming the pressure washer carelessly close to your bare feet is not wise.  It may be some time before the skin grows back on my big toe (ouch).  Regardless of pain and suffering, the deck now looks new and is awaiting a fresh coat of sealant.  Yay me!

So...deck furniture, plants and a newly purchased portable awning in place and I have a new Happy Place.  It has become my favorite spot for morning coffee, devotions, homework, and random sitting and pondering absolutely nothing!  Enter...my visitors.

The first to discover my new Happy Place were the local mosquitoes.  I am beginning to believe, as my cousin Zanna would say, that citronella candles are really just big glowing "Eat Here" signs.  The little buggers descend upon the deck just before dusk, like football players at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  Candles seem to be no deterrent.  Bug spray, though smelly (and apparently detrimental to newly manicured nail polish ...another story for another time) seems to have remedied the problem.

My next visitor was far more welcome.  Sitting on my deck couch the other day, I heard a pleasant buzzing and looked up to see a hummingbird sipping at the flowers on one of the hanging plants on my awning.  He looked at me as though to say, "thanks for the snack" and buzzed away.  He has been back several times since, and I imagine that my sister Cindy has sent him to check on me.  She loved her hummers so much!  I think I will name him Bing Humsby.

 My most recent visitor surprised me this afternoon.  Anticipating the rain this morning, I had covered the couch with a throw before retiring last night.  Upon return from my multiple errands this afternoon I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed my homework and headed for my happy spot.  Who should I find under the throw but a good sized tree frog.  He seem to be resting from the stresses of his day and looked at me disinterestedly.  After enduring an impromptu photo shoot, he very graciously gave me the couch and took residence first on the leg of the end table, and later in the corner of the deck.  As he eats mosquitoes, I have invited him to stay, and named him Geraldo Aquatica.  (don't ask me why...it just is).

So, my Happy Place is rapidly filling with friends to share it with.  Unfortunately, none of them seem to enjoy two sided conversion, and the offer of tea didn't appeal to them.  SO.....if you are in the area and wish to join my tea party, I will be on the deck with Geraldo and Bing; the mosquitoes have not been invited, but they tend to be party crashers, so bring the bug spray!

Mother of the Bride

This weekend I had a rare privilege - I stood five feet from my daughter as she exchanged vows and became a wife (officially).  The wedding was lovely, albeit surreal in several ways.  The journey to this moment has been fraught with pitfalls, tears, joy, frustrations, and tremendous blessings.  We knew it would happen eventually, but the timing was not up to us - it is always, regardless of the players, God's timing that matters.

When I held my daughter for the first time more than 22 years ago, I must confess the path that she is on was not the one I anticipated.  God, you see, has a much bigger vision that we.  Who would imagine that a child raised in a mission in Eastern Kentucky would find her comfort zone in the middle of Chicago?  I pictured her raising animals on her own little farm.  Instead she is raising a daughter in the middle of one of the nation's biggest cities - and doing it well.

Standing amidst the trees and fountains of the Art Institute of Chicago's Gardens, I watched the eyes of my son-in-law to be as he quoted those sacred vows of commitment.  A peace washed over my soul, and tears welled up - tears of gratitude for God's faithfulness.   I now have a son as well as a daughter; one whose love reflects the love of Christ, though he has yet to release his life to God.

Many of our friends- brothers and sisters in Christ - will question the wisdom of "allowing" our daughter to be "unequally yoked" spiritually.  That, however, is not an issue for us - Meng has already shown his great character and his openness to Samantha's faith.  God's timing, again, is perfect.  All we need to do is trust and pray.

Now they begin a new life together.  Not much has changed from a week ago - Meng will continue his last year of medical school.  Samantha will complete her final semester for her undergrad degree.  They will continue to raise Emma as a team and build on their relationship.  But now, bonded by the laws of both God and man, they are one flesh.  What God has brought together, let no man put asunder!

Babies and Puppys - the Conspiracy Theory

I am beginning to become paranoid.  It seems to me, however, that my granddaughter Emma and her puppy Bailey are in cahoots together.  The baby needs a diaper change; while I am changing her the puppy messes on the floor.  I go to let the puppy out; the baby empties the dog dish on the floor.  Emma pulls down the box of kleenex off the end table; Bailey pulls out the tissue and shreds it; Emma helps.  Yes, it is a conspiracy that even Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts could not thwart.

The problem with the whole thing (you see, they are very, very good) is that they have the whole adorable/cuteness factor working in their favor.  They use it to its full potential, too.  Grandma says, "Emma, don't touch that!"  Emma turns to Grandma and smiles that melt-your-heart smile and says "Hi!"  Grandma is chasing the puppy around trying to extract Big Bird from his tiny jaws.  Bailey drops the toy, cocks his head to one side, and...well...he has these little black jelly-bean eyes.

"Put him in his kennel" the parents say.  "Put her in the pack and play...let her cry for a while".  Oh, PLEASE!  Have you ever heard the most pitiful tiny puppy whimper resounding from behind bars?  Have you ever witnessed a sad little black nose poking out of the tiny window in a kennel door?  AND what Grandma worth her salt is going to listen to her adorable granddaughter sobbing in the next room as though her little heart would break any moment?

Could it be?  Is it true?  Have I become an old softie in my old age?  That hard-nosed teacher who kept her classroom in order is conquered by a one-year-old and a puppy?  **GASP**  It is true....I have become a Grandmother in the truest sense....bifocals and all.  IN FACT...yesterday I wore my hair in a bun all day and wore sensible shoes!  HOLY COW!

I would expand on that thought more, but right now I need to catch a shower...the baby is in her pack and play and the puppy in his kennel; the toys are picked up and the shredded tissue discarded.  All in the house have been fed, watered, and *ahem* done their business.  I think I may have five minutes before I am needed again.  I really DO love my life!  :)

Showers of Blessings!

I have always been fascinated by nature's power.  When I was a little girl, I would kneel on the couch with my chin resting on the picture window sill and watch as a storm would roll in from the west.  I would watch for the flash of lightening, and count "one one-thousand, two one-thousand..." until the crack of the thunder would arrive.  I can remember once watching the wall of rainfall travel closer and closer across the farmer's field that stood opposite our  house.  High winds would blow the trees and for some reason I never feared.  The excitement of the storm seemed to supersede any fear I had of ending up in the Land of Oz!

 In my later years, when attending a teacher's conference in Pensacola, Florida, hurricane Erin happened to visit that region at the same time I was there.  While the hundreds of teachers at the conference were huddled in the hallways of their buildings, I was sneaking back into my 6th story dorm room to catch a glimpse of the most powerful storm I had ever been through.  After all, what is the fun of being in a hurricane if you can't see what is happening outside?

A view of the flood at the beginning

The same view as the waters finally slowed

More recently (as in yesterday) I once again witnessed God's creation in all its power when a flash flood washed across the campus at the boarding school where I am working this summer. Accustomed to living in the area, I knew that a flash flood in Eastern Kentucky is fairly common...but this was an uncommon flood.  It lasted hours and left a landscaping nightmare behind when the deluge finally ceased.  It left behind silt, mud, rocks and debris; and found its way into several buildings on campus as well.  Cleanup from this mess will take a while.  It quite literally changed the landscape of this end of campus.

Still..in the midst of the storm (and its aftermath) as much as I am awed by the power of nature, I am far more impressed by the power of God working in His people.  I watched teenagers kick off their shoes, roll up their pants-legs, and wade into the muck with shovels to dig out the sidewalks and concrete entry to the dining hall.  I saw others wading through the silt and dirty water in the church basement, hauling out drenched carpets and soggy books.  I watched administrators bailing water from step-wells with waste baskets to keep basements from flooding. They were not concerned that their job description did not include menial labor, nor were they concerned that their dress clothes would be ruined.  I watched small children helping to bail water and carry things out of flooded areas. And do you know what the most amazing part was?  They were having FUN!  Drawn together for the benefit of God's ministry, students extended their daily job training cheerfully and put their backs into a task that most would deem highly unpleasant and adults shed their daily tasks to pitch in where needed. 

A lot of water that doesn't belong there!

 And the blessings don't stop there...a local church heard of our "disaster" and a work team arrived less than 24 hours after the flood to assist in the cleanup.  Prayers have been lifted, and God has answered in a mighty way.

Bailing water out of the church basement entrance

So today I am in awe of the blessings that happen when God's people pull together.  We have had our share of showers this week (in fact, even as I write this the showers are falling on the decimated grounds we are working hard to reclaim).  The greatest showers, however, have been the showers of blessings we have experienced in a time of need.

                                           God is so good to us!

Ode to a Mother

Motherhood has been the topic of millions of sermons, essays, books, songs...the list is endless.  Throughout recorded history the topic of motherhood has been a hot one.  Now, I shall add my ramblings to the countless others...just because this is my blog, and I can do it if I want to!  **smirk**

One would think with my (cough) many years of experience, that I could consider myself an expert on mothers.  After all, I HAVE a mother, I AM a mother, and I have RAISED a mother.  At this point I suppose I should have gleaned all there is to know about motherhood, and in placing it on the page could wow you with my superior insight.  This is so far from reality that I laugh (ha ha) at the thought.

With all the countless experiences there are in motherhood, not one of us has mastered the trade.  There are just too many variables to consider.  Each of us "mothers" in their own unique and imperfect way.  Sure...there are those who seem to make mothering look effortless...and others who seem to struggle with the role each day. We have all seen the "Leave it to Beaver" mothers, who we imagine are dusting their homes while wearing a skirt, high heels and pearls; who arrive at the door with milk and cookies for their little darlings as they return bright eyed and still freshly ironed from a long day at school.  We have also seen the "Rosanne" mothers who yell at their children and live amidst the clutter and chaos of everyday life.  Most of us live somewhere in between.

I am thoroughly convinced that parenting (today "mothering") is the most challenging job on the planet.  And we have so little training to do it!  Have you ever thought about the fact that in order to flip hamburgers at McDonalds you have to go though "training," but when you have a baby they just send you home without so much as an orientation?  Suddenly we find ourselves with this needy little (adorable) creature who depends upon us for their very survival.  The realization hits that every decision we now make not only affects us, but our children as well!  We are now the ones who will nurture their dreams, bind their wounds and clean up the messes that our children get into...and don't think it stops at 18 or 21...this is a lifelong commitment!

SO...for all of you mothers who have experienced the joy of sleep deprivation when your new baby is home for the first time; to you mothers who have found the curdled, half filled bottle under the rocking chair (you were wondering where that went); for you mothers who have wiped gooey fingerprints from glass doors, hallway walls and the dog (peanut butter and jelly does not go will with fur); for those who fished toy trucks out of the toilet, extracted toast from the VCR and stepped on Cheerios in the hallway in the middle of the night; to those who have dried tears and mended skinned knees with a kiss; who have sat through t-ball, basketball, baseball, soccer...and cheered even when the score was 20 - 5; to those mothers who walked all day in the mall for the "perfect dress" for your teenage daughter, only to find that you "embarrassed her" when you met her friends at the pretzel place;  to you mothers who have prayed for your children, laughed with them, wept with them; wept FOR them....

For all those mothers and many more...I wish you a hearty Happy Mother's Day and offer you a "Well Done!"  Throughout the chaos, there are those special moments...when those sticky little fingers wrap around yours; when that hyperactive child wearily climbs into your lap to snuggle; when that teenager gives you a smile; those times are when we remember...this is why we do this!

 

With Malice Toward None...

Death and dying has been on my mind of late (in case you haven't noticed).  In general it is not a morose topic, but rather one of reflection.  One wonders what lies beyond the grave, and how it will be revealed to us as we pass on to eternity.  For those of us who have Hope, we see death as a transformation into a higher existence; one of perfection and eternal peace.  Death for the believer is not the enemy; Jesus defeated death at the cross. 

Death, in my opinion however, is not an event to celebrate.  When a believer passes into eternity, we celebrate their life.  We meet together to reflect upon their accomplishments on earth and celebrate their eternal freedom with Christ in Heaven.  When my sister passed last month we celebrated the tremendous testimony she left us; her impact on hundreds of people will echo throughout eternity.  I would never have thought to celebrate the death that took her.  Death, in fact, had been rendered powerless by the blood of Christ. 

Likewise, I do not celebrate the death of an unbeliever.  Their death is a cause for true mourning, for they have no hope of peace with God.  In the past few days, the death of a terrorist has caused great rejoicing in the world.  I cannot join in that celebration.

Yes, I am glad that justice was done.  Yes, I appreciate the sacrifices made to remove this tremendous threat from the world. No, I do not question the importance or necessity of the actions taken by our government.  Yes, I love my country.  But...I can appreciate the event without celebrating the death of the man.  He had the same chance we all have to do good in the world.  He had the same opportunity to seek the Truth and be set free.  Instead he used his considerable intelligence for evil.  His choices caused death and pain around the world.  Still, his soul was precious to God, and I am certain God's tears fell as he passed into eternal judgment.

As the body of Christ, we need to take great care to display our faith for all to see.  Christ commanded us to love our enemies.  Not that we support them...not that we refrain from trying to stop them...but that we keep the cancer of hate from filling us so much that there is no room for His love...for if we act out of hate, are we not as bad as our enemies?

And We Know that All Things Work Together.....

Sometimes it takes a lot of effort for God to get our attention.  We grow so busy "doing His will" that we can't hear His voice.  Then He allows (I believe) a road block to come our way (at times) and we find ourselves slowed.  You never know when a "problem" may turn out to be one of His blessings!

When I began this blog back in January, I did it because my husband suggested I find some constructive way to spend my Mono-confinement.  I am not a "sit around the house" person by nature...or perhaps I am and I just was terribly out of practice.  I was, I must confess, a little angry with the Powers That Be for allowing me to get ill at such a pivetol juncture in my life.  I was nearing the end of a four year push to finish my education degree, my sister's four year battle with pancreatic cancer was taking its toll on her, my inlaw's health was failing...there was so much to do, and I could not do anything but lie around the house.  I was told it was a serious case of mono and I needed to stop everything...so I dropped all my classes for the semester and pouted!  GRRRR.....

I now look back at that bump in the road as a tremendous blessing.  I could have never known that my freedom this semester would be required.  Had I continued with my classes, I would have missed spending the final months of my sister's life with her.  Because I dropped those classes and lightened my schedule, I was free to lie in the bed next to hers and talk; sit in PT with her and keep her company; nap in the bed beside her and just "be there".  No pressure...just "being".

I will always treasure those times we had together during her last weeks on earth.  We never talked over weighty issues and rarely discussed death.  We just enjoyed each others' presence in our comfortable sisterly way. 

So...Thanks, God, for mono...and for giving those special times to me to sustain me through the lonely times.
I will never regret the time You gave me!

Heaven's Perpetual Spring

Recent events have once again turned my attention to Heaven and eternity.  This is not melancholy, or morose, but rather a fascination with the unknown.  Some would venture to say that to attempt anticipation of what the next life would be is foolishness.  Our limited minds cannot possibly comprehend all that God has in store for us.  Still, there are some things that seem logical to me, and until I am proved wrong, I will hold on them with great hope.

I believe that Heaven, for example, is in the state of Perpetual Spring.  Spring to me is the time of renewal and rebirth.  Plants long dormant in the cold of winter (at least in our region) begin to awaken.  The crocus is usually the first to venture forth; pushing leaf and bud up; often from beneath the last remnants of snow.  Trees rouse from their winter's nap almost imperceptibly at first; tiny buds emerge in muted shades of reds and greens.  Suddenly, without realizing it is happening, we are surrounded by the beauty of fresh pale green leaves and flowering trees.  Each day of spring brings new surprises; rebirth, regeneration, new life.

Heaven is surely like the spring.  It is in a state (I choose to believe) of constant renewal, fresh hope, and the realization of great promises.  I imagine that in Heaven nothing grows stale or old, but rather is reborn each moment with vitality and youthfulness.  Though the limited human mind cannot fathom it now, we can look forward to the idea with great joy and anticipation. 

Are you prepared to experience Heaven's Perpetual Spring?  Praise God for the Pathway through His Son!

And a Time for Every Purpose Under Heaven...

I am currently reading Ecclesiastes.  My sister loved that book of the Old Testament, and found many parallels in her own life.  As I often have difficulty deciding where to read during my 144 minutes, I decided that this week it would be appropriate to choose this book again. 

"To everything there is a season
and a time for every purpose under heaven...."

(how many of you included "Turn, turn, turn" after reading that?  You are showing your age!)  :)

Often when we think of the third chapter of Ecclesiastes we think of that famous section that The Byrds made so popular in the 60's. But there is so much more there.

" ¹² I know that nothing is better for them than to rejoice, and to do good in their lives, ¹³ and also that every man should eat and drink and enjoy the good of all his labor—it is the gift of God.
       ¹⁴ I know that whatever God does,
      It shall be forever.
      Nothing can be added to it,
      And nothing taken from it.
      God does it, that men should fear before Him."
    
It is actually a reminder to us that, though our actions on this earth, when done in our own name, are temporary and will fade away, those things done for God on this earth will endure for eternity. 

What a comforting thought! 

Metamorphosis: A Tribute to Cindy Danks

 

This tribute to my sister includes photographs she took last summer of the monarch butterfly metamorphosis in her butterfly garden.  Cindy has now shed her cocoon and is flying free with Jesus!

Cindy

I am exhausted...both emotionally and physically today.  I have no more creative juices to write cute titles or craft this blog in some unique fashion.  You see, we celebrated yesterday the life of my sister Cindy.  This past week has been grueling; long hospital vigils, emotional last words, funeral preparations, reunions with family and friends from far away...laughter, tears, hugs and kisses.  It has been a full week since I traveled the distance to the University Hospital to be with her...it seems like yesterday...and it seems like months ago.  Time has a strange way of defying our order of things...it passes quick and slow at the same time.

My sister was an amazing woman of God.  She was my friend, my mentor, my adviser, my playmate, my sister, both in genetics and in Christ.  I will miss our Tuesday afternoon luncheon dates; picnics at the lake or in the park, eating Chinese food at our favorite dive, sipping tea under her gazebo, playing Yahtzee and eating jellybeans.  I will miss her quick whit, her blunt honesty, and hearing "Hi, Sister" when I answer the phone.

Sisters cannot be replaced.  The relationship between them cannot be duplicated and I would never try.  I am left, for a season to dwell on the blessings past, and look forward to a heavenly reunion and an eternity of sipping heavenly tea under the canopy of God's love.

Goodbye, sweet Sister!  Thank you for your love; I hope I returned it as fully as it was given.

Waiting,,,,,

I have never been a fan of waiting.  I can do it...and have become quite good at it, but it is not may favorite activity.  I have always felt that waiting wastes time, but I have been reminded (yet again) that this is not necessarily so.  There are times in our lives when waiting is a necessary evil.  The anticipation of a slow cooked roast can be torture as the scent of roasted beef wafts through the house.  Shortening the time, however, provides a less than satisfactory results.  A well brewed cup of coffee is infinitely superior to instant; and the long wait for home-made bread to rise is well worth the effort.

I am reminded today that some things just take time...God's time.  Forcing a bud open before it blooms only destroys the rose; the beauty is lost.  So we wait. 

Today's waiting is in the hospital.  Here in the ICU next to my sister's bed the waiting has been a different experience.  What are we waiting for?  We are not certain...we are waiting for God.  Not that He hasn't arrived...He has been here all along.  We are not waiting on His grace and mercy, for they are boundless; nor are we waiting on His loving arms to reach around us, for they have been holding us up for ever so long.

We are waiting for God to reveal His miracle.  We have already been told it is coming, we just don't know the form in which it will come.  Tonight we trust His perfect will and bask in His grace; His love; His endless, powerful presence. 

I have witnessed His miracles before.  Sometimes they amaze and delight us; other times they arrive in forms we didn't anticipate, or even want.  But they are miracles regardless.  

So we wait...in the center of a peace that passes all understanding.

Still Listening....

I am quite certain I am not alone in the fact that for me talking to God is much easier than listening to God.  I intend to listen and I  try to listen, but often it is hard to distinguish the thoughts inside my head with the voice of God.  When I read scripture, connections and applications come to mind, but I always wonder, "is this my mind roving around, or is it God's voice speaking to me?"  It is an ongoing problem for me.

It is probably no surprise to anyone who knows me that my mind is going in multiple directions at once.  If, as Mark Gungor implies, a woman's brain is a "woman's brain is a big ball of wire...with everything connected to everything," then we have identified the problem.  I am thinking, sorting, conversing and planning in my head all the time.  So, in that chaotic mess, how do I hear God's voice when He is talking to me?

What I would prefer to do at this point in my writing is quote some sage purveyor of wisdom or quote scripture to answer the question posed, but not this time.  I am convinced that the answer is as diverse at the souls who petition God daily.  There is no magic formula for answers to prayer...and sometimes, the answer never seems apparent, though it may have been given.  And sometimes, the answer is "no"...a concept hard for us to understand.

I have quite the laundry list of prayer requests right now.  Some are being answered daily in visible and tangible ways.  Some, for lack of a better explanation, are in progress, though unseen by human perception.  Still others, I am certain, have been answered and I just don't realize it yet....so I keep asking.  And as I ask, I keep listening...keep sorting...keeping waiting for the neon sign to flash in front of me (God doesn't deal in the flashy as a general rule, but it doesn't hurt to ask). 

I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Unto the Hills...

There is a place, when traveling south on the Burt T Combs Mountain Parkway that is perhaps one of my favorite spots to drive in the world.  Coming over a short rise and curving around the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, somewhere around mile marker 10, they are visible in the distance: ridges and ridges, overlapping on another…the mountains of Eastern Kentucky that were our home for 13 years.  When they became officially home is unclear to me now; my childhood home is in Michigan, and the family I love is still there.  We live there now, and are happy in our beautiful home.  So much of my life and my loves are in the north, but the sight of those mountain ridges rising to the sky brings a sigh of relief; a satisfaction; a sense of arrival that no other place in the world provides. 

  

In many ways, though I was in my 30’s when we moved there, I believe I “grew up” in the mountains.  It was within the shadow of the mountains that I learned to be more than just a spectator in life; I learned the importance of ministry.  I learned the meaning of sacrifice and the joy of simplicity.  I learned that personal success has nothing to do with financial gain or prestige.  Most importantly, I learned that God’s gift to use reaches beyond salvation to sanctification; I learned to be set apart for God’s purpose though his cleansing power. 

I chose my vocation in the mountains, or rather, it chose me.  I learned that God does not call the qualified; He qualifies the called!  He sees the strengths and talents hidden inside and draws them out in the most unexpected ways.  I learned that “little is much when God is in it” and that by “standing on the promises of God” that “I can do all things”.  His promises are true.

Tonight, as I write this, I am once again sheltered in the shadow of the mountains.  As we drove down for our visit yesterday, I waited for mile marker 10 and gazed once again in awe and contentment at the mountains rising before us.  They never change…though the seasons dress them in different attire. Whenever I see them, I always think of Psalm 121:

¹ I will lift up my eyes to the hills—
         From whence comes my help?
 ² My help comes from the LORD,
         Who made heaven and earth.
        
 ³ He will not allow your foot to be moved;
         He who keeps you will not slumber.
 ⁴ Behold, He who keeps Israel
         Shall neither slumber nor sleep.
        
 ⁵ The LORD is your keeper;
         The LORD is your shade at your right hand.
 ⁶ The sun shall not strike you by day,
         Nor the moon by night.
        
 ⁷ The LORD shall preserve you from all evil;
         He shall preserve your soul.
 ⁸ The LORD shall preserve your going out and your coming in
         From this time forth, and even forevermore

God dwells everywhere…there is no denying that…but it seems, here in the mountains, we are just a tiny bit closer to heaven.  Maybe I am biased.  Or maybe I am just where God wants me to be.  If it His will, maybe we will return here some day and pick up where left off.  Until then, whenever I can, I will lift up my eyes to the hills and remember the One who is always my shelter.    

Never Underestimate the Power of a Clean Closet!

I am not a neat freak!  In fact, I have been known to be quite cluttered at times (you can take this as a physical or a mental state of being).  I remember how, early in our marriage when we used to argue, my husband and I had a "disagreement" over the condition of the house. I was determined to teach him a lesson, and while he was at work, I picked up only the clutter I had left behind, leaving his to "prove" to him it wasn't my fault.  Needless to say, by the time I was finished, the house was nice and tidy!

In my defense, my clutter is usually the result of overextending myself.  I have time to mess it up...just no time to pick it up.  Throughout the years, with both my mother and my husband reminding me "if you would put it away as soon as you are finished with it...." I have learned my lesson, and the house clutter issue has pretty much resolved itself.  Closets, however, are another battle!

I think that stuff multiplies in the darkness of the closet (that is, if you can get the closet door closed).  We are not hoarders by any sense of the term...having moved countless times in our ~29 year marriage is a great solution to accumulation of "stuff".  Once you have packed and sorted your possessions 20 times or more, it really culls out the clutter.  Closets, however, still are an issue.  I have clothes that I tried on and didn't want to wear, shoes, handbags, tapes (yes, I still have cassette tapes I never play), CD's....you get the picture.  It seems that the addition of baby clothes, toys and the remnants of our daughter's possessions finally put the issue over the top.  You see, when my closets are cluttered, I feel as though I am leading a secret life.  My house may be tidy on the surface, but there is hidden clutter that no-one sees.

In my time off these past months, between naps, I have been tackling the closet issue.  Little by little the clutter has been removed; thrown away or put in the hands of someone who would use it (I was told once that having things and never using them is the worst form of materialism).    The remaining items are basically organized, categorized, and available if needed.

I couldn't help but make the connection of my hidden clutter in the closets and the hidden clutter we store in our personal lives.  When we have hidden clutter in our emotional and spiritual lives, how does it impact our overall sense of ourselves?  It has been my experience that we are far less successful at hiding our emotional clutter than we would like to believe.  I guess it is harder to keep the closet door closed on our emotional clutter; it seems to seep out the cracks too often.

God's solution for sin is immediate.  That was done at the cross and is a free gift for us all.  His solution for cleansing of the sin nature is immediate as well; His sanctifying power can provide us with His Spirit to give us the tools to live a life free from sin.  The scars of our former lives, however, often remain.  Gradually, as God opens each closet door, you have the opportunity to sort through the clutter with Him, deciding what to keep, what to throw away, and what to allow Him to renew in His image for the furtherance of His kingdom (you see, some scars can become beautiful testimonies of His power and glory, if you allow Him to use them).

So, if you come to my house, you are welcome to look in my closets...look under the beds, too!  Nothing is hiding there.  And if you choose to look within the hidden closets of my soul, you will see God and me sorting...making progress...and organizing the clutter there for use in the kingdom.  

The Gramma Magic!

I am pretty certain that being a grandmother is the best job I have ever had.  Currently, with a cup of coffee on the night stand, and Ishapuppy at the foot of the bed, I am sitting in my jammies listening to the soft breathing of our six-month old granddaughter sleeping next to me. (Hey..she was fussy...her parents were asleep...she needed me!)

I don't remember when I first became aware of the Gramma Magic.  I am not even sure when I acquired it. I am pretty sure it was a gradual process for me; starting long before the title was ever bestowed upon me of "Gramma".

I know my mother has it; I watched her last night reading to our beautiful baby (no one reads a storybook quite like my mom).  Actually I discovered that the "Great Gramma Magic" is something extra special (maybe it is like the black belt of the Magic levels). The way Emma lights up with her is awesome to see...and the joy is mutual.

I know my grandmothers both had it, though it was bestowed upon them differently.  My maternal grandmother's magic lay in her warm farmhouse, her hands of love that crafted keepsakes for the ones she loved and baked the world's best molasses cookies.  My paternal grandmother's magic was bound in the patience of teaching crochet stitches, jars of M&M's and endless games of Yahtzee.

The Gramma Magic sooths a crying baby faster than anything. distracts a temper tantrum with ease, and kisses an owie for instant pain relief.  It can make cheese and crackers or M & M's seem like a feast; a tea party with apple juice seem like high tea with the queen of England.  The Gramma Magic is, I am beginning to think, kind of like being a genie.

I wonder if God bestowed this power on grandmothers to reward us for the trials of parenthood; or perhaps he wanted to show us just how, no matter how much we love our children, we still have a limitless amount to share; over and above; running over.  Rather like His love for us!

Someday, perhaps very soon, I will share about the Grandpa Magic.  It, too is something special.  But for now, I will refill my coffee cup, plan my day, and wait for Emma to awake....let the Magic begin!

Why Me?

So many times in my 48 years, I have felt the need to ask "Why Me?"  When most people ask this question, it is usually related to unfortunate circumstances; for me it is the opposite.  Several years ago, as I was lying awake in bed counting my blessings instead of sheep, the question arose in a very specific way; Why Me?  Why was I chosen to live this extraordinary life?  Why, among all the people of the world, was I born into a stable family with two loving parents?  Why was I given the opportunity for a healthy childhood?  Why was I allowed to be raised in America, where my education was freely available?  The list goes on and on.

Each day when I rise, I face another day that I don't have to shake the dust from my only set of clothes, beg for my daily bread, search for clean water, or labor for long hours for little to no wages.  I don't have to wonder if my children are safe, or if my husband will return sober or drunk.  I don't need to hide my faith, pray in secret or wonder if today is the day someone bring help to my Christ-less existence.

That night so long ago, when I was asking God "Why Me?" I received a very clear, nearly audible response.  It was quite possibly the clearest message I have ever heard from God.  He told me, "With great privilege comes great responsibility."  That was it...nothing more.  You see, it isn't because I am more loved by God that I have been placed in this position; it is because of His great love for a lost world.  I need to remind myself of that truth daily.

I am blessed, not so I can enjoy the fruits of God's blessings, but so that I may be a channel to provide blessing for others.  I have been given the resources to be a blessing to others; not just in physical needs, but in so many other ways...edification, encouragement, prayer....

Today as I travel this privileged path, it is my prayer that none of God's blessings TO me with stop WITH me. If I can't pass it on, what good will it be to me?

Blessings!

Processing......

I am, I have learned through my education classes, an external processor.  External processors tend to verbalize while they process thought.  They are usually the first to answer questions in class…because the internal processors are still formulating what they intend to say…and tend (gasp) to dominate the conversation if they are not aware of the disadvantages to their learning style.  An external processor is more prone to speak before the thought is complete ..(!!!)…is this why my mouth gets me in trouble?

My husband is an internal processor…a VERY internal processor!  This really used to frustrate me early in our marriage.  Internal processors (at least in this case) are very hard to argue with.  How does one argue with a person who thinks out everything they want to say?  By the time the response is given, the heat of the moment has passed and, at least generally speaking, reason begins to seep into the conversation.  In the presence of reason and calm, passion and anger don’t have a chance.  I was fortunate to learn this very early, and now rational discussion takes the place of argument on the rare occasion we actually disagree.

Throughout the years my husband and I have perfected the art of marriage (at least we think so).  In fact, it is our differences that create the strength of our relationship.  My passion and spontaneity have come to compliment Phil’s order and reason.  Were it not for my husband, I would be a disorganized puddle of emotions.  If it weren’t for me, Phil would have no fun (at least that is what I tell him constantly).  **insert smirk here**

When I think of the body of Christ, I see the same thing, especially in styles of worship.  Some of us are external processors; we get caught up in the passion of worship and it is visible to the world.  We raise our hands, clap them, and may even run the aisles of the sanctuary (haven’t seen that one in a long time).  For others, the process is internal.  The spirit is moving inside without any appearance externally.  No amount of cheerleading from the platform is going to propel these people to run the aisles or waive their hands.  They are not worshipping less…they are just worshipping differently.  

Corporate worship is a valuable part of our spiritual lives.  We forget, however, that God does not dwell in our style of worship alone.  There are as many forms of worship as there are people in the Kingdom.  Each unique individual responds to God’s grace in his own personal way. That is the beauty of Christ’s Church.

Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky!!!

Satan and his minion are sneaky!  Just when you begin to feel as though you have a direction...start something new...feel like you are making progress...those nasty voices start whispering.  I am sure you know them; their names are Depression, Discouragement and Despair.  They hang around me sometimes, but usually, since my schedule is so busy, I can successfully ignore them, and often, when I am on the top of my game spiritually, they are vanquished by my Protector.  But...the minute I let my guard down, they pop right back up again!  I think it is easy for them lately...since I have been confined I have spent a lot of my time doing nothing...and nothing always leads to something!

My 144 minutes today have been selfishly consumed in the inert confines of my pity party...(yes, even Mizmead has them sometimes).  I did manage to move my shoes to the upstairs closet..(not just the pairs that were lying around, but the ones that were stored in the closet under the stairs as well) and do a couple of loads of laundry...so I guess I am not a total slug!  (insert smirk here)

I have concluded that, rather than whine and complain that life is going on without me and that I have no purpose, I will stop the pity party right here and now!  I have had prayer with my husband and am going to bed.  (Mostly because there is no chocolate in the house, so why stay awake?)

Tomorrow I may change the name of my blog...who knows!

sleep sweet y'all!  

Prayer Warriors: Where are They?

For many years I have had the privilege of living among some of God’s prayer warriors.  These were not ordinary people who went about their business and prayed at the end of the day.  They were people who breathed prayer constantly.  When we lived at the Mission Center in Kentucky, there were several living all in one house…we called it “No Man’s Land.”  Five ladies lived there, and the Spirit of God was their sixth housemate.  God dwelled in that residence.

On Wednesday and Sunday nights our small church met in that house for years; the doors always welcome to all who would come to worship with us.  Prayer was a spectacular thing; like nothing I had experienced before.  Their prayers sustained us through some pretty hard times. But most of these ladies are in heaven how.

When I think of them, I wonder where the prayer warriors are in our generation?  I know many people my age who pray, but there is something missing I cannot identify.  These prayer warriors of my past had something special; something that took them to the foot of the Throne in an instant.  There was no need for repetitive worship music or motivational sermons; they were so accustomed to the pathway to the Throne they arrived there instantly.  Even in their failing years, when age stole so much of their mobility, their passion never faded.  

I want what they had.  I want to be so sure, so secure in my faith that I can sit at the foot of the Throne and, with all confidence, petition my Father for the needs of the world.  But for now, I start with 144 minutes.  I am learning the pathway; one step at a time.

Prayer Warriors - Part 1

I have a mental image still, after all these years, of my Grandma Sarah.  She would sit in her gold rocking chair, the octagon table (which was really a stereo in disguise) to her left, and a magazine rack to her right.  There were always crossword puzzle books, the church magazine, and her Bible close by...and M&Ms in the cabinet.  We could talk about anything, and when I finally accepted Christ as my Savior, the subject of prayer and time alone with God was a frequent topic of conversation.  Grandma was a prayer warrior.

I remember talking to her about the day I was born.  It won't surprise those who know me that my entrance into this world was not uneventful.  I came unexpectedly and dramatically and, I am told, rather blue.  Oxygen deprivation due to details that most readers wouldn't want to know about.  It was a scary time (as for me, I don't remember a thing, so it isn't all that traumatizing). For my parents and grandparents, however, there was great concern.

The doctors were unsure at the time whether I had suffered neurological damage; I was over eight pounds and in an incubator (Mom says I looked quite out of place; one foot propped up on the glass...).  Grandma tells me that the night I was born, she and grandpa were awake all night praying...for me.

I don't know how my life would have been different had they not been on their knees that cold night in December.  Nor do I know why God honored their prayers.  I am grateful just the same.

All my  life there have been prayer warriors petitioning in my behalf.  Grandma Sarah prayed for me daily...she told me so.  When she died she took those prayers to heaven with her.  Perhaps she intercedes now.

But the question arises when I think of her...and the many other prayer warriors I have known:  Who will take her place?  Where are the prayer warriors of our generation?

Perhaps tomorrow I can find the answer...but for tonight...sleep sweet!