Reflections

Remember What I Have Done For You

2011-09-30T00:29:00.000-07:00

I had a discouraging eye appointment today. A "blister" persists in my eye that is keeping me from having any central vision. My doctor told me that there are two options to fix it, but they only "might" work.

I am discouraged. I was looking for some encouragement and turned back to my own blogs. Last night in church, we sang a song with the line in it "as deep cries out to deep". I knew I had written a blog with that title once before but could not remember what it was about. And Gordon had talked about "shallow" and "deep" times with God. On my way to finding "Deep Cries Out to Deep", I re-read my posts of the last year, and I was encouraged. I was encouraged at remembering all the ways that God has come through for me this year. I am convinced that ALL OF US need to be writing down what God has done for us, so that we can go back and look when we are discouraged, and get renewed hope!

But in a sense, even my own history is like events of the past cheering me on to make it through this day too. I don't want to have run a good race, only to quit before the finish line. I want to finish strong!

Laura inherited a parallel Bible from Grandma Smiley, and in it, she found notes in Gma's hand, that must have been written when she was young. And I think about the race Grandma ran, and race that the people around me are running; and I am not alone. I am strengthened by the great athletes around me. I am honored to be running the race with them, behind them, and in front of some of them.

So, remember what God has done for you!!

I'm pleased with you!

2011-08-07T11:21:00.001-07:00

I recently found a journal of mine from 20 years ago. In it I wrote that I believed there were parts of me that God could not use, like my need to always be right. God is so patient. I asked Him, 20 years ago, to prune away the parts of me that He could not use. I suppose I still have that tendency, to always want to be right and to argue my point--at least to some extent. We cannot seem to cut away those things in ourselves very well. But it did occur to me that God gave me a son so very much like me in that area, that I get to see on a daily basis how difficult that trait is to live with and how it gets in the way of building relationships, and WHY it is important that that limb be pruned. As I look around at my relatives, I can see that this is a genetic trait that has been passed along. I can truly say that I come by it honestly. But that doesn't change how that trait affects our lives and relationships. And I suppose, there is nothing better to fix something in yourself than to see it in one of your children.

That aside, it's very disheartening to know that I saw that 20 years ago and STILL I am working on it!! It makes me feel like a failure. There are many things I have done right in my life, but many more that I have done wrong. I think, if you were to look at me from the "world's" perspective, you would have to say that on the whole I'm a failure. I don't have a high-paying job, a really nice, house, a manicured yard, or live in an uptown neighborhood, nor do I drive a snazzy car, have nice clothes, hang with the "in" crowd, read all the newest books or keep up with the latest movies or TV shows.

We recently heard a talk (sermon, if you will) that came from the Foursquare conference our pastors attended early this summer. The main point that the speaker was trying to make was that of utmost importance for our churches to thrive and grow was that the members remember the love they first had with Christ. He went on to talk about lots of other things that make churches "look" successful, but in the end, what makes them successful is how they relate to Christ. And one of the examples he used to illustrate this that touched me most deeply was the picture of Jesus' baptism. He said that the world would have waited until the end of Jesus' ministry to evaluate him, to say whether he had been "successful" or not. But the Father chose the very beginning of his ministry to express this. If you recall, when Jesus came up out of the water, the spirit descended on him like a dove and a voice from heaven said, "This is my son, in whom I am well pleased."

Those are words I need to hear every day. I need to hear God say to me, "You are mine, and I"m well pleased with you." It's not about my success in this world, it's about my response to Him.

Do You Hear Me?

2011-08-01T14:21:00.000-07:00

About a year and a half ago, my husband had a stroke, leaving him much less able to work, and initially his short term memory made him a little dangerous in the kitchen, and he is unable to drive. Previously, he had most of the cooking and all of the shopping, while I worked a little bit, homeschooled our son, and took care of the outside chores. So all of a sudden I was left with a very heavy burden, not only doing all I had been doing before, which I had found exhausting, but now also having to add shopping (which I very much dislike) and cooking to my burden, as well as doubling my work load to try to keep our income up until we could get disability for my husband (a year later).

One day, when I was feeling completely exhausted, overwhelmed, and completely inadequate, the Lord gave me this scripture. Matthew 6. ²⁵ “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? ²⁶ Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? ²⁷ Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? ²⁸And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. ²⁹ Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. ³⁰ If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? ³¹ So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ ³² For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. ³³ But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

And miraculously, throughout that year, though in the midst of it all I was losing my vision, the Lord DID provide, over and over again.

I had a rough day last week. I was given epinephrine as part of a block for laser surgery and an injection into my eye and I reacted very badly. So I spent several days careening between hypereuphoria and exhaustion and depression. So I wasn't dealing with the stresses that I normally have been handling just fine, and a little inkling of worry started to creep in. We have been told that our jobs may end this fall, and it's a scary proposition under normal circumstances, but when you can't see well, or if you have had a stroke and have limited abilities, the prospect of getting a job seems almost unsurmountable. And yet, I know God has a plan for us. He has just not shared it with us yet.

So Wednesday night, I was starting to let worry creep in just a bit. But after services a man handed me a napkin and said to me, "Jesus wants you to have this." Folded up inside the napkin was some cash. And I took it to mean that God was reassuring me that He has a plan for our future, that He knows our needs.
But of course, in the process of my ups and downs and lack of sleep and exhaustion I started to doubt what I thought I had heard. "It was just a coincidence." You know how that goes. But the next morning, out of the blue, my doctor's nurse calls and says to me, "Someone left some Levemir on my desk, and I wondered if you might want it?" Levemir is a type of insulin I take, and one of my worries about not having a job, is not being able to afford insulin. I had not called and asked; she just remembered me. It was as if God was saying. "Yes, you heard me correctly!" But of course, the thoughts persist. Perhaps she "happened" to think of me was because I had had surgery the day before and the chart note about it appeared on her desk at the same time. Just another coincidence.

I hate it when my mind does these things to me. Why can't I just KNOW?

So Sunday, at church, we have a guest speaker. Guess what scripture she picked for her sermon? Yup, Matthew 6:24-33. Well, just in case I was wondering. Yes, He said it a third time. "Do not worry. I know your needs."

The Devil is in the Details--I think NOT!!

2011-07-28T01:11:00.000-07:00

Every little girl loves a wedding. We love to dress our dolls and walk them down the aisle to their Prince Charmings. When I was 6, the neighbor lady had made three Barbie wedding dresses and she asked me which one I liked best, saying she had a niece about my age and wanted to know which one to give her. When Christmas came, the dress I had picked, along with a bridesmaid's dress, was her gift to me. I was so thrilled. It was a lovely dress with a satin bodice, a princess waistline and a shimmery opalescent skirt.

When the time came for my own wedding, a day I thought would never come, quite frankly, as WHO would have ME? It was spring and we had planned a December wedding, and I was a large size, not exactly easy to find affordable ready-made wedding dresses. They were to be found, but were expensive. I had pretty much resolved that I would have to make my own. In June, when we asked our pastor if he would marry us, he said, "Sure! When were you thinking?" We told him December. He looked at us and said, "How about next month?" Uh, right. One month to plan a wedding, sure!!

Well, actually, it wasn't that hard, we had the pastor and the church. We just needed the cake and the clothes. The clothes....The DRESS!!! No time to make one, no money to buy one, what to do?

One of the most blessed gifts ever given to me came in a little white envelope with these words neatly printed in my best friend's tiny handwriting, "For your wedding dress" And inside was $60 cash that she had earned babysitting. Now, that was over 20 years ago, and babysitting was not exactly a high-paying job!! This gift, to me, in its extravagance, is right up there with the perfume that was poured on Jesus' feet. (Every month when I give my tithe, I ask God to multiply it, like he did the loaves and the fishes, and there is no doubt in my mind that a similar prayer was spoken over that little white envelope and its contents.)

I remember thinking at the time, "How far will this go?" But Gary said to me, "I just did an inventory and they had lots of plus-size dresses on sale, after the proms." So, in a very untraditional move, my groom took me shopping for my wedding dress. We narrowed it down to two and he picked one. It had a taffeta-like underskirt with a sheer top skirt that had little opalescent broken hearts all over it. And the price? You know it, $60.

I have always loved the story of the money, and how my groom picked out my dress. But what I didn't realize until recently, although I'm sure God knew it all along, as I think God provided that dress, is that it had a hint of the first wedding dress I ever loved, when I was a little girl. The opalescence.

If you ask me, it's God who is in the details!!

Cracked Pots

2011-01-20T18:15:00.000-08:00

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course , the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream, 'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.'

The old woman smiled, 'Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table.
Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.'

This is one of my favorite stories. Many of you know the struggles I am going through right now with my vision. We all have thorns in our sides of some type. I think the point is not that we be perfect, but that we let God use us as we are. After all, He made us, and he knows where we are broken. Best of all, like the woman in the story, God will use our weakness to bring beauty into the world, if we will let Him.

Of Toilet Paper and Mice

2011-01-14T12:13:00.000-08:00

Guest post from Laura:

Of toilet paper and mice...

by Laura Else on Friday, January 14, 2011 at 11:01am

Mom and I went to see the new Narnia movie recently, which really has nothing to do with toilet paper or mice, unless you count dear Reepicheep. On our way there we picked up some gifts that my parents had recieved, which included toilet paper. We started discussing how God meets all of our needs, just not always the ones we expect.

We were talking about how Mom needed toilet paper and was wondering how she was going to get toilet paper home on her bike, in the rain, or if I would have time to drive her. Enter the package of toilet paper. We laughed because He had not only supplied the actual need, but also the means of transportation with it. So we started talking about How God is faithful to supply our needs, and our desires, no matter how small. Now come the mice....

I have said many times that i despise mice. Well, I do. They have made my stove stink. It smells nauseatingly horrible when I use the oven because of the mouse pee in the insulation and under the stovetop. I also have the most amazing inlaws ever! We are redoing our kitchen, and we have a new sink, new countertops, and we'll have new cabinet fronts. I was quite happy with all the new things, and then I was asked if I wanted to go stove shopping. I had mentioned that my stove smelled, but figured that I would just have to live with it until it was a need, not a desire. Like I said, I have the BEST in laws! Oh, and we have new fridge too! I'm so spoiled!

So, this may seem like it's just nice, and not really anything that has meaning. But that"s where you have to look a little deeper. We are told that God is faithful to meet our needs, and that when we delight in him, he will give us the desires of our heart (Psalm 37:4). Now how many times have I not gotten my hearts desire? Only when i have not be "delighting" in Him. I often get what i desire, just not how or when I expect. My struggle for the past couple of years has been children. Why do I want them so badly if i can't have them? I can't get pregnant, there's just as much of a chance that I will have a repeat experience as there is that I won't, adoption doesn't seem likely as we would have a very hard time qualifiying, and many agencies will take you off of the list if you get pregnant. So i have this overwhelming desire with no real possibility of fulfilling it, and no reason. So where is this promise about hearts desires? You put this desire in my heart and tell me no, sorry, you just have to live with it?! If it can't happen, why can't the desire subside?

The answer is I got a new stove. It wasn't needed. It was genuinely desired. So what does that tell me? That my desires are heard. The really big ones, and the seemingly insignificant ones. Even if it won't happen on my time, it's not ignored.

This brings me to my part now. Accept that God knows the desires of my heart, and that if i genuinely follow him, the desires of my heart will align more closely to his desires for my life, and I will have the desires of my heart. So when I wanted so badly to be married, I had to step back and let God make me the woman I needed to be, the kind of woman that would be able to run a household, and make our home a place that draws Justin in, and provides him with an escape, not a place that he wants to escape. Granted I'm still learning how to do that, and will probably never finish learning it. With regard to children, I need to let God be God, and let him mold me, and not miss the kids he HAS given me. I am surrounded by kids that I can love, and show God's love to, and if I'm lucky, I'll get to play a role in their lives like many people have played in mine. My hope is that I can speak God's love to them, but also that I can show them God's love played out in my life. A lofty goal, I know. I heard once that the purest gold is actually almost clear. There are many references in the Bible with us being likened to gold being refined. I've always thought of us eventually being pure and shiny so that we reflect God. But if you think of pure gold as more transparent, then we aren't merely reflecting God as we go through trials and are purified. We become transparent so that anyone who looks at us sees right through us and sees Him IN us. Not reflected. Not on the outside bouncing off of us, but shining clearly from the inside. It's a cool thought, isn't it? Oh how I pray that I will become more transparent so that others will see more of God and less of me.

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The Story of Soap

2010-12-21T21:40:00.000-08:00

(Susie, wonderful mother-in-law to my daughter, this is for you.)

Disclaimer: The following may or may not be how it actually happened, but I like the story.

Years ago, our homeschool group went to a soap-making company and learned how soap was made. While I'm sure the chemical process is somewhat more complicated, the basic process is that lye and tallow heated together become soap. That's all the chemistry you need to know for the story.

While we were there, I wondered aloud to the proprietor, "How did people ever figure out how to make soap in the first place?" This is what she told me.

Long ago, people used to go up to the mountaintop to make animal sacrfices to God. They would build altars of stone and build fires with wood underneath, and burn the animals. Much of the flesh would be burned off, but the fat would melt and drip down into the ashes. We get lye from wood ash. So over time, lye would develop, then the fat would drop down into the warm ashes and get stirred up and make a rudimentary soap. When the rain came, the soapy run-off would get into the streams and the people living downstream noticed that things got cleaner with water closer to the altars. Eventually they figured out why and refined the soap-making process.

Granted, this might be a stretch. BUT it does not change the fact that soap to cleanse the body is a by-product of the process God gave man to cleanse the soul. Years ago, when I related this story to my friend Dr. Root, he commented that it was very typical of God to be concerned about the WHOLE person.

I don't think of soap as just soap anymore. Whenever I wash my hands, I consider that the product I am using to stay healthy in the body is derived from a process that God designed to keep us healthy in the soul.

At this time of year, we celebrate the birth of Jesus. Hebrews 10 tells us that the priests had to make sacrifices again and again, year after year, because the blood of bulls and goats cannot take away our sins, but we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. Because of this, God says of us, "Their sins and lawless acts I will remember no more."

We do not belong to those who shrink back and are destroyed, but to those who have faith and are saved.

Now, I dare you to wash your hands with soap and NOT think about the One who was sacrificed for you. and I dare you to wash your hands without giving thanks That because of His sacrifice, God remembers our sins no more!!

Walking by Faith versus Walking by Sight

2010-11-21T15:04:00.000-08:00

As I was walking across my leaf-coverd path today, I realized that Iwas walking by faith. . I can't see the uneven ground beneath the leaves, and even the leaves I CAN see are rther blurry in the overcast, almost-evening light. I realize that I literally actuallyhve ben walking by fatih a lot in the past months, because I can't see ground clearly and in the dim light, I can't really see at all. Friends walking with me will often verbally try to guide me, but in the end, they usually just grab my arm and we walk side-by-side.

I read a journal entry I wrote less than a year before I got married, that said roughly, "I don't care what Gordon says, I don['t believe God has anyone for me." Gordon is always teling us that when we pray for each other, we have faith for what the other might not have faith for. Twenty-three years ago, Gordon had faith for me that I would marry. And I did. Having faith for each other is kinda like walking arm-in-arm, lending sight (or perhaps vision) to the one who doesn't have it.

Another aspect that occurred to me was that when we can see clearly, we walk confidently and often directly and quckly from place to place. But when we walk by fatih, we often stumble, don't know exactly where we are headed, perhaps wander a bit, and walk more sloly and tentatively.

We often compare outselves to others, our lives to others' lives, our work to others' work, our homes to others' homes--and we often fall short. But you know, getting a lot done, having a perfect home, having a neat-tidy life, doesn't necessarily mean that a person is on the right path. Perhaps they are walking more by sight than by faith.

But you know (spoken from one who by nature is competetive), life's not a race. Close your eyes so you don't see you neighbors's life to compare to your own. Close your eyes and take God's arm and walk by faith. Who cares wher w end up or how meandering the path is--it's the company that counts.

Gary speaks cat!

2010-11-20T21:47:00.000-08:00

We have been cleaning, sorting and boxing things to kind of make up for not having built a closet yet or even finished our bathroom remodel. Gary has gone through and repacked just about everything and the wall is lined neatly, nearly to the ceiling with boxes. Apparently, Mermott was overseeing all of this.

When Gary came out for dinner, he inadvertently left Mermott in there, fast asleep on the shelf on the wall. When we heard an enormous crash and the sound of fragile items smashing, he remembered Mermott was in there. When we went to check it out, boxes were overturned and there was almost no entry into the room, and though I called, Mermott was nowhere to be seen.

Gary and I started in immediately on cleaning up and after about 10 minutes, Mermottt appeared from some hiding hole, apparently satisfied that the crashing was now over. I picked her up and petted her and asked her if she was okay. She chirped at me and Gary translated confidently, "Milk please, and make it a double!"

Mermott and Cain

2010-11-17T17:25:00.000-08:00

My cat Mermott, eldest daughter of Queen Nermal, only kitten in her litter. has been a little haughty lately. She has this household firgured out. She sits on my desk every morning for her pets. Afer the dog is put away for the night, she calls me into the kitchen, chirping as she leads me along, looking back frequently to make sure I am following, and when we get to the kitchen, looking at the refrigerator and very politely and clearly saying, "Milk?" She is comfortable. She has my attention.

The problem is that she thinks her position is a one-cat-only position. Nermal, always sits at my feet. That's okay with Mermott, because a "higher" spot, on my desk. The other day after petting WrongWay (Mermott's niece), I put her on the back of my office chair, and when Mermott entered the room and saw that there was someone occupying a position as high as hers, oh the tone of voice she used! I'm sure I don't have the vocabulary to translat THAT.

But from MY standpoint, I enjoy all my cats. I feed them all. I care for them all. So why does Mermott think she needs to have something no one else has? The truth is, each relationship with each cat is unique, simply becase each cat is unique. Susie comes in, eats, and goes out as if this were a fast-food joint. She will allow me to hold her and pet her outside, especially int he hay barn, but not so much in the house. Nermal is at my feet no matter where I go. Mermott is the only one who asks for milk. Buster keeps my chair warm. So why does Mermott think no one else should get pets or a spot by me, it doesn't take anything away from her uniqueness. There is no shotage of attention for Mermott because of any of the other dats, no shortage of food....What's up with wanting to be high mucky-muck?

“Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? ⁷ If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.”

I suppose no one, not even me, expects a cat to overcome the sin crouching at the door. But I find it interesting that most of MY relationship problems come directly from my similarity to Cain. When my friend is favored by God, I should rejoince, but instead, I'm jealous. I am SO Cain. How do I get out of THAT?

Focus! (Dancing with God)

2010-09-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

For the past two years, my five-year-old gelding, Pablo, has lived a life of ease, spending time with his herd (his sister and the pony-boss), having meals provided to him, and just being a pet. His sister recently left us and now that the herd is more manageable, my son and I have been spending more time with them. This has brought to my attention some lapses in manners that Pablo has slipped into, which needed remedying. So I invited Laura out to give Pablo a little brush-up course.

First, Pablo did not want to be caught, and before Laura got here, we spent an hour doing laps around the "barn" until he finally tired and consented to be caught. He was not much better for Laura, either, and over the course of another hour, she worked him up into a lather. She backed and ran him and taught him to focus on her. Over and over, she had to remind him that he needed to pay attention to her and her only, and when he didn't, boy was he in trouble. By the end, they were dancing. When she would step forward, he would step back; when she would step back, he would step forward; when she would take a step toward his shoulder, he would take a step away. It looked like a graceful waltz. But he was paying attention to her and her only. Even his head was lowered so that his eyes were at the level of her eyes.

Later that day, I heard a song on the radio, and part of lyrics reminded me very much of the dance that Laura and Pablo did. "I won't speak until You speak. I won't move until You move." And I have to think, am I the horse who is looking at and listening to everything that is going on around me, and sometimes walking into my master, or sometimes refusing to move; or am I the horse who is so focused on my master that I don't hear anything else? I want to be so focused on my Master that when He speaks, I speak His words and when He moves, I also move.

But this takes FOCUS. I have to admit that my first thought of every day is more likely to be "What am I going to do today?" rather than, "Lord, what do You want me to do today?". I have been living a life of ease, a quiet life in a pasture with my herd. A lovely life. But not a Servant's life. I need to focus!!

A Righteous Anger

2010-06-18T21:03:00.000-07:00

One day at K’s baseball practice, while I was waiting for my walking partner to arrive. I noticed K not playing catch with the other boys, but lying face down in the grass, off to the side. I figured he was doing a “drama king’ thing because he didn't: get his way about something, but after it had gone on for a few minutes, I thought it was overdone and went to talk to him about it. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wet with tears and his cheeks were streaked. I asked what had happened and he said one of the other boys had said no one liked him and no one wanted to be his friend. My heart sank. I gave him a big hug and told him it simply wasn’t true and that was a very unkind thing to say to him. But I also told him that he was here to learn to play baseball, and he needed to take a deep breath, be brave and go back and do his best. About that time the coach called the boys in and Keary rather glumly sauntered over. I heard the coach ask Keary what was wrong, and I heard Keary say that someone had said no one liked him, but I kept walking away and did not hear the rest.

My walking partner had arrived in the meantime and had been using the port-a-potty and heard the coach’s speech. Unaware of what had preceded it, she said to me, “Boy, I’d hate to be the offending party!” I asked her about it, and she said the coach was saying that all of them were on the same team, on the same side, helping each other, supporting each other, and if he EVER heard anyone talking meanly to another teammate, he would call their parents on the spot and they would be going home.

An hour or so later, when I went to pick K up, he was a smiling, happy child. And I was thankful that my son had a champion.

Don't be afraid

2010-06-15T14:11:00.000-07:00

We have this cat, Joe Kitty, who doesn't see very well, and so she pretty much stays indoors. But she still loves fresh air and sunshine. It has been warm and sunny lately, and we have had our office window open. Needless to say, Joe Kitty has been hanging out by it. Yesterday, a really loud plane flew overhead. Of course, because the window was open, it was even louder than planes usually are. It was the kind that make you run to see if they are planning to land on the roof. Joe Kitty was petrified. She couldn't even run. She just made herself as flat as she could and hoped it wouldn't see her. I just kept right on typing. When it was over, Joe Kitty tiptoed over to me and looked at me quizzically, almost as if to say, "You weren't afraid!" So I picked her up and held her close and petted her and said to her, "I wasn't afraid, so you don't need to be either." And I could feel her muscles relax and she started purring.

And I thought, That's how God holds us too, in our times of fear and doubt, and He says to us, "I am not afraid, so you don't need to be either."

A Chair is a Chair

2010-03-06T08:08:00.000-08:00

When I was in college, one of my education professors cautioned us not to jump too quickly to a diagnosis of dyslexia in young readers. He went on to explain that up until a child learns to read, position doesn’t matter. For example, a chair is a chair, whether it is facing right or left or if it is upside down. One of my very first memories of reading was that I had written my name on the inside of the lid of my pencil box. It was a light blue cardboard box and I had taken the entire width to write “J o b I e”. (I think the “e” was backwards too.)
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So years later, when I read the book of Job, I felt a special connection, not only because I was a teenager when I read it (and I suspect every teenager thinks his/her life is the hardest, meanest, most stressful life ever lived), but also because I had this memory of my name being written “Jobie”. As an adult, after I had my first miscarriage, I again could relate to Job, only this time taking away the quote, “Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him.” (Job 13:15).

Recently, a friend of mine brought up Job. She said that she felt more like his friends than she would like. This year, through the course of our difficulties, I thought about Job again, but I realize my life does not even hold a candle to his. But after my friend’s comment, I got to thinking. It’s actually true that I have acted more like Job’s friends this year than Job. Early in the year, when I broke my leg and we lost our granddaughter, I was inwardly angry. And I spoke very arrogantly to a friend. And later in the summer, I apparently made a remark (or two) that another friend considered condescending.

My father-in-law is an alcoholic and he has been through many cycles of recovery and relapse. Often, during his recovery, he is arrogant and uncompassionate, as if to say, “If I can get my life right, so can everyone else”, and there is no grace in him. I’m guessing that’s pretty much how I have come off to people. I never meant it that way, but I think it’s been interpreted that way.

Nevertheless, that’s definitely NOT a god-like attitude. And if it takes hard times to produce the fruit of compassion in me, then let them come. I would much rather have hard things in my life, if that’s what it takes for me to reflect God’s heart, than to have everything come easy but be arrogant and condescending.

Chemisty

2010-01-21T04:26:00.000-08:00

Boiling points. I remember learning that different liquids had different boiling points. It was in junior high. It's one thing to learn it in your head, but to see someone stick their hand in a boiling pan of alcohol--you expect them to pull their hand out and for it to be painful and blistered and red Not so. Alcohol boils at a temperature not too much above body temperature....

But the most vivid demonstration that sticks in my memory is when Mr. Browning, in Chem I, took a gigantic glass flask (like a 10-gallon flask, with sides at least an inch thick) that was full of ice water and made it boil. Impossible you say? Nope. Even the temperature at which water boils is affected by the pressure over it. By creating a vacuum in the flask, Mr. Browning was able to make the ice-cold slush contained inside it BOIL! Boiling slush. Such an unusual sight, it's still in my memory like it was yesterday, and it was over 30 years ago!

We use the same principle in pressure cookers. Just as water boils at a lower temperature under less pressure (which is why you have to cook things longer at higher altitudes, by the way-less atmospheric pressure); it boils at a higher temperature under pressure. That is why we use a pressure cooker for canning starchy vegetable snd meats, so they will "boil" at a higher temperature, a temperature high enough to kill the dangerous bacteria, like botulism, which can withstand normal boiling temperatures.

But an interesting thing happens as a jar of water is boiled in a pressure canner. As the water boils inside the jar at hotter-than-normal boiling temperatures, air is forced out of the jar. As the jar then cools, the lid seals before it has reached room temperature, creating less pressure inside the jar than there is on the outside. That's why when you open the jar, you hear that characteristic "shoop" as air rushes in to equalize the pressure.

The interesting thing is this. because the water inside the jar is under less pressure, it will now "boil" at a lower temperature than water under normal atmospheric pressure.

I think that is why Joy bubbles up through all kinds of circumstances. It may look odd to us to see people joyfully worshiping God on the streets of Haiti, amid hunger and stench and unknown futures. But it's really the same thing as seeing a boy put his hand in a boiling kettle of alcohol or ice-cold slush boiling. They have been "cooked" under pressure, and their boiling points have been lowered. Joy bubbles up through it all.

I "listen" to my teenage friends on Facebook struggling under the pressures of their lives, and I remember being a teenager, and how hard it was; and yet, being an adult is so much harder. But we don't get there overnight--most of us. We are boiled in the pressure cooker of life over and over, hotter and hotter, under more pressure each time, until we get to the point where we bubble at room temperature.

Juxtaposition

2010-01-20T21:29:00.000-08:00

I just love the sound of that word. Do you ever come across a word that is just fun to say? In medical transcription, my fun phrase is "popliteal fossa". It's just fun to say. Same with "juxtaposition". But I like the meaning of the word too. I think it pretty much describes my faith.

I have from time to time, tongue-in-cheek, and with all apologies to those suffering from mental illness in earnest, said that God must be schizophrenic, or of two minds. How else could He grieve at the horrors going on the world and at the same rejoice with those who are rejoicing?

How is it that the very God whose "fingerwork" is the galaxies that we see as stars could care to count the hairs on my head? How is it that this God would take the form of man and die on a cross so that the relationship between Him and me could be restored? How can God, who is so big (gigantic, monstrous, enormous, immense, powerful, immeasurable, unfathomable) be concerned about what is so small? How is it that He can rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn, all at the same time?

And how is it that despite my circumstances,the long uphill journey I have laid out before me, I can still be filled with Joy? It's as if no amount of pressure can keep the surface of the deep from bubbling. Thankfulness and joy cannot be contained........you can clothe them will illness and dark circumstances, but they persist.

The Hope that I was looking for last fall isn't related to any circumstances or feelings. My hope is in my redeemer....and He, whose fingerwork is the stars, even cares for me. How can I not find Joy in that?

Juxtaposition....

Eew, gross!!

2010-01-17T18:07:00.000-08:00

We have been watching M.A.S.H. lately. We just saw the episode where BJ Hunnicut arrives. The trip from Kempo to M.A.S.H. 4077 inducts him fairly well, as they meet a patrol on the way that has been wounded and needs assistance. BJ's first look at the shredded abdomen of a soldier leaves him heaving in the dirt.

My mom recently had carpal tunnel surgery, and I looked up pictures on Google Images, to get a better idea of what took place during the surgery. Keary came in the room and looking over my shoulder said, "Is that a REAL hand? EEW GROSS!"

My friend, Sue, who had a below-the-knee amputation years ago, sometimes takes her prosthesis off in church, when it is uncomfortable, but she is very careful to cover her stump, especially from the view of children, as the view to people is often shocking.

I feel the same way about my own incisions. Though they are nothing really gross to look at, they are not they way God intended my foot to look, and I always have the reaction, "Eew, gross" when I catch sight of them, and then sadness comes, and then thankfulness that I still have my foot.

But all this converging got me to wondering if that isn't God's immediate reaction to the sin in our lives. I mean, He created us in His image. I'm pretty sure He intended us to be sinless. And so when He looks at us, I wonder if the first reaction in His heart is, "Eew, gross." Followed by sadness. Followed by thankfulness, that we have chosen relationship with Him.

Finding God in a Box of Salt

2009-12-23T04:35:00.000-08:00

We have had quite a year of "opportunity for growth" (as my friend calls it). First I broke my leg, then our daughter had a miscarriage, then, before my leg was completely healed, I developed ian infection in my foot and a month later had to have surgery to drain it, then developed sepsis and subsequent renal failure. I was very sick and had to be on daily IV antibiotics for weeks. When I was finally almost better, I fell off a friend's deck and had bruised ribs for a few weeks. As that was healing, my husband had a stroke, landing him in the hospital for a week. A week later he ended up in the hospital again.

The bottom line is we are running at about half power income-wise right now, have medical bills that exceed our mortgage, and are in a place of having to completely trust God for our provisions and our health and our future. Frankly, this is where we all are anyway, whether we realize it or not; it's just absolutely clear in our lives at this moment.

Five years ago this season, we lost my mother-in-law to a stroke. Nevertheless, she is still here with us in our hearts and memories. She used to say, "Out of salt, out of money" and my husband still says that. This past month, my son had used up the last of our salt doing various science experiments, and the almost empty container sitting on the counter calls out to me, mocking me, "Out of salf, out of money."

Today, a friend brought a care basket from some coworkers (most of whom we don't even know). As I was putting various items away in my pantry, I came upon a box of salt. And this precious box of salt spoke over and above the empty one sitting on the counter. "I see your need. Your provision comes from Me, and I will take care of you."

While I was pondering this, my son skipped into the kitchen, noticed the salt on the stove and said, "Mommy, how did they know we needed salt?" God knows.

As Deep Cries out to Deep

2009-10-10T23:18:00.000-07:00

I have experienced some dark times this year. I'm not sure which was the darkest part; the days after my surgery when I was so sick I thought I was going to die, or the weeks after I got home when I was so sick but didn't know if I would ever get well or just live in misery forever.

First off, let me say, I would be happy to die. I know that a much better place awaits me. But all I could picture, as I lay there pleading with God for my life, was my 8-year-old son, my husband, and my grown daughter. My daughter would get through, but she has already suffered so much this year with the loss of her daughter. My husband would make it, I think; but it would be only by God's mercy and grace. It takes both of us to raise our son, and both of us to keep us afloat financially. I could not imagine how he would deal with the stress, physically, financially, emotionally, psychologically. God would provide, but still, if I could spare him that road... And most of all, my son, who has so much growing up to do, and who really needs the balance of both his mom and dad. I called my friend Laurie in tears, begging her, "If I die, please make sure my boys are taken care of." And then things got better. Laurie came the next day and we had a time of worship and the whole atmosphere of the room changed...and things began to improve, though I was still quite sick. God put me on Gordon's heart that night and he prayed for me. Friends from church came the next day and prayed for me. Laurie and Dan came the next day and prayed for me, and that night was the last of my fevers and chills and sweats and vomiting. People kept coming and praying, and calling, and praying for me.

After I came home, nausea and fatigue and diarrhea still plagued me. On top of that, I had people coming to my house, poking me and prodding me and just invading my life. And there were countless doctors demanding I come see them. And Gary was stressed out, trying to work and take care of me. He couldn't fit in driving me to town for all those doctor visits. And I was too exhausted to go. Did I mention the overwhelming nausea? Forcing myself to eat, but having no appetite. Feeling like I wanted to heave my innards out all the time....On top of that, no one could tell me why I felt so miserable. Perhaps the kidney failure? That was the best guess. And no one could tell me if my kidney function would ever return to normal--or even improve. I was faced with the thought of living the rest of my life sick beyond bear.

The worst part was that I had no hope. If someone could just tell me, "Yes, you will get better." Then I think I could have tolerated it better But I had no hope. In the hospital, I could draw myself to worship God. I could say to Him, "Not my will, but thine." with regard to whether I lived or died. But this nausea. This unknowing. This hill that had no end. These waves that just kept coming and coming, with no end in sight. At least death would have been an end. I was struggling so with making peace with God about living the rest of my life in nausea.

I had to get to church, but I could not drive our manual because I could not push in the clutch with my left (wounded) foot. Gary got sick, very sick, with a GI bug and could not take me the second Sunday after I got home (the first Sunday, I was just too weak to go still). So I asked a friend to give me a ride the next Wednesday, but when she didn't show up, I knew that it was the enemy keeping me from where I really NEEDED to be. I needed to physically submit myself to God and go, to say PHYSICALLY, "I will still worship You; I will still acknowledge Your sovereignty, even though I don't understand or know what You have planned, or have faith or hope in my future." And so I climbed into my truck (after Gary moved the car for me) and drove myself to that Wednesday service.

And people were glad to see me. And they prayed for me. One woman told me she had faith for me where I did not, that I would get better, completely better. Another man told me that they were not letting me go. I needed to hear all that. I DESPERATELY needed to hear all that. By the next week, the nausea was gone and I had improved immensely--to the point that I could have hope for myself that I would continue to improve.

Forgive my personalization of Psalm 42:6-7, etc.

My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of RiverBend; from the heights of kidney failure--from immense nausea. Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.

And in the future, remembering how He has brought me through, I will say, "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

When to Praise the Lord

2009-09-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

Deuteronomy 8:10 "When you have eaten and are satisified, praise the Lord your God for the good land he has given you."

Every morning, my cat Mermott comes in and jumps up on my desk, sitting between me and my monitor, and we have a short little session of head butting and cheek petting, before she jumps down and does whatever she does all day. This morning, however, she did not jump up on my desk, but stood on the floor beside my chair. When I tried to pet her, she walked away. When I tried to pick her up, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she wanted down. After a while, I realized the bathroom door, where we keep the cats' food, was closed. Later, after she had eaten and was full, she came in and jumped up on my desk, ready for pets and full of purr.

Luke 22:17-19 "After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, 'Take this and divide it among you. For I tell you I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.' And he took bread, gave thanks, and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.' "

A short while after Mermott had eaten, Buster came in from outside and stood at the office door meowing at me. I talked to him and he talked to me, as is our routine; and then he went and ate, and left.

One cat thanks me with a belly full, the other thanks me for the meal he is about to receive. I remember when I first read that Deuteronomy scripture, I wondered, why then do we pray before we eat?

Over the last weeks, I have struggled. I have struggled with doubt about whether God would bring me back to complete health, with whether I would spend the rest of my life living with this horrid nausea, with how expensive I was going to be to keep alive, and how much my life was worth. Perhaps these things seem obvious or trivial from a different perspective; but from the depths of nausea and depression and in the midst of the unknown, these are not trivial questions. Part of me knows that God will give me the grace and the means to do anything He calls me to. If He asks me to live with nausea for the rest of my life, He will give me the grace to endure it. If He asks me to live with kidney failure, He will provide the means for treatment for that. But, on the other hand, there is the nitty-gritty, day-to-day struggle....and it's been hard...and I have been losing the battle. I don't see God's grace provided to me. I'm not able to do what I want to do. I'm barely able to be civil to the people I love most.

But last Wednesday, at church, people prayed for me. Dennis said, "We will not let you go." And others told me they had faith that I would get well--even when I didn't have that faith. I realized that they were holding me up. When I could not stand, when I did not have faith, they held me up and had faith for me.

And as I pondered my two cats this morning, I realized that I was being Mermott, praising God for what I had already eaten, for the healing that had already taken place---but God wants me to be Buster, to thank Him for the meal I was about to eat, for the healing that will come.

Hiatus

2009-09-12T09:16:00.000-07:00

Just in case any of you are wondering where I have been. I got an infection in my foot that had to be surgically opened and drained, and then I developed sepsis from the bacteria getting into my bloodstream, then my kidneys failed....So I am home now, after 10 days in the hospital, on IV antibiotics for weeks still, battling nausea and waiting for my kidneys to recover. Prayers are welcome. I will post again soon, but I think I need to feel better first.

To My Angel

2009-08-14T21:02:00.000-07:00

The following was written by Laura. Today is the day Nadia Joy was due. Sadly, she died before she could see her mommy and daddy. But we all love her dearly just the same and look forward to seeing her one day in heaven, completely whole and untarnished by this world.

To my angel.....

My sweet girl,

You were due today. It seems strange to even think about that, since it's so far from when you were born. Maybe all mothers remember the due dates too... You'd be 16 weeks old now, if you'd have stayed. Smiling, cooing, those wonderful milestones. I'd best not linger on the things I miss, lest I forget what I've gained. I miss you terribly! It's like waves at the beach. I won't even know where it came from, but I miss you again so fiercely...

I've changed so much these 16 weeks. It amazes me still that you've done more in such a short time than I'm likely to accomplish in my whole life. You've taught some that there's more to life than their world. For others, you've softened their hearts. You've taught some how to grieve, and how to be vulnerable. That it's okay to cry, and to feel. You have deepened relationships, and secured friendships in ways you'll never know. Most of all, you have brought people to the Father. For some it's a new relationship, for others, it's a deeper one. I know that you yourself are not capable of these things, and that it is indeed the Father himself who has used you for His glory.

I miss you so. But you have brought me closer to my Father, and I know him better. I have found new Joy nestled in His arms, a security I never could fathom. And He is still my hope. I still wish I could hold you, hear your voice, see your smile. I wonder what kind of woman you'd have grown into. I love you. I love you more than I can express. I will always love you.

Though the sorrow may last for the night, His joy comes in the morning.

It's been many nights, and many more will come. But He is still holding me up. I was thinking the other day about God holding me, and comforting me. He understands my pain. I realized that He really does! He lost a Son! He knows what it's like to lose a child! I started thinking more about His understanding, and I realized that he doesn't ask us to do what he hasn't. He understands loss. He can grieve with us. He lost a child, and at some point Joseph died, so he lost a parent. He knows what it's like to be tempted, and what it's like to be misunderstood. He's had neighbors and siblings. We constantly shun Him, tell Him he's not good enough. When he asks us to give up ourselves, he's done that too!

What an awesome God we have! He has indeed brought good from the pain, and I know he's not done. He's given me a new insight and a deeper understanding of who He is. I can say with certainty, "God is good!"

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified. " Isaiah 61:3

My prayer now is one of thanksgiving. That though I miss you, and will miss seeing you grow, I have gained a treasure more precious than silver. I will never stop missing you, and I look to the day when I will see you again, ever praising the One who created us.

Mom

He was my Sunday school teacher.

2009-08-05T16:53:00.000-07:00

The men in my family are pretty closed about their emotions and pain. K boy, when he is hurt, usually crawls off into a corner and suffers quietly. It's when the house is quiet that I know to be concerned. And when he took a wrong turn over a waterfall recently and landed on rock in an inch of water after a five-foot drop, he merely said, "I'm okay, I"m okay." And when I insisted he MUST hurt, he said, "It's only pain."

So when one of his Sunday school teachers (his friends in the know say his favorite Sunday school teacher) died unexpectedly and suddenly last week, I was not surprised that he took it on the chin without wincing. This is his style. I have looked for subtle things over the past days to see if there was any indication of "hurt", but he remained stoic.

The memorial service for his teacher, Don, was today, originally scheduled at the same time as K's swim meet. So I left the choice up to K as to which one to go to. He thought all afternoon yesterday about it and decided he wanted to go to the swim meet. But God knows what K needs and arranges things. The swim meet went really quickly and was over by 2:30. The memorial, about five minutes away, got pushed back to 2:00; so I made the command decision that we would go. All K would say was, "I don't want to." I asked him why and he only repeated, "I just don't want to." Nevertheless, something inside me said we should go. So we went, and being late, stood out in the foyer listening and watching on the monitor to Brian's beautiful tribute to Don, and I picked up a "program" with Don's picture on the front. A card fell out, and as I didn't know Don well, I tucked it back into the stack of programs. But K said, "What was that, Mom?" So I told him it was a card to write a memory on. When I turned back to look through the window, K pulled the card out of the stack, took it to a table where there pens and started writing. When I glanced his way, he said, "Don't look. I don't want you to read this." But later, as I was helping him find the basket to put it in, I read it over his shoulder. It was unsigned and simply said, "He was my Sunday school teacher."

So, Cindy, when you find a card, written in an 8-year-old's cursive, in big letters because he did not have his glasses with him--please know that it came from the depths of the heart of a boy who did not know how to express the hurt in any other way.

Picking Blueberries

2009-08-03T17:01:00.001-07:00

My friend and I went walking through town early the other morning and we went a block or so out of our way to pass by some blueberry bushes that the city planted by the old train engine. As we were picking the ripe berries off the bushes, leaving the green ones (there are several different varieties planted), an older man got out of his car and said, "Are they ripe yet?" We answered, mouths full of juicy, sweet berries, "Oh, yes." But as we wandered away to finish our walk, he looked at the remaining berries on only one bush and said, rather annoyed, "They are NOT ripe yet!"

The fact is, apparently we are not the only ones who have come to appreciate the berries. Many people now, as they walk by, selectively pick only the perfectly ripe berries, and leave the rest to ripen for another day.

Years ago, a friend of mine bought the rights to a blueberry patch, and recruited quite a few of us to help pick for her. Picking blueberries for the harvest is quite a different experience than picking them in the park one at a time. When you pick them for harvest, you wrap both hands around each clump, and strip the berries off, ripe and unripe together, and then later sort through them, discarding the overripe and the unripe berries, as well as any leaves and twigs.

It occurred to me, as I sat in church listening to Gordon talk about Don Gibson, who recently--unexpectedly and suddenly--went to be with the Lord, that perhaps now God wanders through the believers, picking only the ripest, sweetest ones. But the day is coming when He will harvest ripe and unripe together, and sort us all out later.

Lost Marble

2009-07-25T15:12:00.001-07:00

In 1989, we bought a little over an acre of land that had been horse pasture for as long as I had lived in the area. At the back were three fruit trees, the remnants of an orchard (ancient fruit trees, even then). Using my imagination, I could look back in time and see little pioneer children playing, and after that, children of the depression, and so on. The house two lots to the west of us was probably built around the turn of the century. The houses flanking us were probably built in the 1930s and 1940s. The acreage we bought belonged to the people who formerly owned the house to the east, and several properties to the east and north of that.

So, often, when digging, I would find treasures. On the eastern fence line, not too far from the neighbor's house, I found the remnants of an old burn pile--melted metal and melted ancient hand cream jars, lids, and so forth. When digging out on the western fence line, to the north, in what has always been pasture, as far as I can tell, I found an old, pre-matchbox era, toy fire engine. This spring, in our south pasture, to the west, where a little lean-to has stood for maybe a decade (Jake's house), a sparkle in the dirt at just the right time of day caught my attention. When I dug it up, I had a light blue and green marble. To me it looks old, especially given the imperfection at the top. I assume this is a hand-blown marble, and I don't think it was my daughter's. So I assume that it was lost by some child in a very long-ago time.

This marble seems to delight in being lost. When I found it, I stuck in my pocket and brought it in to wash it off. But when I set it down, it rolled to the floor and disappeared. A day or two later it reappeared right in the middle of the floor. So I picked it up, and not wanting it to be lost again, and wanting to show it to my daughter, to see if she recognized it, I set it in a flower pot that had been given to us, which had some living plants in it and little polished rocks like a little stream.

A few days later, I walked by the plant and remembered the marble and remembered that I wanted to show it to my daughter, but later that evening, when my daughter and son-in-law came by, the marble was nowhere to be found. I took all the rocks out and dug around in the soil, but the marble was lost. This became rather a joke to my family--me losing my marble and all. But it bugged me.

The plants died in the pot, so today, when I took it outside to clean it out, I sifted carefully through the dirt and found that marble. I don't intend to lose it again, but it seems to have a mind of its own. Nevertheless, at least I have a picture of it now, so people will know what to look for if they intend to help me find my marble.

Tolerance

2009-07-24T15:33:00.000-07:00

I think God uses special people to help our areas of weakness. I know by the son that He has given me that I needed to grow in the areas of patience and tolerance.

Patience is a long lesson, built like a strong wall, brick upon brick upon brick. I get it. I get opportunities to learn patience almost daily. Brick upon patient brick.

I did not know I was not tolerant. I guess the opposite of tolerant would be critical, condescending, judgmental. I suppose I am and/or have been all of those things to some degree, because God is sure using my son to teach me about tolerance--from the other side, from the side of being criticized and judged, on account of my son.

He's such a special kid. He is exuberant and enthusiastic, full of life and energy, intellegent. But he has a blindspot for social things. He has never had a sense of personal space, first of all. I don't know if this is because of his vision or because something in his brain is wired differently. (I hesitate to say "wrong", because I believe that God knew what He was doing when He made K the way he is.) And so I find myself constantly reminding him that people like to have an armslength between them, when talking and such.

Another social area that we work on continually is reading body language and facial expressions and listening to words other people are saying. It's so hard when he sees other kids wrestling and such and he wants to get in on it, but he doesn't understand how to be gentle at the same time, and he doesn't realize how much bigger he is than other kids. When does "no" really mean "no"? He doesn't pick up on the subtle clues that differentiate "no" from "no". Are they smiling when they say it, or are they turning away and frowning? The subtle nuances that you and I take for granted, he does not see.

Last year, a parent called him a "bully" because of this. I suspect, now that the parent has known him for a year and through other sports and such, that he would not call K a bully now. But that was, nevertheless, his first impression. I can feel parents this year criticizing me because of my son's lack of social "comprehension", because they don't know him, and they don't know me, and they don't know us.

And it hurts. And there is nowhere to go with it. When I was raising my "other" child, I was the condescending, critical one--if not overtly, at least on the inside. So I guess, in my old age, and because I am on the other side of the coin now, I will think before I have a critical, condescending, judgmental heart. We are not all wired the same (thankfully!). It isn't necessarily lack of good parenting that makes a child blurt out what comes to his mind or play too rough or too long. It isn't a matter of 'us' and 'them', but it is 'we'. How can we help each other and encougage each other, rather than criticzing and judging each other?

Growing into the people God wants us to be sure is painful sometimes....

Weeds, Rain, and Getting God's Heart

2009-06-21T10:24:00.000-07:00

We almost always have a relatively nice spell in February when I can get out and weed the flower beds. And they look nice for a while, but then in April when I get to them again, they are overgrown with grass and weeds and clover and bedstraw. It would be nice if I could just weed them once in a while and be done; but that isn't how life goes.

Similarly, in my own heart, I might think I have weeded out a bad thought pattern or some bitterness or have forgiven a hurt; but then something will happen to make me look closely, and there are those rotten, ugly weeds again.

I have marveled at my son's high tolerance for pain. But with my recent broken leg, I think I understand how he comes by it. When we were putting our garden in, in the first weeks of my injury, digging about two holes per day for my tomatoes was about all I could handle if the ground was hard. But I would not notice that I was in pain, only that I was getting short-tempered and cranky with my son. It seems I have a similar way with my feelings. When I am hurting, I might not recognize it; but I will start criticizing others or speaking harsh words.

Sometimes, the weeds that reach the furthest are the easiest to pull. Bedstraw and clover will cover a large amount of ground, but when you trace the vines back to their origin, with one pull a whole lot of weed comes up; and the ground cleans up easily. This is how it has been lately with my closest friend of decades. My whole life will be overcome with a hurt or a misunderstanding or something stupid I have said or done; but one heart-to-heart with her and forgiveness, and loving words of reassurance, and all that weed is gone... I just have to find the stem.

My garden was tilled in horse pasture this year, where hay and grass seed had fallen. I put soaker hoses on the garden, to only water the plants I wanted to grow, and the weeds were easy to control. But then God sent a great downpour and now my whole garden is growing in a carpet of grass. I know we need the rain, but I do find myself a little irritated at how much weeding I have to do now because of it!! The Bible says that God sends rain on the just and the unjust, meaning that God blesses everyone, not just those that follow Him. He wants us to follow him for reasons other than His provision. But I have to say, that sometimes I find myself a little jealous--like Cain, I suppose--that other people get blessed when I feel like I'm working so hard, and they are not. Personally, I think it is easier to care for animals than to work the ground, plant, weed and harvest. I think Cain probably felt the same way. But I have to keep reminding myself of C S Lewis' words, via Aslan, "I tell no one any story but his own." I can't compare MY story with anyone else's, because I am unique and God, to be just, must treat me uniquely. I almost think, when it comes to dealing with God, that I need to wear "blinders" so that I am not tempted to compare my story to someone else's.

On the other hand, we are called to be a part of the body of Christ. We cannot live as an island and also function as part of the body. A friend prayed this morning in church, "Lord, teach us to be a part of the body, because we don't know how to do it." And Gordon read out of the New Living Translation this morning (which is slightly different than my beloved NIV), Ephesians 4:2 "Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. "

"Making allowance for each other's faults". It's so easy to get frustrated and irritated with each other when we don't see eye to eye and we cannot bring the other person around to our (correct, of course) way of thinking. But we are called to "make allowances" for our differences...for their faults, and them for ours. It's hard to make allowance for someone else's faults, especially if that isn't a particular fault of our own. But when we are made aware of our own faults, our "weeds", it is freeing beyond words to have others make allowances for us. It is humbling and it is comforting. In the way that we know that God will never forsake us, it is comforting to know that there are people who will also never forsake us. And we need to be the kind of people who won't forsake others.

In the same way that "he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus", he will also carry on that good work in the people we walk with--the other members of the body. Last week, Mark McCoy talked about 1 Corinthians 13, and how God was making us all to look like that. He talked about watching Bob Ross paint and how Mr. Ross would get a painting started and Mark would think, "Wow, that looks pretty good. He could stop there." But then Mr. Ross would paint a river through the middle of it, and when he was done, the painting would so much more awesome than Mark had imagined it could. That is what God is doing with us. He is making a masterpiece. We think we look pretty good, but then God paints a river through us and we think, "Don't!! You're ruining it!" But in the end, God had something even better in mind. And the fact is, He is doing that with all of us. So, if our blinders happen to be down and we happen to see God start to "ruin" what we think someone else is supposed to look like, it's okay, God has something better in mind.

So, if you hear me being negative or critical:

1) tell me to recognize if I am hurting,

2) tell me to go do some weeding,

3) remind me to put blinders on ("I tell no one any story but his own."), and

4) remind me that He who began a good work in me (and every other part of the body) will carry it on to completion.

I'm reminded of a little song that we used to sing in college..."I am a promise. I am a possibility. I am a promise, with a capital P. I am a great big bundle of potentiality. And I am learning to hear God's voice, and I am trying to make the right choice. I am a promise to be anything God wants me to be." Funny, it means so much more NOW than it did two and a half decades ago.

How deep is the night...

2009-06-04T17:46:00.000-07:00

Here is another post from our daughter Laura, who lost her first child, Nadia, six weeks ago at 24 weeks' gestation. We continue to mourn, but we are not without Hope.

Often, the vast darkness and emptiness of pain and grief feels blinding. It's cold, and lonely, and seems ready to devour me whole. I can't see past it, or through it. How I need a light! How thankful I am that I have a light. I have the ultimate light source in my Father. He is my hope and my strength, my light in the utmost darkness.

I've often wondered, along with my friends and family, how anyone can go through this kind of pain and grief without God. I don't know how it's possible. The pain has been so great, yet I know I'm held tight, and I have hope. What darkness it must truly be without any hope or security!

I was thinking about this darkness on our recent vacation. Justin and I visited the Lava River Cave near Bend, OR. It's about a mile long, and you walk in until you can't, or don't want to, go any further. Then you walk the mile back out. It was sunny and pushing 80 degrees outside the cave, yet there was ice 50 feet in. About 100 feet in, still bathed in the dim glow of the entrance, the darkness ahead was so great that our flashlight wasn't enough for us to see. While Justin went back to get a lantern, I waited in the cave. I was standing in the light still, but I couldn't see what was around me. Waiting in the cold, in the dark, I marveled at how the light disappeared into the walls of the cave. The emptiness and darkness seemed to be waiting to swallow up all that ventured in. Only when we had the strong light from the lantern could we see the path ahead, and see the scarred but beautiful walls from the lava long ago. Such beauty from fire!

About a week before we lost Nadia, I was listening to my audio book version of "The Last Battle" by C.S. Lewis. Near the end of the book, after the battle, the main characters find themselves in a bright meadow, not the dark stable they were expecting. There they meet Aslan and are reunited with him. As they wander about, they see the dwarves huddled together, stepping on each other, and acting as though they were blind. When Lucy and the others talk to them, they find that the dwarves can't see the meadow or the light. All they see is the very dark interior of a stable that doesn't exist. They are in complete darkness, yet surrounded by light. Aslan talks to them, but they refuse to believe him. They refuse to believe that he is there or that he is real, and in that choose to remain in the darkness while the others continue "Further up, and further in!".

I'm always struck by that picture. Alone in the darkness, void of all hope. Complete darkness, like in the lava cave. How lonley and cold it is when we separate ourselves from God. A word of belief and the dwarves would have seen. A willing heart and we shall have our light that never fades or fails. God will never leave us in the valley of the night. He will not allow the darkness to swallow us. He is there with us, letting us see what gems He has hidden in the darkness, if we will only allow Him to.

"If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,' even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like day, for darkness is as light to you." Psalm 139:11-12

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust." Psalm 91:1-2

"You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday." Psalm 91:5-6

I find myself thinking about Psalm 23. " The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." He's here. He's my light in the darkness, for to Him, there is no night. Even in the valley of the shadow of death, He can see. When I'm blinded by my grief, and when the pain surges anew, I need only remember that He can see clearly. He will lead me gently, and I need only to trust and follow.

It's still night. Not as dark as it has been, but night nevertheless. I will not fear the night, but look for the beauty and treasures hidden in it, for my light is everlasting. I am safe, I am warm. The storm rages around me, within me; the thunder cracks, the lighning flashes. But I am safe in my Father's arms. What a hope I have! What a hope those who know Him have. I have a place to rest. Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

Oh yeah?

2009-05-12T22:18:00.000-07:00

I broke my leg three weeks ago. The day before I broke my leg, my 8-year-old son decided he wanted to learn to use the lawnmower. This was providence. Why? Because I somehow miscalculated the amount of hay I had left in my neighbor's barn (or someone helped themselves to it) and so in order to stretch what hay I had remaining, I needed to mow several wheelbarrows of grass per day for the horses. This is not a problem, as I have access to not only my own front pasture, but my neighbor's as well. However, with a broken leg, I am not able to mow it. So my mighty little man has won the job. He does not always do this with a willing heart. But he does do it. Of course, as he is only 8, I need to watch closely that he takes all the safety precautions I have given him. The grass is long and often damp and often clogs, at which point he has to shut of the mower and either empty it or unclog it. I feel like a broken record, telling him over and over to back up the mower off the pile of grass under the blade before starting it. Unfortunately, I have too often worded it in a way that triggers his Richter gene.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Richter gene (though I suppose it could also be labeled the "Smith gene"), it is that tendency of our family to stand up in the face of "It can't be done." I have been told that if you want to get a Richter to do something, you merely have to tell them it can't be done. Thus, when I say to my son, "Back the lawnmower up, you can't start it where it is." His Richter gene answers, "Oh, yeah? Watch me!" And one particular day last week, on the third wheelbarrow, when his "Oh, yeah? Watch me!" had earned him a sore neck and shoulder, and my thousandth chorus of "Back it up" was somewhat lethargic and unemotional, I finally added, "Well, you CAN start it that way, but IF you back it up, it will start easier." And it finally sunk in.

Then tonight, I had asked him to put our dalmatian in her crate, which is under his loft bed, before he climbed up, but he had forgotten, and he said, "It's okay, I can do it from up here, " and I said, "No, you can't reach it" triggering that ol' Richter gene, "Oh yeah?" Of course I move in with my crutches to try to close the crate before he gets to it, and also to catch him when he falls...which is what would happen....

So what is the deal? And how do I corral this spirit of his? I don't want to break it. I think this determination is a God-given attribute, and I know, that if directed properly, it will serve him well. But how do I direct his challenges away from needing to prove me wrong? I think part of this is coming in response to me needing him to do things for me because of my leg. I think he is gaining a sense of importance and "manliness" from being needed. But at the same time, I want him to respect me and not meet every "negative" thing I say with, "Oh yeah? Watch me!"

Perhaps it is simply the way I am wording things. But for the life of me, even if I word it like, "Maybe if you try it this way..." I am still met with resistance. He wanted to be in the horse pasture with me today when the farrier was trimming our pony's feet. I had him put some hay out for the mustangs to keep them occupied, and he was thinking he could play in the pasture with us because they were distracted. When I told him no, that I could not be in there with crutches AND look out for him AND hold Jake, he stomped his foot and turned his back to me. So I sent him inside. And I was right. Our horses have been so neglected because for 3 weeks I have not done anything with them, they were all over the farrier and I begging for scratches and attention....never mind the food.

Poor boy. He comes by this gene honestly. Whether it is indeed a Richter gene or a Smith gene, I suspect most families carry it. It is expressed more obviously in some than in others. But certainly, it is strong in me. I was the same way to authority as a child. I was telling a friend the other day how I used to steel myself when a spanking was coming and would not cry. Is he destined for a life of difficulty because he resists authority?

And I think about how God has dealt with me. It hasn't been with lashes and stanchions. A will like mine will only fight harder when confined. I have been like a wild horse at the end of a rope. God has just let me have plenty of rope, pulling on the rope gently to guide me this way or that. But over the years I have learned that the suggestion of the rope is generally in my best interest, and so I have learned to resist my first instinct to pull back against the rope, and have learned to trust the person on the other end. And it has been through building relationship and trust that God has tamed my spirit. Often, my first instinct still is to pull back; but it might only be a twitch now, rather than the battle it would have been in my youth.

I hope that God gives me the wisdom and the courage to give K lots of rope, and to calmly call him back, again and again and again......

(Suggestions are always welcome!)

Marred in the Potter's Hands (The Easter Tree)

2009-05-08T21:26:00.000-07:00

When we moved to our acre in 1992, I purchased a tree from one of those nursery catalogs you get in the mail. It was a flowering cherry and was never really supposed to get very large, maybe 8 feet tall, with a span of 12 feet or so. I had a vision that it would mark the boundary between our "parking area" and the "front yard". We put a mobile home on an acre of pasture that formerly housed horses--for as long as I lived in Junction City anyway--so I use the term "yard" loosely. It was not very big when I planted it--no taller than me, having arrived in the mail.

It was a quaint little tree. And it marked the corner of the parking area well. Then one day, after it had been growing in it's spot for about 10 years, we had a really big windstorm. Limbs and entire trees were falling all around us. My neighbor had a sequoia in his yard that forked about 5 feet off the ground, and during this windstorm one of the forks fell, essentially cutting my little tree in half.

I was heartbroken. I loved my little tree. But I didn't cut it down. I decided to wait and see what it would do. Six weeks later, it bloomed.

The next winter, when I pruned it, I left every branch that was reaching over to fill the gap. Clearly, the tree wanted to live. Just a little over a year after the storm that tried to kill it, it was again the focus of my mother-in-law's Easter tradition. In fact, we have dubbed this tree "The Easter Tree". We had called it that before it was ever damaged because it is esseintally directly in front of our living room window, the "centerpiece" of our front yard, and was small enough that my mother-in-law could hang treat-filled plastic eggs from it for our children on Easter.

But beyond being a tree to hang eggs from, it has become, to me, a tree of hope, a tree of resurrection. I had thought it would die, but with careful pruning it has flourished. When you look at this tree in full bloom, you probably would not guess that it had ever been bisected. You are caught by its beauty and fragrance. If your eyes land on its trunk, the scars are evident. It's only when you see it in the winter, stripped bare of its leaves, that you can read the story of injury and regrowth.

And now, seven years later, the tree has seemed to flourish, growing bigger than I ever expected it to. It is now big enough for a tire swing. Every spring we enjoy its fragrant blooms and the "snow" when the petals fall. The cats play tag in its branches. It provides camoflauge and rest for migrating canaries and finches every year. It sends up suckers from it roots 40 feet away! But most of all, it is a continual reminder that life follows death, spring follows winter, and restoration follow loss.

Nadia Joy

2009-04-27T03:17:00.000-07:00

Our precious little granddaughter, Nadia Joy, went home to be with Jesus this week. The following was written by our daughter. Grab a kleenex.

Saturday, April 25, 9:49 p.m.

Our girl's gone home.

If you didn't know I was pregnant, I'm sorry you're just learning now. For the rest of you, I want to share the amazing events of the past couple of days...

First, I want to say thank you to all of you who have been supporting us, either through prayer or with your presence. I can't thank you enough. There really are no words.

This, like many pregnancies, came with it's own set of trials. Early on, I had been spotting and we thought we might lose our baby then. With lots of prayer we got our miracle, and by 20 weeks our precious little girl was perfect and perfectly healthy. We were looking forward to another 20 weeks of a healthy pregnancy. I had to have another ultrasound at 24 weeks because she wouldn't show her face, and the doctor needed to see it to know if she had any special needs that might come up at birth. So all was normal and fine until then.

At the 24 week visit, her heartbeat had slowed dangerously low. It hovered between 60and 70 beats per minute, when it should have been twice that. It also stopped at one point during the ultrasound. There were many things that could be wrong, but we needed to do some blood work on me and see a specialist in the morning. I went home with the knowledge that our best bet was to make it another week at least until she was just old enough to live outside the womb. She needed to make it to 25 weeks to even have a chance of living. There was a lot of prayer for healing, and preparing for the worst.

When we got to the specialist's on the morning of the 24th, they started another ultrasound. Having had five with this pregnancy, I've gotten pretty good at knowing what to look for. There was no heartbeat. The tech was silent, and I did have to ask to make sure, but our sweet little girl was gone. Justin and I both had a chance to cry and absorb the initial shock. Justin's parents had come, as had my mom, who had been with me the previous day. They came back and we all sat and cried while we waited for the doctor to come in. We talked about our options, and I decided that I didn't want to wait to have my labor induced.

I went to the hospital and was admitted around 10:45 a.m. They started the induction at 11:45 a.m. They had no idea how long it would take before she was born, but it could be later that night, or as late as Sunday. Only time would tell. We were gearing up for a long, grief-filled process.

At 1:12 a.m. our precious Nadia Joy was born. She had already been home with the Lord for probably a day. She was perfectly formed. She even had lines in her footprints already! She had blond hair that you couldn't really see, but it was there. She even had eyelashes! She was 1 lb, 4 oz, and 12 inches long. We had family and close friends there with us to meet Nadia and hold her. We were very fortunate to get to hold her and see her so perfect.

Ok, so those are the facts.

The rest of the story is the spiritual one. We are so blessed. We had so many people praying for us and with us. As hard as this is, God has given both Justin and me so much peace. I know that's what many of you were praying for, and God truly does answer prayers. For me personally, this whole thing has been such a blessing. I got pregnant when the doctors thought I couldn't. We had a pregnancy that lasted longer than we thought it was going to at first. I got the experience of feeling my baby move and react to sounds, I've now been through labor, though I'm sure it will be different next time around, and I got to hold my little girl. Justin got to see her grow in me, he got to feel her kick, and he got to hold his daughter. Both Justin and I are definitely grieving, and there are times that will be harder than others, but we both have peace that only God can give. We don't have any anger about the situation, just frustration about not understanding. I can speak for both of us when I say that we don't understand God's will and His choices, but we accept it fully. I can't even begin to express all of the peace and understanding and faith that I have seen in the past 36 hours. We now have an amazing testimony to the power of God's peace and the ways that he uses us. We have already seen some of the ripples and changes that have been made in attitudes and actions because of this. I'm sure God will use this to change many lives that I won't ever know about. I have complete confidence and trust in my Lord and what He does, regardless of my understanding or lack thereof.

One thing I realized this morning after coming home without our girl was something about how God must feel about His children. I was crying, and telling Justin that I just didn't understand how I could love someone so much in so short a time, and know so much about them without them knowing me. I realized that God feels that way about us. He makes us His perfect creation, designed to love Him and have a relationship with Him. He waits expectantly for us to know Him, to be born again, and for us to spend our whole lives learning about Him and who He is as our Father. When we refuse to have that relationship with Him, and refuse Him in our lives, it's like the stillborn child. Perfect in every way, created to love and be loved, and to spend a lifetime getting to know the ones who bore us. They just never make it that far. They are still loved, still wanted, and there are still hopes and dreams that we have for our children and that God has for us, but they will never have the chance to be fulfilled.

I am so grateful to have such a wonderful family and such wonderful friends who have stood with us through this, and will continue to. I am also so thankful for our family who understands that this is the loss of a child, not a pregnancy. She has a name, a birthdate, she is an individual. She is still one of the grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, the others will just never have the opportunity to play with her. She will always be our firstborn, and she will always have a place in the family. I'm so grateful that the family shares this idea with us, and that they were there with us to hold her and mourn with us. It's an experience that has touched so many lives already, and I'm sure it will touch more. My prayer now is that God will use me to further His kingdom by my being able to point to all that He's done though me.

I am so blessed to be thought of highly enough by my Lord to be used by Him to carry His little girl, that though I may not have had her for long, He let us share in a life that was too special for this realm. I'm so thankful that my girl didn't have pain, and that she didn't have to ever experience the pain of this world. I know I will see her when I go Home, and until then she is well. As a friend's child said, "Oh good! God loves playing with babies!" God loves playing with babies, and who could take better care of mine than the one who created her.

(photo courtesy of Anne Nunn Photography, see http://annenunnphotographyblog.com/ A Beautiful Life: Nadia Joy)

For Good

2009-03-06T22:41:00.000-08:00

I had the privilege of seeing "Wicked" in Portland this week--a birthday present from my husband and daughter. My daughter drove us up there and we attended together. I had never even really heard of it. It's basically the back story of the witches of Oz; but it's not about sorcery and witchcraft at all. It's about power and manipulation, revising of history, truth and deception, truth and perception, and friendship.

I'm still reeling from the music and the concepts, the twists, the surprises. But that day, I was most moved by the song called, "For Good". The lyrics are below, as well as a link to a (probably illegal) video of it. I'm sure the song is more moving if you know the rest of the story, but it has merit on its own. To set the stage, Elphaba (the Wicked Witch of the West) is saying goodbye to her longtime friend, Glinda the Good. As I sat there listening to the lyrics, I thought of my friend Laurie, who has stood by me for more than 20 years. I can't imagine ever having to say goodbye, but even so, these words are so perfect. "So much of me is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart. And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have re-written mine by being my friend..."

In the past few weeks I have met up (via Facebook) with some of my old college friends and so have been thinking back on those days a lot. Thinking about the girl I used to be and the person I am now. Thinking about how I did, or did not, influence others' lives. Thinking about how other people influenced my life. I have regrets, so many regrets. But I know that we don't grow into maturity overnight. I know that most 20-somethings go through a stage of legalism where they have it all figured out and they aren't very gracious. I was no different. I wish I could go back and be gracious instead of legalistic, cooperative instead of competetive, giving instead of seeking. But I can't go back. I can only go forward and thank God for His grace in my life. I can only go forward and when those 20-somethings come into my life, not take it personally, but understand, and speak kind and gracious words to them. I can only go forward and be thankful, oh so thankful!, for those handprints on my heart....so very many handprints. And go forward, knowing that those God brings into my life bring me something I must learn. And know that when God brought me into others' lives, it was to help them learn something...

Nevertheless, I hate goodbyes. I hate the goodbyes I have said in the past and I dread the goodbyes to come. I don't want handprints on my heart, I want hands.

(Elphaba):
I'm limited
Just look at me - I'm limited
And just look at you
You can do all I couldn't do, Glinda
So now it's up to you
For both of us - now it's up to you...

(Glinda):
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

(Elphaba):
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you

(Glinda):
Because I knew you

(Both):
I have been changed for good

(Elphaba):
And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for

(Glinda):
But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share

(Both):
And none of it seems to matter anymore

(Glinda):
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood

(Elphaba):
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood

(Both):
Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better

(Glinda):
And because I knew you...

(Elphaba):
Because I knew you...

(Both):
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good...

For Good

How Deep our Father's Love for Us

2009-02-18T15:53:00.000-08:00

My friend Emily was involved in a car accident last week. It was a "small" accident as car accidents go--low speed, superficial bodily injuries (though the psychological ones go deeper), dented metal, broken tie rods... But this is what she said in writing about it,

"i was crying half because it was scary
& i was in pain
& the other half because i was so
relieved that the kids were okay...
it's amazing how their well-being is
so much wrapped up into my everything.
i know it's like that for all parents...
we would always take the pain for our kids
if we could..."

I love that line "it's so amazing how their well-being is so much wrapped up into my everything". Every parent feels that way. Every parent SHOULD feel that way. It is God in us, at our very core. He created us to be that way so that we would understand HIM better, so that we could better comprehend HIS love for us.

I have been sensing in people lately, and hearing it outright as well, an uneasiness about our economy, our future, our jobs. And although I have had trouble putting it into words, I think Emily put it very well. If we know how to give good gifts to our children, how much better does our Father know how to give good gifts to us? We are His everything!! And He owns the cattle on a thousand hills. His wealth and his ability to provide for us have nothing to do with the economy.

Pruning, pruning, and more pruning

2009-02-03T04:29:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year!!

When I was in college, one NT professor had us memorize massive passages of scripture. Until then, I had only learned a verse here and a verse there. I had no idea I was even capable of memorizing whole chapters! (Thank you, Dr. Root.) One of the passages that lives in my heart and that comes up at least once a year--way more often than that, usually--is John 15. It starts off like this, Jesus is talking to his disciples, probably at his last meal with them before his death, or perhaps on the way to the olive grove, where he would be arrested:

"I am the true vine and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he trims clean so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything I have learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you to go and bear fruit--fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other. "

Pruning is an art form. We prune for many reasons, with different results. Roses seem to thrive on pruning. We cut them back all summer and they just grow and bloom more and more. Then in the winter, we cut away the dead wood so the new growth has room to grow. I prune my arborvitae hedge so that is will remain fairly low, so that I can see traffic over it, and traffic can see me. I prune the fruit trees I just planted to encourage root growth, and for the next few years I will not let them put their energy into producing fruit at all, but will pluck the fruit while it is small so that the trees will put their energy into growing strong roots and a strong trunk.

This has been a year of much growth for me and I feel like I am in a dormant, rather numb state right now, with changes in our business and the loss of my grandma and brother. But the truth is, I'm ready for God to prune away. Pruning the dead wood does not hurt. it changes what I look like, I may have to give up things I'm used to--and heaven knows I don't like change!--but it's all for the best. The dead wood will be in the way of the new growth. I need to surrender to the Gardener.

Some of the pruning God is doing in me is to make me more suited to His plans. I had neglected to prune my arborvitae hedge for many years, and did a severe pruning this year, taking it from 10 or 12 feet down to about 6. It is all level and neat-looking now and I asked Mr. K what he thought. "I liked it better the old way." We do get used to ourselves and it's hard for us to accept change in ourselves, especially when we cannot see the purpose. I'm sure my hedge was thinking "Up, up, up I grow. Oh how lovely and tall I am!" But my desire is that if a horse escapes and runs down the driveway, any traffic coming might have 50 feet to see it, rather than 6. I may like growing tall and wild; but God may have another purpose for me. I need to yield to the Gardener.

Some of the growing I did this year was hard and the kind that is meant to last. Some of the pruning God is doing in me is to keep me from fruiting in certain areas so that my trunk may grow strong and my root system may flourish, so that in the future I will be able to support and sustain a rich harvest. Did you notice how all the apple trees this years seemed to be overladen? If my limbs grow too fast, when the time comes to fruit bountifully, my limbs may be too weak and break. I need to accept the Gardener's de-fruiting, even though it seems contrary to my purpose in life. I need to trust the Gardener.

Some of the pruning He does to make me more productive. Sometimes he picks roses for a bouquet for His delight, or dead-heads the previous blooms to encourage me to flower more. I need to take joy in the Gardener's pruning, as He takes joy in me.

Whatever the Gardener chooses to do in me, I need to yield and surrender to it willingly, joyfully and trustingly. I am in His garden, planted for His purposes, and for His delight. I want to live in His garden forever. So I will accept this season of rest and pruning; knowing that Spring is just around the corner, and I will be all the more useful and productive in the long run for the pruning I have embraced this winter.

(photo by Hannah Mills)

Another Blog Worth Repeating....

2009-01-30T18:40:00.000-08:00

http://youhavemyword.blogspot.com/2009/01/pendulum-parenting-article-from-world.html

This is really good. Focus on what really matters (for parents).

ooooh, the light!

2009-01-18T10:49:00.000-08:00

We have been sopped in with fog for a long time--it feels like forever. The fog never lifts, the sun never breaks through, it is barely above freezing, and our eyes are getting used to the grayness. Friday I drove to Eugene and the sun was shining. I could barely see, the sun was so bright. When we headed back home, I could see to the north a wall of gray extending clear to the ground, and within just a few miles the sun was but a memory and the fog once again surrounded us, muffling sounds and dimming light.

I again drove to Eugene on Saturday, but this time when I drove home, the sun stayed with me and was out all day. It was a much noisier day at home and much brighter (and MUCH colder).

This morning was so beautiful, though. The sun was shining, frost glimmered on everything, and the birds were singing--not loudly, but rather subdued, as if the sunny morning were a matter-of-fact event, rather than a really exciting change of events.

But how accustomed we become to our environment and our culture and the evil around us,that pretty soon it all becomes "normal". We need to remember the sunshine, how glorious it feels and how it fills our hearts with joy and hope and anticipation. We need to remember the "good" in our lives and keep it always before us--those times when things went perfectly and we had little glimpses of what heaven must be like.

The fog wants to always settle down around us. It comes insipidly, falling silently like the snow. It blocks out the sunlight and mutes the sounds around us. It locks us into our own little spheres, lulling us into complacency. Pretty soon we become accustomed to our neighbor yelling at her grandchildren, the high school girls wearing too-tight clothes, the disrespectful language around us, hand signs and honking horns not meant to convey courtesy, "public displays of affection" that are more willful acts of lust than of affection, and lewd behavior in general. We need to recognize evil for what it is and rebel against even the littlest vestiges that waft down around us.

We can't always make the fog lift. There is evil all around us. But we can choose not to participate it in, not to react in kind, not to accept it as "normal", but to call it what it is. And we can fix our minds on the "good" things in life, the acts of kindness and selflessness, the beautiful things. We can be the light in our own little "spheres" and drive the fog off, at least in our realms.

Philippians 4:8 "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things."

I Can Only Imagine

2009-01-13T05:43:00.000-08:00

There is a popular song by the group Mercy Me called I Can Only Imagine. If you have never heard it, the lyrics are below. Take a minute and listen to it and let it soak into your heart.

Either by design or by conditioning, I tend to be a fairly reserved person. I love my church, but I don't really fit in to the worship style. I'm not saying I don't enjoy it; but I sometimes I lack the inhibition to just let myself worship...This is an area where God is working in me--and I'm pretty sure it's WAY down on the list. But this song always makes me feel like whatever my response to God is, it's okay. I don't have to conform to what everyone around me is doing.

When I was 12, we moved from Vancouver to Anchorage. We took the scenic route, but our dog and cat took the plane. I remember going to pick them up at the airport. Our dog, in his crate, was sitting silently. Our cat, in her crate, was letting the whole airport know, in her operatic yowling aria, that she was not happy about her circumstances. I'm sure, had there been a translator present, people there might have heard, "I demand to see the owner. You have no right to keep me penned up. Don't you KNOW who I am? I have rights! When I get outta here, heads will roll...."

It had been at least a week, perhaps more, since I had seen my pets, and I was as excited to see them as they were to see me. I still remember my cat's voice then. Before I could even see the crates, and before my pets could see me, I called to them. Immediately, my cat became silent and my dog began singing a happy, yippy, I'm-SO-glad-to-see-you song.

The contrast was so great, that I still remember that moment, more than three decades later, and will probably remember it the rest of my life. It was almost funny, how opposite their reactions were, both to being crated and alone, and to hearing my voice.

I think about that in worship, when I am quiet and my fellow worshippers are dancing and waving their hands. I imagine, should Jesus return at that moment, speaking to us from the doorway, that they would fall flat on their faces and be still, and I would be dancing and singing and jumping around like a happy dog, reunited at long last with his family. I can only imagine.

I Can Only Imagine

I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by Your side.
I can only imagine what my eyes will see when Your Face is before me.
I can only imagine, Yeah.

Surrounded by Your Glory, what will my heart feel?
Will I dance for you, Jesus or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing "Hallelujah"? Will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine.
I can only imagine.

I can only imagine, when that day comes, and I find myself standing in the Son.
I can only imagine, when all I will do is forever, forever worship You.
I can only imagine.
Yeah, I can only imagine.

Plumbing and Letting Go

2009-01-04T15:52:00.000-08:00

For those of you who haven't been following my facebook groanings, our recent dips into the teens played havoc with our plumbing, and my husband's injured back combined with the temporarily tight quarters in the shed made me the chief plumber--a job I would gladly relinquish, although now it seems I'm a pro.

Long story short, we had to replace a lot of shattered PVC pipe, only to discover that our check valve had a split in it, and when we replaced that, we somehow did not get a good connection between the metal elbow and the plastic-type pipe that goes into the ground, allowing air to get into the line between the check valve and the submersible pump. The effect of this was that when the pressure tank got empty (i.e. no water to the house) and the pump kicked on, it took 3 to 5 minutes for the pump to refill the pipe between the well and the pressure tank. This wouldn't normally be a big deal, unless you happened to be brushing your teeth and had to stand there with a mouthful of minty toothpaste for several minutes; had just lathered your hair and had to stand in the shower all soapy and unable to see for several minutes; or had just gotten your hands really yucky dirty and the last cup of water in the tank was not enough to cleanse them, and you had stand there for several minutes contemplating hiring someone else to clean up any unfortunate accidents (where ARE Thing One and Thing Two when you really need them?)

I kept thinking I just needed a clamp that would fit tighter around the pipe. But the tighter I clamped the pipe, the bigger the leak got. In frustration, I loosened the clamps to the point of the least leak and gave up, at least temporarily, realizing this was actually a livable circumstance and hoping for inspiration in the meantime.

I was sitting in church today and I realized there was a lesson in this. (Sorry, Gordon, I can't even recall what you said that sparked this realization!) My motivation and my attitude about my recent water crisis was "Fix it!" And I tackled each new challenge with an "I can fix this!" mentality. And frankly, I think that's pretty much how I approach problems. I put my head down and boar into it. Once I know what I am supposed to do and have a plan in place, my stress level goes down immensely. I don't deal well with situations that I have no concept how to fix. My mind goes round and round and round until I at least have a plan, or have a plan to talk to someone who might help me make a plan. I'm not good at waiting....

I was trying to verbalize this to G on the way home from church today and he said, referring to Mark McCoy's recent sermon, "Oh, you mean you have trouble letting go?" Mark's sermon was about a man who was trying to get to this really interesting person of light, but the shadow in him kept pulling him back. Every time he would try to approach this interesting person, his shadow fought him. Finally, the person of light said to him "Let go," and he realized it was not the shadow that was holding onto him, but he who was holding onto the shadow.

I would like you to know that in the intervening weeks when I have been pondering my water problem and "letting it go" so to speak, it has improved itself. I don't know if this is "divine intervention" or if loosening the clamps allowed the joint to vibrate into a more optimal angle, if our well has suddenly become semi-artesian, creating enough upward pressure to counteract the air leak, if slugs have crawled into the gap and sealed it for us, or ????. But now the wait is 3 to 10 seconds for the water to come back on, and that is almost unnoticeable.

I'm not saying that we need to let go of all our problems. There is a time to attack them. But there is also a time to let go...and wait. The challenge is knowing the difference!

Just Like Me

2009-01-03T08:31:00.000-08:00

So, it's probably no secret that the boy's feet are almost as big as mine now. In fact, I gave him a pair of my sneakers for basketball until we could afford to buy him his own pair (which we did this week). Read on and you will see why this is significant...if I haven't already given away the ending...

So, after lunch yesterday, the boy was bouncing off the walls and both G and I, noting a break in the heavy rain, said to him "Go outside and RUN!" which, of course, he was happy to do. Fast forward a few minutes. I am putting lunch away and G is looking out the front window, watching K frolicking in our long, gravel driveway.

G says to me, "He really loves to play in the mud puddles."
"Well, he gets that from me."
"Really!"
So for quite a few minutes I regale G with stories of my childhood, ending with "Even in 9th grade, during track practice, when we would all go for street runs, we would jump in puddles and see who could get the others the wettest."
"So you don't mind that he's wearing YOUR shoes to do it?"
"No!" I thought he was pulling my leg.
"Yup. His shoes are right there."
"I don't believe you."
"Look for yourself." So I did. And there sat G on the couch laughing hysterically, as I leaned out the front door, having seen my ONLY good pair of shoes missing from the pile by the door, and threaten the boy, "Those had better not be my GOOD shoes you are getting sopping wet in those mud puddles!!"....and the rather contrite boy ran in from the driveway..."Sorry, Mommy. Are you mad at me?"

Initial Evidence

2008-12-30T22:35:00.000-08:00

Oh! Mama!: Initial Evidence

Lydia puts this so well....

Merry Christmas

2008-12-24T21:14:00.000-08:00

I used to have a Peanuts cartoon that said "Happiness is seeing Christ in Christmas". I hope that Christ's love and salvation touch your life in a special way this Christmas.

I can't feel your feet

2008-12-20T11:09:00.000-08:00

K was leaning over my shoulder reading emails and he kept stepping on my toes. I finally said to him, "Why do you keep stepping on me? Can't you feel your feet?" To which he matter-of-factly responded. "I can feel my feet, Mommy. I just can't feel yours!"

The Santa Trap

2008-12-14T06:57:00.000-08:00

K asked recently if Santa was real. Well, no, not really, though there once was a man like Santa, but he died hundreds of years ago. But because he was so good, parents still pretend he is alive and do things in his name.

So, we stopped by Dari-Mart for milk the other night and the clerk says to K excitedly, "Are you all ready for Santa?"

"Santa's not real," says K, looking at me, then at her.

Without missing a beat she says, "He is real if he is in your heart!"

K smiles.

Now K is devising plans to find out if Santa is real. First he thought he could take all the presents from under the tree (there are none yet, by the way) and see if any appear overnight on Christmas Eve. We told him he could sleep on the couch if he wanted. Then he thought about leaving the video camera on all night, then setting a trap.... But then he thought, perhaps if he did those things, Santa would consider him naughty and not leave him a present.

So he is still thinking this one through. I'm pretty sure Santa will sneak a present under the tree for him. He's a pretty good kid. It's amazing how "real" Santa is, isn't it?

Recently, K has gotten into the Santa Spirit...He has been wearing his Santa hat and we bought him a tree skirt, in lieu of a costume, and he has been wearing that as a Santa cape....And has really been enjoying wrapping presents. He even had his horses make pictures and cards for everyone who will be at L & J's on Christmas.

Narnia

2008-12-14T06:55:00.001-08:00

K was watching TV the other day and the question was asked, "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?" K's answer? "Narnia."

Yeah! Me too!!

Calling the Cows

2008-12-13T20:01:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite memories of my brother Clifford is from when I was young and he milked the dozen or so cows they had on the farm. Often, the cows were across the creek, up the hill and he would send the dog to go get the cows. Sometimes there would be a "troublemaker" and he would have to go up himself to get her.

But when all the cows were stanchioned and fed, I used to sit in the hay above the cows and just listen to the rhythm of the automatic milking machines pulsing and whooshing and clicking, and to my brother singing above the din of it all in his deep bass voice. It was a safe, comfortable place, filled with the glorious smells of warm milk, sweet hay, grain and cows. Yes, I like the smell of cows!!

I think one of the things I loved so much was the music. There was no shyness in Cliff's singing. It was loud and confident; I suspect even the cows liked it.

I think I was born to be loud and boisterous and carefree. I watch my son during basketball practice; and while the other kids are dribbling, bent-kneed, quick and agile, he is skipping and dribbling, carefree, and just happy to be in the moment. He is SO like Cliff that way.

I think I was meant to be that way, too. It always seems to sneak out of me in unguarded moments. I talk too loudly or I get up from my chair and dance into the kitchen to the tune of some old music on TV (much to the amusement of my husband). But Mom had to work when I was little, and left me in the care of "Nanny", a 70-something-year-old lady who could not tolerate noise or raucous, and so I learned to be quiet in my speech and movement...most of the time.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I loved Cliff's singing so much. Perhaps this is where I learned that it was okay to be noisy around cows. Or perhaps it's something in the genes.

I heard several stories about Cliff's ability to call the cows today. I was a little surprised to learn that it was a gift or a skill. I had seen him do it all my life. It never occurred to me that not everyone did this. I have worked for three dairies over the course of my life. When I worked for the Pitneys, Jim had his replacement herds in various pastures. In the summer he would run a herd of young heifers on a pasture off Cox Butte Road. I never saw the back of the pasture. We took a 5-gallon bucket of grain out to them every day, checked their water and did a head count and cursory health check. One day we went out and there were no heifers to be seen. I said to Jim, "Where are they?" He said to me, "Watch this." He dumped the grain in the feeder then turned the bucket upside down and began to beat on the bottom of it like a drum. Shortly, I heard rustling from the shade of the woods. It grew louder and louder and pretty soon 22 heifers emerged from the wood, trotting over to their dinner.

When Gary and I were first getting to know each other, one thing that amazed him about me was my ability to call the cows. He has a memory of me leaning out the barn door, calling, "C'mon ladies!" and the whole herd began to wake from their afternoon naps and meander into the holding pen. (I always felt more at home in a milking parlor than anywhere else...I could be loud and dance and just be myself...and the cows never told a soul!)

Anyone familiar with dairies knows there is no magic in this. Cows are conditioned...they want to eat and they want to be milked. Usually, at four in the morning, the lights turning on in the parlor and milk house, the sound of the hay being thrown down and grain being scooped into the feeders, and the sound of the vaccum pump and rinse water being run through the lines--all of these things are equivalent to ringing the breakfast bell.

But dairy cows are one thing. They are used to being handled. They are tame.

I remember my first experience with beef cattle. It was on the Mendenhall farm and we were moving a couple of herefords that had gotten free back into a pasture. My job was to stand by the gate and make sure they did not go past me and past the gate, but rather through the gate. My first lesson in cow herding--stand there and wave your arms if they come toward you--probably earned me my first job on a dairy. (I would learn later that this does not work for sheep at all--they will run past you, under you or even over you... or even try to run right through you like you are not there--nope, I don't speak sheep at all!!) With cattle, if you are taller than they are, you are bigger.

By and large, dairy cattle are much tamer than beef cattle. And aside from beating the "tom-tom" to call them out of the woods for supper, they are not handled much and are in general, not likely to come when called. They ARE still cattle though, they get used to a routine, and they come to food. I'm sure my brother's ability to call them rested in the fact that he talked to them when he fed them or talked to them at all, and they knew his voice.

When I go out my back door, my horses always come. I am the chef. The back door opening means the possibilty of food. The truck starting up might mean we are going to get hay or something better. When I come home from a walk, a whinney nearly always greets me.

When I walk down the driveway to get the paper, there are usually three or four cats following me. Why? I don't feed them out on the road or take them for walks...they just follow me. And they follow me back to the house too. When I get up from my desk, my entourage of two dogs preceeds me. I cannot sneak anywhere in the house when the dogs are in, becuase whenever I get up from wherever I am, they go ahead of me. My old beagle was so attuned to my customs that if I put my "walking" shoes on, she would eagerly stand by the door and I could not leave without her.

I think the "ability" to call the cows (or the cats or the dogs or whomever) lies in the relationship to the creatures. My grandma could make friends with any creature. No matter where she was in the world, she took time to observe and interact with the creatures around her. I think THAT is the real gift. I suppose anyone could "call the cows", but not just anyone cares to!!

Another great post from Jamie

2008-12-07T10:41:00.001-08:00

This was so good, I wanted to share with you all. My cousin, Jamie Downing, wrote this.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

The Imitator

Isaak likes to set the table, because that's what he sees the rest of us do. When the girls sit down at the school table to do schoolwork, Isaak climbs up into a chair and sits down to color. If someone is reading a book, he goes and gets one of his books to look at. Last week, he opened the door to the garage, just like everyone else is capable of doing. He's seen us go down the stairs sliding our hands along the banister, so when he scoots down the stairs (backwards), he slides his hand along the baseboard, just like the people he admires most!

As I watched him navigate down the stairs the other day, Ephesians 5:1 popped into my head. (OK, the verse popped into my head; I had to go look up the reference!) "Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children."

Isaak is always watching us, the big people in his life. He sees how we do things, and how we say things. He is learning from our examples! How much more should we, then, be imitating God!

Isaak has learned so much already from us, and now I am learning from his example. Imitating God is not a once-in-a-while deal, or a when-I-feel-like-it kind of thing. It is a watch-Him-constantly and always-do-our-best-to-copy-Him in every area of our lives kind of thing!

And it's so simple, a 19-month-old can do it! :)

Christmas Season has Begun

2008-12-03T21:01:00.000-08:00

Some scenes from Christmases past....

2007~ This was the first year EVER that we put up lights. (Can you tell what humbugs and scrooges we are?). K found the reindeer relatively cheap at BiMart, on sale before Christmas!! So we put one with his front feet on the tree, like he was eating it, as deer (and horses) do. 2004~ This is Joe Kitty hiding under the tree. She would hide and every time we walked by, she would attack our ankles.

My favorite Santa and Elf.

G's favorite elf. ------->

Our favorite poodle and the Grandbeagle.

But for the creative baker in our family, K, the REAL tradition (besides lights and presents and tree and ritual cartoons like the Grinch and Frosty and Shrek the Halls and..and...and...) is our homeschool group's annual gingerbread house decorating party. Where we all come with our undecorated creations and pool our candies, make giant batches of frosting, and get loaded up on sugar. Fifty kids high on sugar. Football in the parking lot afterwards!!

2006~

I think if you click on these, you might get bigger images. Notice the K on the roof and the pretzel fence...Not for the faint of heart or unsteady of hand!

2007~ Anyone who knows K, knows how he loves trains, so this was a natural.
We got the idea from Family Fun Magazine. We learned a lot and hope to improve still this year!

2008~ (photo coming soon). K and I actually designed our own creation this year. (Not saying what it is, lest the cat get out of the bag and spoil the surprise for Friday!) I had K actually build his creation out of paper, then explained to him that gingerbread doesn't bend like paper, so we then made his creation out of cardboard, altering it slightly where the paper wanted to bend and imagining how we could make it out of flat pieces. Hoping it actually works...no one to copy....no magazine patterns...We made three batches of gingerbread dough and tomorrow mornng we roll and bake....Will post pictures later, assuming anyone is actually interested....

Notice the gold "treasure", the cannon and the pile of cannon balls, the sharks in the water with the guy overboard (don't know why K threw him both an anchor AND a life preserver, the fruit roll-up sail (gotta work on that aspect), and the snow on the deck--It IS Christmas after all! We definitely know where to improve next year!

2008~ All of our cats have been showing their kitten sides, ambushing one another around the tree, batting the bell, chasing ormanents all over the house and, of course, leaving a mess of needles that needs to be swept several times per day. What fun that the humans brought a tree in the house! Now, where is the nest? It's gotta be in there somewhere!

And just for fun...

Christmas 1965~ The REAL Santa.

Christmas 1966~ He's not the real one, he must be one of Santa's helpers.......

By Faith or By Sight?

2008-12-01T18:03:00.001-08:00

I remember taking psychology in college (probably the easiest course I ever took) and I read about an experiment done with babies, probably about 6 months old, and the development of depth perception. The experiment involved putting a plexiglass floor over another floor about 3 feet down. Babies would crawl up to the edge, but not crawl across it. Another study was done where the babies again crawled up to the edge and stopped, but a parent was on the other side coaxing them across. The younger the babies were, the more eagerly they crawled across to their parents. As they got older, they had learned to put more trust in their own judgments.

With regard to my brother's health and my own prayers for and confidence in his healing, I feel like I am in a tug-of-war between faith and sight. By faith, I see a miraculous healing of all of this that plagues him now--the pneumonia, the Guillain-Barre syndrome, and ultimately the cancer. By faith, I see him completely restored to the man God created him to be. By faith, I see him in a relationship with God, gaining an understanding of his immense value, joyful that the One who knows him best loves him most, dancing and singing and playing his accordion again. By faith, I see any shyness about expressing his love for people gone. By faith, I see him accepting a hug from me and not blushing.

It's my flesh that struggles. My emotions get me every time. I hate riding the emotional roller coaster of better-worse-better-worse. I just need to close my eyes, I guess, and walk by faith. Oh for the trust of that 6-month-old who unhesitatingly crawls across the glass to her mother. My faith is more like that of Peter, who was eager to believe, but took his eyes off Jesus, and seeing the waves and being buffeted by the wind, he began to sink.

From "Walking on the Water" by Marcellino D'Ambrosio: "The most frequently repeated phrase in the gospels is “Do not be afraid!” The Lord is not speaking to our emotions here, since you can’t command emotions. He is speaking to our will. We must make a conscious decision not to allow fear to paralyze us. Peter sank because he stopped walking. Faith means to keep walking even when your knees are knocking."

They plan to take Cliff off the respirator Thursday. They plan to do this according to human sight. (Do not read judgment into these words. These decisions are being made by people who love Cliff and are doing as Cliff would wish.) I am still praying for and believing in complete healing.

From Cousin Jamie

2008-11-27T21:20:00.000-08:00

I Am Thankful

I am thankful that when things happen that we don't expect, God is faithful in ways that we don't expect.

And I'm thankful that we can't see what's coming, either.

God is good!

(I thought this was well worth repeating, in case you don't happen over to Jamie's blog!)

I'd like to add that I am thankful for kindred spirits to walk through the hard times with, whose courage gives us strength, and whose love gives us courage.

Focus

2008-11-25T19:41:00.000-08:00

Needless to say, if you have been following my blog lately, you probably know that I have been thinking about prayer A LOT.

K accompanied me to BiMart today and he found these cute little antlers. On the way home, the following conversation ensued, which brought my thoughts about prayer into clearer focus.

K: I'm glad I forced you to get me these antlers.

Me: You didn't force me. You asked and so I said okay.

K: Would you have bought them for me if I hadn't come?

Me: No, I probably would not even have seen them if you hadn't been with me.

I'll let you make your own inferences.....

Cinderella

2008-11-24T20:46:00.000-08:00

I was three when the movie version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella was made, starring Lesley Ann Warren as Cinderella. I don't know how I old I was when I first saw it on TV, but it aired every year, as did The Wizard of Oz, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Sound of Music, and many other favorites. I suspect I was about four or five when I first saw it. But to me, THAT version is the quintessential Cinderella. As an adult, I saw the Julie Andrews version (1957), but as much as I love Julie Andrews' acting, she did not outdo Ms. Warren. The animated Disney version was cute, but the Disney version starring Brandy was horrid, because Brandy brought an air of haughtiness to the character that was never a part of MY Cinderella.

MY Cinderella, though she was in a tough situation and was treated poorly, never gave that attitude back. She remained respectful of her elders and obedient. She was kind to those who were not kind to her. Nevertheless, she never let them tromp on her dreams. She was my ideal. She taught me that people can control your environment but they cannot control your mind.

She had faith that her kindness would be rewarded and that her inner beauty would be seen. When she meets the prince for the first time, she offers him a drink of water and he says, "Thank you most kindly." And she replies, "You are most kindly welcome." When she meets him at the dance, the same lines are exchanged and he vaguely remembers them. Then, when he comes around to her house with the slipper and she is made to go outside and not be seen, she is in despair, thinking she will never see him again, but offers him a drink of water and he again says, "Thank you most kindly" and she replies, nearly in tears, "You are most kindly welcome, Your Highness." At that point it is the kindness that he recognizes, not her beauty. And then he remembers, "We have spoken these words before...Not only here, but in a moonlit garden." To me, this is the culmination of all her hopes and dreams--the answer to "Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you?"--It is her kindness he sees, not her lovely fairy-godmother-crafted gown, not her breeding, not her family, not her education. It's what is on the inside that makes her beautiful to him.

This is the palette of my dreams growing up. This is the standard by which my hopes were set. She didn't have to be sassy to get her way. She didn't have to be unkind and stand up for her rights. She just held to her guns and tried to be kind, and in the end her dreams came true.

And this is the essence of my fairy tale with God. I remember being a teenager and listening to Second Chapter of Acts, singing from Revelation 19, "On a white horse riding is He, incorruptible. He is called faithful and true. He rules in power and wages war in righteousness, holiness and justice and uprightness. His eyes blazing like fire, and on His head many kingly crowns. He is dressed in a robe of red, by dipped in blood, and He is called the Word of God."

Wow, Christ is my Prince Charming, white horse and all!! But not only that, just like Cinderella's Prince, he sees what's on the inside of me. He treasures who I am on the inside. And he knows me! "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight." (1 Peter 3:3,4)

He understands all the times that I have been kind to those who have not been kind to me. "...Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps. 'He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.' When they hurled insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats."

(1 Peter 2: 21-23)

I could never have imagined the Prince who came to my rescue, riding on a white horse. Of lowly birth I may have been, rejected by some, wounded by some...my story is no different than yours; but Behold! He comes!!

The Pillar of Cloud

2008-11-21T22:45:00.000-08:00

Did you ever wonder what that "pillar of cloud" looked like that accompanied the Hebrews in the wilderness? Around here we often see "dust devils" in the summer, and they are awesome enough when they are big. But that pillar of cloud was the manifestation of God's presence--it must have been nothing short of terrifying!

Once, when I was visiting my folks at the coast, I was sitting on the floor facing the ocean. The sun had just set and I saw shooting from east to west coming from over the house and going toward the ocean, the most beautiful green light. It took my breath away. I gasped in wonder, fear and anticipation. I think I was momentarily speechless. I don't recall that anyone else had seen it. When I finally spoke, I'm sure I was a bit incoherent, but I finally put into words what I had seen and Dad reassured me that it was just someone on the beach shooting off flares. I tried to believe him, but that feeling of anticipation and excitement mingled with fear stayed with me. The next day, I read in the paper that it was a huge bolide that had been seen from all over the Northwest, mostly going from north to south, but breaking up and with a big piece going westward. That was what I saw!!

I have had that same "breathtaking" experience on a handful of occasions, usually in dreams. But I know that when Jesus returns--if I am still here--that is EXACTLY how I will feel--only magnified!

We have been enjoying watching "Storm Chasers" lately (sort of sane, sort of reality TV). And I have been fascinated by the tornadoes. There tends to be a pattern to them. Like the whirlpools we see as the bath water slurps down the drain, tornadoes start as BIG, slowly swirling cloud masses. The speed picks up, the circle tightens, and the funnel forms and often appears to be looking for someplace particular to land.

I'm thinking that is how it is with God's spirit, the manifestation of His power in our lives. The mighty, massive, ominous cloud begins to circle slowly overhead. It picks up speed and the funnel forms, looking for a particular spot to touch down, a place where He is being praised, where people are in a posture to allow the tornado to work through them. But when it hits, it is no dust devil; there is no doubting the presence of God in the place.

Note: It is important to note that funnels do not usually form in sunny skies and that just the presence of people postured to allow God to work through them does not automatically bring the manifestation of His power...We don't know which way the wind blows; but we need to be ready for it when it comes!!

Proverbs 14:10--More on Free Will

2008-11-17T19:35:00.000-08:00

"Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy."

I feel very strongly that it is not God's desire for my brother to die from whatever ailment is befuddling him just now. I have decided that I know how to pray--that I will continue to pray for complete healing of his body and mind and soul, being confident that that is exactly what God's will for him is. I will ask unabashedly and with all my heart. No reservations.

After seeing my brother today, I stopped at church on the way home to weep for a while, alone. The sanctuary was beautifully decked out for a banquet tonight. I found a quiet, dim place on the floor in the back and wept...and wept...and wept....And I came to realize that, though this is not God's choice for my brother, it seems to be my brother's choice for himself. He probably doesn't understand the ramifications of his choices--we seldom do--but what a magnificent juxtaposition: God's mercy and healing and compassion and forgiveness, waiting, and all my brother has to do is ask and the floodgates will open. But he doesn't ask.... God has all of this, and so much more, for all of us--but we don't ask!

And it isn't just this that hurts. Other people love my brother too. Other people are hurting too. And I hurt for them as well. But as much as we hurt, it does not even compare to how God hurts. We love Cliff much. Mom loves Cliff with all her heart. Who can love a man more than his mother? Our love for Cliff is a grain of sand on the beach, and God's love for him is the rocky cliff that stands against the waves. Our pain is miniscule compared to God's. And how many, many more Cliff's are there all over the world? throughout time?

Suddenly, I realized that I was hurting for God too....And that His tears were so much bigger than mine. I just wanted to comfort Him. And I don't know how to do that. I think of Lucy, in Narnia, crying into Aslan's mane. I want to run my fingers through Aslan's mane and wipe his tears away.

What is "Safe"?

2008-11-17T17:08:00.000-08:00

November 17, 2008

I went with Mom to go visit my brother today. On the way home I heard a song I hadn't heard before. It started out talking about a baby and how, though the storm was raging outside, the baby was safe in her mother's arms. I wasn't able to listen as closely as I would have liked, but I would guess there is probably an analogy there about us being safe in God's arms.

That's a nice thought. And our pastor always says that God is safe. I don't think God is very safe. Aslan is not a tame lion. I am guessing the truth of the statement lies in our definition of "safe". In God's arms, what exactly are we safe from? Famine? Bankruptcy? Hunger? Homelessness? Illness? Suffering? Pain? Rejection? Loneliness? Heartache? I don't think so.

In reality--that is, God's reality--yes we are safe. He is the master potter. He may remake us, and in the end, we will be exactly what He intended us to be; however, the "remaking" will not feel very safe. Jeremiah 18: 3-5 says, "So I went down to the potter's house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him."

So what ARE we safe from, if even in the master potter's hands we can be marred? Certainly we are not safe from pain, from demolition, from rebuilding from the ground up...

I attended a church throughout all my teenage years, and I made many close friends there--at least I thought I did. But from all of those people that I loved, very few still love me--or even remember me. When I run across them, they aren't interested in me at all. It makes me question whether I ever really fit in. Not that it matters, really. It's just hard when your perception doesn't seem to jive with reality. You start to question your sanity a little bit. It was the same with my high school "friends". It's the same with some of my biological family as well.

So for ME, what I am safe from in God's arms is a world that disowns me or that says I don't have the right parents, the right financial status, the right manners, the right connections, the right upbringing, the right car, the right clothes, the right smell. My God made ME exactly as I am, and He accepts ME, exactly as I am, exactly where I am, exactly how I smell, and exactly how I dress. The world may reject me, but the Creator of the world accepts me. The world may disown me, but my Father in heaven has adopted me.

I am safe in that I will not get to the end of my life and look back and say, "What did I accomplish?" because even if I have been marred in the potter's hands, as long as I remain in the potter's hands, he will reshape me into a usable vessel, as seems fit to him. And the potter will never discard me, deeming me unusable. I may not look like what I want to look like. I may not be the vessel that I would have chosen to be. But I will be a vessel, "as seems fit to him".

And I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate me from the potter's hands....

Mermott on My Desk

2008-11-12T21:13:00.000-08:00

Just in case you can't tell, the picture is actually of my black cat, Mermott, sleeping in my viola case. Mermott was the only kitten in her litter. Her fur is softer than you can imagine. I have never actually touched mink, but I expect that is what her fur feels like.

Mermott and I have a special relationship. Each cat is unique, of course; but Mermott is gentle and soft-spoken, and unobtrusive. She is an excellent mouser, but she is also an excellent napper. And being black, she is often hard to spot. In fact, our camera does not like to take pictures of her. She just absorbs the light and the camera doesn't know what it's taking a picture of. But often, when I pass by her sleeping in some shadow, she will chirp to me, and reach out and pat me as I pass, and I of course respond by petting her and speaking to her in a tone of voice and words that I save for her alone. (Please, don't call the men in white coats just yet...you have time!)

Almost every morning, at some point while I am working, Mermott will jump up on my desk, plop herself unashamedly down on the schedule in front of me and block my view of my computer screen. She sits there prim and proper, facing me, and chirps to me. So I, of course, pet her and bump my forehead against hers and talk to her in quiet low tones and scratch her cheeks. And she will often reach a paw to my cheek or lay her paw on my wrist. And we share a minute of enjoying each other's presence. Then she excuses herself and curls up on the printer, or finds the warm spot on the desk behind my monitor, and curls up for a morning nap.

But there is a calmness and an expectancy to our interludes. She doesn't pester me like her niece WrongWay, who jumps on my desk, walks all over my keyboard, insists on being petted and held and when I put her down, jumps right back up...over and over, until I put her outside! Mermott just comes, says hello, gives me a pat, gets a pet in return, and then goes on her way.

Probably one of the weakest areas in my relationship with God is worship. I have a lot to learn in this area. Feel free to make comments and help me out. And please be tolerant if what I say is way out in left field...or in the cornfield altogether. My problem is that there is no pretense in me. And worship at home, in private, is one thing. But it's hard for me to worship in church. It's too close, too raw, too exposed, too intimate. And I am not comfortable being like that in public. And I don't know how to worship in truth, and maintain my composure.

But as I thought about Mermott today, I realized, perhaps that was what public worship needs to be for me. Not the passionate, never-let-me-go kind of thing that WrongWay demands; but the quiet, forehead-to-forehead, paw-on-wrist, quiet conversation that Mermott and I share.

A New Take on Autumn

2008-11-06T19:56:00.000-08:00

We drove over to the coast on Halloween and enjoyed the rich colors of the changing seasons. I remembered our trees in Grants Pass; great big deciduous trees that shaded us in the summer and dropped their leaves, providing much-needed, mood-lifting light in the winter. And I realize what an incredibly creative God we have that He even thought of deciduous trees. I'm sure I never would have come up with that concept.

As we drove home Halloween night, though there was little wind, the leaves rained down on us the entire way. In the following week, I watched as the leaves quietly dropped off the maple tree in our back yard. As some unseen force was calling them downward little by little, the blanket of leaves on the ground beneath became thicker. Then today, when I looked outside, there was a mighty, rushing wind that came to finish the job. I was reminded of a Keith Green song from decades ago--in fact, this was the song Arden sang as we walked out of the sanctuary when G and I were married. (Rushing Wind)

And I think about my life in God, how very much it is like a deciduous tree. All the ways of thinking I learned throughout life that were not God's ways of thinking; all the selfish habits I acquired; every aspect of my behavior, my thinking, my speaking, my attitudes--all of these are leaves on the tree that is ME. And over the last decades, dead leaves have been falling little by little, one by one, coaxed to the ground as I let go of this or that and trust God that He knows better. But I am so READY for that rushing wind to come and strip my branches of those final leaves, to lay me bare. I'm prepared for that season of rest, that season of death, when everything I have known will be redefined....what some people would call the "desert" or the "wilderness"... as the sap falls, and the tree just waits, helpless. This is the season when pruning takes place; when the branches are easy to see and wounds and scars can be mended or cut away. It is THIS season when the Master's hand can form the tree to fit His vision and His purpose.

And then, Spring will come. Buds will form, leaves will open and the tree, now wearing a shawl of green, will reach to the sunlight, the source of all its life. Daily converting the sunlight into energy, the tree will grow and provide shade and sanctuary, and maybe even a limb for a tire swing.

And the leaves that had fallen the previous autumn, during the rain and cold of the winter, while the tree was sleeping, have become soil around the tree's roots, providing nutrients and mulch and an environment for other plants to grow--flowers and grass--just as our wounds and our old selves provide a connection to and empathy for those who are hurting.

So come, Holy Spirit, and scour my limbs of the clinging dead leaves. Come, Father, and prune away all that is in me that does not bear fruit. Come, Jesus, sun of my soul, and be my source of life. I will be still this Winter, enjoy my rest, and await Spring with hopeful anticipation.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue, but with actions and in truth." (1 John 3:18)

Rushing Wind (Keith Green)

Rushing wind blow through this temple,
Blowing out the dust within,
Come and breathe your breath upon me,
I've been born again.

Holy Spirit, I surrender, take me where you want to go,
Plant me by your living water,
Plant me deep so I can grow.

Jesus, you’re the one, who sets my spirit free,
Use me Lord, glorify, your Holy Name through me.

Separate me from this world Lord.
Sanctify my life for you.
Daily change me to your image,
Help me bear good fruit.

Every day you're drawing closer.
Trials come to test my faith.
But when all is said and done Lord,
You know, it was worth the wait.

Jesus, you’re the one, who set my spirit free,
Use me Lord, glorify, your Holy Name through me.

Rushing wind blow through this temple,
Blowing out the dust within,
Come and breathe your breath upon me,
For I've been born again.

Just Do It

2008-11-02T19:37:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went to visit my friend who is now in a rehablitation center. L went with me, but the room was hot and she was coming down with something, and so she excused herself to go out and get some fresh air. On her way she met "Bob", an 82-year-old WWII vet who is dying from lung cancer. In the short time that she visited with him, she sure learned a lot about him and it was interesting. I think she plans to go back to visit with him some more.

In church this morning, Dennis got up and gave us a word about just having God's heart for the people God brings to us. A while ago, at our ladies' meeting, a woman spoke about just reaching out to her neighbors, just touching that little bit of her world, bringing God's light and love to her little corner. This seems to be a theme that we are hearing over and over this year!

It occurred to me that L didn't HAVE to accompany me to visit my friend, but she did. And God was able to use her to touch another person simply because she was there and she wss 'connected' and she was willing to have God's heart for a stranger.

May we have the capacity this season to slow down and really see the people around us, and to have God's heart for them, and to be His hands and His mouth.

Missing Grandma

2008-10-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

My grandma died last January, just shy of her 92nd birthday. These pictures were taken the morning of her birthday.
Some years, we don't get snow at all. Some years we might get a day here and there. Seldom does it last too long, so we try to drop everything and go play in it when we get the chance.

So to have snow on Grandma's birthday, the first birthday she wasn't here to share it with us, was kind of special.

This will be the first Thanksgiving without her, the first Christmas without her. But I'm sure she will be with us. I miss her sometimes, like today, for some reason. But I'm thankful I had a grandma who loved me. Sometimes we stood nose to nose, sometimes we didn't see eye to eye. I probably criticized her way too much. But I always knew she loved me....ever since I was very little.

I hope I can leave a legacy like that--that when I am gone there will be someone (oh, make that lots of someones) who can say, "We didn't always see eye to eye, but I always knew she loved me."

It's Gonna Be Okay

2008-10-29T16:21:00.000-07:00

I'm still chewing on testing the boundaries and getting Egypt out of my system. Pretty meaty stuff. But life has a way of just trouncing on, whether we keep up or not. Orchestra practice comes around every week, whether I have practiced or not!

So here we are, one week out from the elections and I don't feel very prepared at all. There are always ballot measures and both sides always predict dire outcomes if I don't vote their way. And I can seldom see the logic to the arguments. I'm just not cut out for politics. I'd rather deal with people one on one than try to judge or rule or even suggest what should be done in general. I mean, for the most part, I think we have it pretty good, especially compared to the rest of the world. Why do we need to change anything? No government system is perfect, there will always be inequity. Even Jesus noted, "The poor you will always have..."

Politics aside, there is a bigger picture. We got a double whammy at church this week...and it just winds in and out of my life like a vine climbing a trellis. I know I'm going to sound like I'm rambling, but I promise, it all ties together, like this vine--so much so, I can't seem to chop it into little bite-size tidbits. So, here it is....again, just from a little different perspective.

Gordon talked about the prodigal son recently. (If you are not familiar with the story, you can find it in Luke 15:11-32.) Essentially we see the story of a man with two sons, one who is faithful and stays and works for his father and the other who takes his share of the inheritance and squanders it and comes, repentant, back to his father. Of course, the father is delighted to have him back and throws a big party; while the faithful son is jealous.

Then Mark took it one giant step further on Sunday. He told the story of David and Absalom. (You can find this story in 2 Samuel 13-19.) To sum it up, Absalom does a bad thing, flees his father David, and even when he gets word that David is willing to forgive him, still plays the politician and plots to take his throne. In battle, when Absalom gets stuck in a tree, the leader of David's army, Joab, kills him despite David's prior admonition, "Be gentle with the young man Absalom for my sake." And when David learns of this, he weeps.

In 2 Peter 3:8-9 it says, "But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance."

Clearly, God has the father's heart toward the repentent prodigal, and He has David's heart toward the unrepentent Absalom. He has not returned yet because He is not wanting ANYONE to perish, but EVERYONE to come to repentance. Who are we to argue? We clearly need to celebrate over the man we have known for 20 years who FINALLY starts listening to God. But just as clearly we need to make every effort to present even those who are yet unrepentant alive before God, so that HE can deal with them. We don't have God's permission to write ANYONE off--not the one who slips off the wagon again; not the one who has never wanted to hear about God before, so why should I tell him again; not the one who disagrees with me on political issues; not the one who disagrees with me on moral issues; not the guy across the street who yells at his grandkids; not anyone.

It's my job to present the gospel, to be the truest representative of God's heart for other people as I can be. It's God's job to change people's minds; it's God's job to change people's hearts; it's only my job to facilitate that relationship, in any way I can.

No matter who wins the election, it's my job to pray for them. No matter how my neighbors, parents, friends or husband vote, it's my job to love them and to encourage them in their relationship with God. No matter WHO wins, it's gonna be okay.

(And even if the "wrong" guy wins, this is still the best country on earth to live in. )

Control

2008-10-18T06:42:00.000-07:00

My oldest brother was always the policeman in the family. Mom would leave him in charge, and I remember as a preschooler I would always push him to the limit, and then one step beyond, which usually ended in a chase and eventually a paddling...but I didn't care much. I liked the game. I think it's human nature to push the limits, to confirm the boundaries. There is a sense of security in knowing where the boundaries are. When I was in college, I read about a study that had been done with children where they put one group outdoors in an area and told them where the boundaries were and another group they put in the same area, but used a rope to delineate the boundaries. The children who had the clear boundary played in more of the allowed area than the children who had only the verbally given boundary. So, knowing where the boundaries are not only gives us more of a sense of security, it also gives us more freedom.

Our indoor cat got out the other day, and it was almost a whole day before we noticed she was missing. When I finally found her outside, she was cold, hungry, and frightened. After I had brought her in and held her and reassured her and warmed her up for a little while, I set her down by the food to eat, but she had something more important to do. I watched her as she explored the house, walking around the perimeter of each room, checking under the couch and the table, walking all through every room that was open. Then she ate. She was checking the boundaries. She was making sure things were where she thought they were, the walls were where she thought they were, the furniture was in place. Once she established that, she felt secure enough to eat.

When I think back over my life, the times I misbehaved the worst were tumultuous times. I felt insecure because of things that were going on in my life and I was "checking the boundaries" by my bad behavior. When my mom left the house and left my brother in charge, I had to check the boundaries. When unexpected things happened, I had to check the boundaries.

I think of Paul, in Romans 7, when he says, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." Keith Green paraphrased it, "The very things I hate, I end up doing. The things I wanna do, I just don't do."

Pastor Gordon spoke Wednesday about "flushing Egypt from our souls". When Moses led the Hebrews out of Egypt, they ended up wandering in the wilderness for 40 years before going into the promised land. They had been slaves in Egypt for generations and no doubt had a slave mentality. Perhaps it took them 40 years to quit "testing the boundaries".

It's that way with us too. God leads us out of Egypt, out of bondage to this world and its rules of operation, out of our slave mentality, and He wants to lead us into the promised land, a land where the rules are different, where we have authority. But every time something changes, we feel insecure and we "test the boundaries"--the very things we hate, we end up doing--just to verify that the "cause and effect" are still the same.

A wise counselor told me, when I was in high school, "Why do you try to control everyone else? The only one you are responsible for is yourself." That was a huge eye opener for me, and very freeing. But I soon learned that I wasn't even very good at controlling myself. The very things I hated, I ended up doing, and the things I wanted to do, I just could not do.

I have said of my son that he was born to be king. He is like me in that. He wants the world and everything in it to be under his control and it is very frustrating for him when it is not--when Mom and Dad tell him to do something he does not want to do....or that interferes with his plans. I think I have just about decided that life in general is really not in my control at all. I can only control my response to it...and sometimes barely that. And I think the reason for that is that I have not flushed Egypt from my system. When something unexpected or undesired happens, I revert to my old ways and start "checking the boundaries".

Maybe when I finally admit that I am not in control, and stop grasping for control of all I can, in any way I can, then perhaps I may actually have some control....not necessarily control over life, but at least over my response to it.

A Tale of Two Men

2008-10-17T21:13:00.000-07:00

Cliff & Gma Smiley (Nov 2005)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.....Oh, wait, that's been done before! How about, it was the worst of times, it was the worst of times? I kind of feel like that has been my story this week. My heart is aching for two men today. One I love because I have known him all my life and I have loved him all my life, and I will love him all my life. There is nothing unlovable about him, really. The other I love because God loves him, I choose to love him, but it is hard. I kinda understand where he is coming from, and I see how his attitude affects his life, and I wish I could help him, but I don't find much lovable about him.

The two men have, ironically, led similar lives. They are about the same age. They are about the same socioeconomic class. They have about the same education. In many ways, they could be brothers. They have both endured big hurts. They both have divorced parents. Both have been married, but neither are now. Neither has children. And right now, they are both struggling with their health. But, they are completely different in their outlooks on life. One has a "Yes, let's!" attitude and the other a "poor me" attitude.

The one is my brother. He had a skin cancer removed almost two years ago, and last winter we got word that it had metastasized. He decided he did not want to go through chemotherapy or radiation. I have been living rather happily in denial, thinking that perhaps the doctor was wrong. From what I had heard throughout the summer, he had been doing okay. I got word today that he is not doing okay. But he is not one to complain. He doesn't want everyone to know he hurts, so he doesn't make a big deal about it. He doesn't want people around him to be sad. He calls things as he sees them, but there is nothing at all malicious about him. And when hard things come, the loss of a job or a grave diagnosis, he has a way of rolling with it. Maybe he worries on the inside, but I never see it.

Yesterday I got a call from a man I have known for a couple of decades. I met him through work. In all the time i have known him, he has never been short of a story about how someone has wronged him. He is always the victim. Nothing is ever his fault. There is very little he finds joy in. He was calling me from the new "resort" in town, Riverbend. Apparently, he pulled out in front of a van doing 45 mph. Hit him right in the driver's side door. Broke about everything on his left side, as you can imagine. He sounded lower than low when he called. Like Eeyore on depressants. But he will get better.

What a contrast in outlooks. What a contrast in my opinion of each. One I want to take his pain on myself so that he won't have to suffer so much. The other I want to slap across the face and say, "Buck up, everyone has it hard!"

I'm sure to God, they are just different types of soil. One needs more sand, the other more humus. I guess I just prefer the one to the other...probably something in my genes.

I wish I knew the end of the story. It will be interesting reading for sure. No lesson today, just observations, and a sad heart.

More on Free Will

2008-10-11T21:43:00.000-07:00

I was thinking today--well, it was a nice day, so I was out cleaning in the pasture.
Dr. Root used to say that analogies always have their limits. This is so true of my analogy about free will and pets and grown children. There are parallels to a point, but there are huge limits too. For example, at least in our culture, as my daughter gets older she will become more my "equal". Perhaps this is not so true in other cultures, where the elders are much respected; but I was thinking about Adam, and wondering how many greats he attained in his grandpahood before he died. (I'll have to do the math on that one.) I'm sure it was LOTS, and I suspect that his children, only having one less great in their titles, were on a nearly equal status with him, even IF elders were highly revered back then. On the other hand, no matter how OLD we get, we never even come close to approaching equality with God.

Another limit is in God's provision for us. With the exception of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness and gathering manna daily, and of course isolated individual episodes, by and large God allows us the illusion that we provide for ourselves. We plant the seeds, they grow. We tend the fields, we reap the harvest. He allows us the illusion, if we choose to believe it, that we can survive without His provision. My cats can hunt My dogs can scavange. My horses could break through the fence and head west to lush fields and plenty of water.

I think God allows us the freedom to "provide for ourselves" in order that we don't love Him BECAUSE he is the provider. I don't think He wants us as pets. I think there are times in each of our lives when we have to be trained that He is trustworthy. Today, I mowed some grass for my horses and I took the mower bag out into the pasture to dump it and Pablo pulled back from it. Whenever he shies from something, I make it a point to "desensitize him" to it; because I want him to know that when I am present, he need not fear anything. (When I ride him someday, I don't want him spooking at things.) So he is learning that if he shies from something, it will follow him until he quits moving away from it. He also is learning that if IT is in my hand, it will not hurt him. Anything in my hand is safe, because I am safe.

I think sometimes God lets our "crops fail" so that we will remember to trust Him. It is healthier for us to live without worry--it is healthier for us to trust Him. But it is also essential to our relationship with God that we know we can depend on Him.

An Unfavored Day

2008-10-07T04:59:00.000-07:00

Our true character is evident when we try to get through our day and only hit the same brick wall over and over and over. Do we keep butting our head up against it, give up, or look for a gate or a ladder? (or, all of those?)

I suppose my day really started last week when my life (and the lives of those in our homeschool group) touched the life of a woman we don't know who was horribly injured and had to be transported to the hospital in a helicopter, which used the field next to the school we were in as a landing area. She has been on my heart very much ever since. Top that off with the fact that the same day in the mail I recieved a letter notifying me that my adopted grandmother had died earlier in the week, not unexpectedly, but still final. And so I have been emotionally exhausted.

G woke me up at the usual o'dark hour and I was tired. I had not slept well, but did not remember why until later in the day. My friend had brought me some fantastic grapes Saturday and I should have made grape juice of them Sunday, but had too much work to do, having taken Saturday off to rest. So I had called L on Sunday to see if she would come help me, and she said she would come Monday afternoon.

So I spent the morning cleaning the kitchen. It took a good portion of the morning, finding all I needed and washing jars... During lunch L called and said she couldn't come until evening, as she had forgotten she had lessons in the afternoon. Oh, well, K would help. I needed sugar and lids, and so was planning to go to Safeway, but K wanted to come, so I found things to do until he was ready. And then there's always the "while I'm there we also need...". I had almost bought some stew meat the other day, thinking that sounded really good on these cool, rainy days, so I found a lesser expensive roast (nothing at Safeway could ever be called cheap these days, especially beef!) and had the butcher cut it into stew meat for me--did you know they would do that? Saved me a lot of time and fingers. But they had no canning lids. So we went over to BiMart...no lids there either, unless you bought jars to go with them. (I have no shortage of jars, some dating back half a century!!)

So I'm standing in the aisle at BiMart, my eyes filling with tears, thinking of those lovely grapes. Then I remember that L probably has lids left over from canning peaches last year. So I go home, call her and ask...I have a key, so I go over and sure enough, lots of lids. While I'm there I nab her canner (which turned out to be MY canner) but it has no basket, and in my cursory scan of her garage, I see no baskets. So I get home and start washing grapes to put in jars...but as I'm getting ready to put the jars in the canner, I realize I don't have any baskets either (you know, the wire frames that keep the jars from 1) sitting on the bottom of the canner where they will get too hot and break and 2) banging together and breaking during the boiling process). So I call and leave L a message that when she comes, she needs to bring the wire baskets, as I left them all at her house when we canned peaches...and wide mouth bands too, please.

So I start the stew, thinking at least I can accomplish SOMETHING. The meat is cooking, but when I look in the fridge, the only onion is inedible...and there is no celery...and, as a last resort I check the garlic, but that also is moldy. WAH! So I go to the office to lament to G, and L calls and says she doesn't know where J put those things when he cleaned the garage. And I ask G if he will get me some onion and celery, as I'm pretty much exhausted and don't want to inadvertantly kill someone (yup, I'm in a fine state of mind--even though this whole time, there is that little thought in the back of my head, 'you really do have it very easy'--yup, when I can cry about not finding canning lids at BiMart, I know I'm absolutely spoiled!). Gary clearly does not want to go get onions and celery. So I just pack it in. There is no way past this brick wall. The grapes will not wait one more day. I have no guarantee that L will be able to find those racks...The way my day is going, if I stood there and washed all the grapes and put them in jars in anticipation, she would not be able to come....and even if I made the grape juice in concentrate form, I would have no way to store it unless I put it in bags and froze it.

So I went to bed. Gave up. Finally, G consented to getting celery and onion, and I got my stew going...And then, as I was nibbling on a roll, I realized why I did not sleep well. I had had nightmares about losing K. And I had had my recurring nightmare of my teeth falling to pieces and me spitting them out in little bits. And I realized that a molar I had broken a third off last spring and had a temporary filling in, about which the dentist's office called last week to ask if I wanted to make an appointment to get that crown--that molar was missing its temporary filling. Either I had spit it out during my nightmare last night, or I just swallowed it with that bite of roll. Fun.

But the ladder over my wall finally came in the form of L, carrying another canner, every rack I owned, more lids and a box of bands.

We got all the grapes processed, no one died, and my precious L once again saved the day, tired as she was as well.

Of course, K did not want to go to sleep last night. He has been having nightmares about who knows what, he won't say. Monsters I suspect, as he won't come down off his bed at times. So I taught him how to change the dreams, and I also gave him my secret sleeping weapon from when I was little. I told him to ask Jesus to come hold him in His arms, and then K could sleep and not worry, becuae Jesus would not let anything bad happen to him. Then I took some of my own advice. I think I slept clear through the night.

(side note: when I went to get that tooth refilled, the dentist said I had broken more of that tooth off as well, which is probably what I was spitting out in the middle of the night, and probably is now buried deep in the carpet.)

Free Will (Relationships with Adult Children)

2008-10-04T10:33:00.000-07:00

I stood in the rain watching K's soccer game this morning, standing next to and making friends with the wife of the man who called K a "bully" this summer during swimming. My mind keeps going back to that. I guess it hurt more and is harder to forgive than I thought, since it keeps coming to mind...or perhaps I haven't learned all I need to from it yet? But I was thinking, in K's case, anything that looks like "bullying" is K trying to build relationships with other kids, but not fully knowing how to do that, added to the fact that K doesn't understand yet the concept of "free will". But then, many people don't. I would almost go so far as to say that most people don't, given the abundance of controlling behaviors I see in people and how angry people get at God for allowing bad things to happen--myself included. It's a tough concept.

I often wonder if my animals think of me as 'god'. They pretty much see me as chief cook and masseuse, and occasionally will come to me if they need something else. They also offer up sacrifices. (I can think of at least 3 live snakes this summer, and quite a few mice, in all states of health.) --Of course, I do have one cat, Nermal, whom I know does not think of me as 'god' but rather 'servant', and quite possibly as 'dumb servant who doesn't speak cat'. The utterance she offers when I open the door is as likely "What took you so long!" as it is "Thank you." But by and large they acknowledge that I am provider. The days I am late with breakfast there is an awful lot of mewing, whining and whinnying going on.

And our young children...that is, those who do not yet have an income, do not pay rent to us, and take the meals and refrigerator and laundry and cleaning service for granted--understand their dependence on us and obey us chiefly because we wield the power of comfort and survival. We would like to think they obey us because they love us, and, depending on their degree of maturity, they might; but mostly I think they obey because we hold the keys to the refrigerator, the car and soccer practice (cell phone, nintendo, etc...you fill in the blanks). Their love for us is based on dependence more than free will. (I love you because I need you.)

But where we see free will is in our relationships with our adult children. My sister, once she got away from home, seldom looked back. Now in her 40s, she might contact Mom and Dad once a year, twice in a good year. Or she may go years without contacting them at all. On the flip side is my precious daughter. She could go as far away as she liked, but she lives a mile from me. She chooses to be a part of my life. Sometimes I ask, sometimes she volunteers, but by and large, we are friends. She chooses a relationship with me. She doesn't have to. She has a husband, a job, her own house. She doesn't need me for her survival. I can't ground her anymore. Now if she takes my advice on something, it is because she freely chooses to. Her relationship with me now is based on her free will. And it is all the more delightful because of this. The whole house lights up when she comes in the door. (I need you because I love you.)

I love both my children with all that I am. Their love for me is precious to me. I treasure both relationships. But the relationship that is based on free will is all the sweeter because she chooses me. I know she doesn't have to....and oh how painful that would be!...but she does. And it is good--no, it is the best.

Relationships

2008-09-27T19:57:00.000-07:00

This summer, I was looking an ultrasound picture of a friend's soon-to-be-born daughter. It reminded me of when K was born. He had a tough delivery. At first, the medication they gave me to induce labor worked too hard all of a sudden and they had to give me medication to slow labor, break my water, and then add more saline to take the pressure off his head. He was trying to be born ear first, goofy kid. That was the first stress on him. Then, he insisted on being born facing sideways rather than facing up or down, and every time the doctor tried to turn him, he beligerantly rotated back. At one point his umbilical cord got compressed, and his oxygen levels plummeted, as well as his heart rate. At that point the doctor was working hard to get him out and caused a brachial plexus injury (damaged nerve in the neck from the head being pulled or turned too hard or too quickly or too far).

He was born with a huge bruise on the side and top of his head, from trying to come through ear first, and had a paralyzed, limp left arm, from the brachial plexus injury.

We were happy he was alive and seemingly well.

It wasn't too long after that that I remembered his ultrasound from a day or two before his birth. Both arms were moving. In the first few weeks, when we weren't sure if he would regain the use of his arm, or how much he would regain, it seemed to us that it really didn't matter. We loved him and he was ours, no matter what worked and what didn't. The arm is mostly healed now. It is a little weaker and the shoulder blade wings a little, and there is a little less range of motion; but the average person cannot tell. And K himself does not know.

As he has gotten older and we have seen more of his personality, we wonder how much, if any, was caused by the trauma of birth. He is bold and impulsive. Is this the brain injury or his genes? He has very poor vision in one eye. He has trouble processing words that he hears. He has more than a few ADD characteristics. Is any of this attributable to his birth?

We can see his arm moving clearly on the ultrasound, but we cannot know how well he sees, or how well he listens, or how well he focuses.

I think, if I had to choose, I would rather have to deal with a physical disability than a mental/social one. We can easily see the paralyzed arm and know that if someone doesn't extend their right hand to shake ours, it's because they cannot. We cannot easily see the mental/social/perceptual disability. If he calls a boy "kid", the boy thinks he is being rude, but doesn't realize he lacks the ability to remember his face or his name. If he is bold in wanting to "enforce" the rules, he gets perceived as a bully by others, rather than as someone who lacks inhibition by means of a brain injury.

I guess the reason it's so much harder to deal with the "disabilities" we cannot see, is that it affects his relationships with people. Not that a physical disability doesn't, but people can SEE a physical disability and just accept it as fact; whereas they cannot SEE the mental ones and they are less accepting of this kind of thing.

Maybe someday I will get to know the K as God intended him to be, before the injury of birth. But until then, I will just love the K as he is, for who he is, and enjoy and mold those attributes that tend to irritate others. I don't know if he is who he is by design or by accident; but it doesn't matter, because who he is is all I know. And it just breaks my heart that the rest of the world cannot love him like I do...and that I cannot love him like God does.

I guess what I will take from this, for the rest of my life, is not to criticize other people for this or that; but to just accept them as they are and be happy about who they are.

A Place So Dark....

2008-09-16T07:45:00.000-07:00

In the very front corner of our property is a thistle patch. When we first bought the property, there was thick plastic up there that kept anything from growing there and when I pulled up the plastic, only thistles grew. I have battled the thistles and had made great progress, but they got away from me in the past two years and there was a great thislte patch there again this year (my soil must be PERFECT for growing thisltes!!) Anyway, I was mowing that thicket last week and I noticed that on Bill's side of the fence, nothing was growing on the ground, not even weeds. It is so dark under there--under the firs, the apple tree, the ancient lilac and the climbing roses that have made a little hedge along our fence, blocking out nearly all light.

I have been mulling over the implications of that...a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow...wondering what God was trying to show me with this.

I have been thinking about that plastic, laid down who knows how long ago, and by whom, and for what purpose? --but having the effect also of making a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow. And then I came along and took it up, and what grew? Thistles. God's light shines into a place that has been devoid of light (and moisture) for who knows how long, and what fruit is born? Thistles-- prickly, stickly thistles. But when the ground is tended, watered, grazed, mowed, the thistles leave and grass grows. And then, again, when the area is neglected, what grows back? Thistles.

I think the lesson is twofold. First, if there are thistles growing, there is hope. A friend once said that some things are beyond prayer. I don't know what she meant, but I respect her enough to believe her. There are places so dark that even weeds won't grow. So, if there are stickly, prickly thistles, there is hope.

Second, a once-for-all submission to God does not work. A place tended will bear fruit, but when untended will revert to thistles. We can't just say, "Okay, God, I'm yours. Use me." and be done with it. We have to keep submitting and keep looking for those areas that need submitting. We have to keep cutting the thistles down. We have to keep using the land--mowing it, grazing it, watering it, weeding it.

Letter from a 2-year-old

2008-09-14T20:31:00.000-07:00

Mom was going through her old things and gave me this letter from K, sent many years ago. I thought it was worth sharing...

Dear Gma,

Thank you for the letter. The first thing I noticed was the train stamp. Mom showed me the envelope and showed me my name, then I, very excitedly, showed HER the train. I liked the stickers too, but was a little disappointed at first that they were "stuck!" Mom and I went to the bank and I read my letter the whole way. When we got to the drive-up window, I showed it to the teller and told her all about it, but when she answered, I got shy and turned away. Mom said she smiled real big and said I was "so cute". (How does everybody know my other name?)

When we got home, I helped Mom make a cake. She even let me pick three eggs out of the refrigerator. I stood on a chair and watched as Mom cracked them open. I licked the beater and watched the cake bake in the oven. Then, after dinner, I ate it!

I'm very busy being two and a half. I'm talking lots--well, I always have, but now Mom and Dad are hearing better. Today, when Mom and I got home, we parked outside Laura's room. I lookd at her window and said, " 'Ts gone, da cat!" Well, the LAST time we came home, Annie was in the window, but this time she wasn't. I'm enjoying watching Cinderella (over and over). Mom found the book last night and I read it to her. We read lots of books--mostly, I read and Mom tries to only turn one page at a time. (She's no speed reader.)

I'm practicing lots of words with Gracie. She is getting BIG. She and I are both learning manners--don't pounce, don't bite, get down, be gentle. Mostly, I say to Gracie, "Let go!" and she says to me, "Yipe!", which, loosely translated, means "Get off!"

Well, it's bedtime now. I love you and am saving a hug for you (and a smile). K

In the Olden Days

2008-09-11T16:40:00.000-07:00

We were watching "The Gods Must Be Crazy" today and K was trying to figure out what the "evil thing" was that was dropped from the airplane. We told him it was a Coke bottle and he said, "I thought so, but it looks like it is made out of glass!"

Yes, honey, in the olden days they used to make pop bottles out of glass.

We used to dial telephones (not push buttons), roll car windows up and down (not push buttons), send letters in the mail (not email), get ice from trays in the freezer (not push a button on the front). And, believe it or no, a phone was connected by a wire in the house. You could not play games on it, send text messages on it, take pictures with it, or connect to the internet--in fact, there was no internet!

Living with Fear (and without it)

2008-09-09T06:40:00.000-07:00

I refuse to be ashamed of my fear of snakes. After all, I come by it honestly!

So the Lord God said to the serpent, "Because you have done this,
Cursed are you above all the livestock and all the wild animals!
You will crawl on your belly and you will eat dust all the days of your life.
And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers;
He will crush your head, and you will strike his heel."

I often think to myself, there isn't all that much I'm afraid of. My biggest "fear", I suppose, is that something bad would happen to my children--particularly K--that he would disappear and I not know what happened to him. This is the stuff of nightmares. And of course, there is that innate fear of snakes, which I am consciously trying to get over. But last night, at our women's meeting, I learned that I'm really "afraid" of so much more!

I remember as a teenager--those naive, idealistic years--wondering why the gospel had not spread further. I wondered about missions, why people would have to go to a foreign land to preach the gospel; because, if it were true and real, would it not spread from neighbor to neighbor, like a virulent flu, and within a very short time spread around the world? Why hasn't it? I would have expected the gospel to have spread throughout the world within one generation, possibly two; but it has been two millenia!! And often it does not even go from one generation to the next! Why not?

At our women's group last night, one woman spoke about her neighbors, how they were so different from her in values, in habits, in lifestyle, in temperment, in attitudes and habits, and how all these things annoyed her to the point that she wanted to sell her house and move. She pointed out how we don't really "see" our neighbors. We don't know our neighbors for the most part, let alone have any kind of relationship with them. She talked about how, as she prayed about these things and asked God to remove her from all this irritation, He answered, "You are exactly where I want you to be." (This was a wake-up call to me, because, as I have groaned to God these past years about this and that in my life, He has said the very thing to me.) She started praying for her neighbors and started caring about them as people that God cherished, seeing them through God's eyes--not from a "holier-than-thou" perspective or even with an eye to change all that was irritating to her about them, but from a perspective of, "These people really need to know the love of God, and come into a relationship with Him, and be healed." And things started changing.

I started thinking about my own neighbors and why it was so hard to share the Lord with them. I realized that, while I don't criticize myself about some things, others probably do. And who knows my faults better than my family and my neighbors? And when I get honest about it, I am afraid of what they will think of me and how I represent God to them. I'm afraid that I will just be another one of those people--'Oh, she's a Christian? I sure don't want to be one then, because I sure don't want to be like her!" Deep down, I feel inadequate, on just about every level, to represent God at all.

I'm pretty sure this "fear" is why the gospel has not gone from person to person, neighbor to neighbor, parent to child. We think we have to be perfect, we are afraid of what people will think, we are afraid we are not good enough, we are afraid people will think we are nuts. We don't show our 'bad' sides, so when people finally get a glimpse of them, they think we are hypocrites. Or maybe, in some areas, we are hypocrites, because we have not yielded that area of our lives to God's sovereignty.

But the truth is, "while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us". He doesn't just call the "religious", the upright, the perfect homemakers, the white-collar workers. He wants us all. And if we truly have God's heart, then we also will want all people to come into a relationship with God. That includes all our neighbors, not just the "tolerable" ones.

I'm afraid they won't like me. I'm afraid they will reject me--or worse, that they will reject Christ because of me. But Jesus said, "If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. "

The Truth is that it really only matters what God thinks of me. I just have to do my best, submit all things to Him as I am made aware of them, be open to His leading, and be as honest as I can in all areas; and then just let Him take care of the rest.

If I find a snake in my house, God is still God. If I go hungry, God is still God. If I lose my home, God is still God. If I lose my health, God is still God. If I lose a loved one, God is still God. If, God forbid, I lose my mind, God is still God.

Romans 8: 35-39 "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: "For your sake we face death all day long: we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered." No, in all these things we are more than canquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Psalm 139:7-10 "Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from you presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast."

On Judgment Day, the only voice that will have any weight will be God's. The only thing I should fear is God.

Truly, I can't control what people say or think about me. I can't control any aspect of the economy or the weather or wars around the world. I'm relatively powerless over anything beyond my little acre, my sphere of responsibility. Dorcus Smucker wrote, in her book "Ordinary Days", about the fear and sense of powerlessness that came with September 11, 2001. "And when I honestly acknowledge my own helplessness, I find that I am least afraid of the future."

Smiles and Hisses

2008-09-05T04:54:00.000-07:00

Did you ever notice that when God confused men's language, in the days of the Tower of Babel, that He left us a smile (and most facial expressions), which means the same in all languages (as far as I know)? A baby's smile is one of the most delightful things in all the earth. A mother delights in her baby's first smile. Who can resist smiling at a baby in church---or anywhere else, for that matter?

Similarly, in the animal kingdom, I have noticed that a hiss means the same thing across all species (as far as I know). I remember walking out my back door one dark night and hearing a loud hiss, only to see that I had surprised an opossum. Cats hiss, snakes hiss. Not all animals hiss--I don't recall ever hearing a dog hiss--but I'm pretty sure that all animals understand what a hiss means.

Last night, on my way to bed, one of our 4-month-old kittens was behind the piano. It seeemed that she was stuck there, so I pulled out the card table we store back there, thinking perhaps that would free her, and called her, but she opted to go out the other end and come to me around the front. I noted that they had knocked down a string or hair ribbon or something. I reached for the card table to put it back, but the ribbon was moving toward me. It was dark, I was on my way to bed, and there was a snake behind my piano.

When I thought about it later, I realized that snake had been in my house all day! Joe Kitty, our 4-year-old indoor cat, had been batting at balloons earlier in the day--at least I thought it was balloons. And on the off chance that she had been playing with a mouse, I picked up some debris that had fallen on the floor near where she was, but seeing no mouse concluded she was playing with shrinking, leftover birthday balloons. Before bed, the cats were making a ruckus behind the couch, and I just assumed they were playing...but now I recognize that the snake had moved along the wall, under the couch (eeek) and then gone along--or behind--the bookshelves along that wall and then behind the piano. Now, you have to realize that it is one foot from the end of the piano to my bedroom door, which has more than ample room for a snake to crawl under. I had no choice but to catch it, if I wanted to be able to sleep....with the light off. (I once found a large snake skin on a shelf six feet off the floor in my shed. I know snakes can climb!)

When it saw me, it stopped. But it was between a rock and a hard place, me on one end, and cats everywhere else, because at this point there were four felines helping me herd this snake. Gary grabbed an old piece of trim, which worked much better than the little dowel I had grabbed for holding the snake in place while I tried to grab it; but I had only been able to find a left-handed glove in my haste and this snake was striking viciously, even biting himself and the board that was pinning him to the floor. I'm sure his life flashed before his eyes, but i did not feel dexterous enough with my left hand to grab him close enough behind the head to not get bitten (not that he could have bitten through my glove, as my husband pointed out, but hey, HE was not picking up this snake, or even offering to!). Finally, I grabbed him by the tail end to transport him outside, and he was striking at my arm the whole way.

What a contrast to the snake our cat brought in the other day, who just played 'possum. We were able to pet him and hold him and transport him to safety without fear.

I am reminded of that scripture, Isaiah 11:8. "The infant will play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put his hand in the viper's nest. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea."

If that snake last night had known that I would not hurt him, would not eat him, would not kill him, he would have gladly let me pick him up to take him outside instead of striking at the hand that was trying to save him. There will come a day when "the lion will eat straw like the ox" (Isaiah 11:7), when there will no longer be enmity between serpent and man, when fear will be no more, because the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord, and His perfect love casts out all fear. I wonder if in that day the animals will talk, as they do in Narnia, as apparently they did in Eden.

I look forward to that day. Lord, bring it on!!

My Old Pear Tree

2008-08-26T18:53:00.000-07:00

Back in 1988, shortly after we married, G and I decided we wanted to build a house. So we started looking for some land. One day, about a year later, when L and I were out for a walk, we noticed a "for sale" sign on a horse pasture we had walked by hundreds of times in our four years of living in our little town. So we checked into it straightaway. It was a little over an acre (85 feet wide and two blocks deep) and the sellers were asking $16,500 for it. We had looked at single lots for nearly $20,000 and this was a whole acre for less than that! We jumped on it. You know the story Jesus tells of the man who finds a treasure buried in a field and he goes out and sells all he has and buys the field? That was us. We spent all we had and a lot we didn't have to make the downpayment for the land. The sellers had offered it to the neighbor first, and the story goes that he said, "Why would I spend 16 thousand dollars for a horse pasture?" --Oh what happy words for us!! (I'm pretty sure he can answer his own question now--"So you don't have neighbors in your back yard!")

Long ago, this property and most of the adjoining properties were probably all part of the same donation land claim, and most were orchards; apple, pear and cherry trees still remain. But the trees are ancient and are in their sunset years. After we had owned this land for 12 years, about 7 years ago, the pear tree had cumulatively produced about 12 pears. Yup, one or two each year, if that. A friend of mine came out one spring and helped me prune the ancient apple and pear trees and that year I had a dozen pears. The following year I had double that. And every year since it has outdone itself. Of course, for the past 3 years it has been pruned by the horses, and we have picked as many pears as we could, often with a manure fork! And they have been much enjoyed and appreciated by both human and equine.

I am reminded of Jesus' talk to his disciples in John 15. (Thank you, Dr. Root, for requiring us to memorize this, decades ago, it is still with me!!) "I am the true vine and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, so that it will be even more fruitful." Either way, bearing fruit or not, we are gonna get shaped...either cut off completely or trimmed back! He continues, "You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. "

That pear tree was just a tree--barely a shade producer--but now that it bears fruit, it is treasured by me, and it's fruit enjoyed by my family and my horses. I want to be more than just a shade tree.

Where is Beauty?

2008-08-21T17:42:00.001-07:00

Gracie is our dalmatian. She came to us the year we had lost two of our beloved dogs to cars on the road--Kara, our beloved beagle, and Cami, our best beloved aussie/lab mix. Two of the best dogs God ever created. We had to have Cami put down the day after Christmas, after a month-long effort at recovery. Our remaining dog, Rosie, was rather psychotic without her two buddies, and we needed another dog too.

We had always wanted a dalmatian, so we bought Gracie from a local pet store. Two days later, when she was clearly not well, with bloody diarrhea and vomiting everything--even water, then no appetite at all, and the pet store assuring us that it was just "adjusting", we took her to the vet only to have the diagnosis of parvo. We were devastated. The rational thing to do would have been to have her put down, or allow the store to replace her with another dog. But having lost two dogs in the last 9 months, we were not rational. We decided to keep her and treat her. She lived in a kennel at the vet's for a while, fed by IVs and treated with whatever they treat parvo with, but she still was anorexic. There was nothing more they could do.

We force fed her nutritious mash, one thing after another, trying to find something she would like, trying to find something she would keep down. Every three or four hours we fed her. This on top of working full time and having a toddler and a teenager. At three months, she still only weighed six pounds (as much as a small cat) and she was skin draped over skeleton.

Finally, as a last resort, after a month of round-the-clock force feedings (which took two people), the vet had us try one more last-ditch effort, barium. We force fed her a huge syringeful of barium. The next day her poop was white. The next day, she ate fried chicken we were having for dinner, and there was no shortage of happy people volunteering to share their meal with her. The next day she ate pork, and for a while, we bought and cooked pork steak just for her, as that was all she would eat.

Eventually, she began to eat a normal diet...and then everything. She got to be a fat, over-60-pound dalmatian. And she was very attached to the family, so much so that we feared for other people when she was with us. We could not walk her on a leash as she would hang from her collar, and she was so afraid of and aggressive towards strangers, that we hated taking her out.

About a year ago, she suddenly started to lose weight. The dianosis: diabetes. So she gets shots twice a day, whcih she takes like a trooper. But her vision is very bad. One day K was swinging in the back yard and Gracie barked at him, ran a few feet closer, barked at him some more, ran a few feet closer, etc. Finally, when she was about six feet from him, she recognized him and all was well. I have seen her do the same with our cats, who won't run from her.

Laura told us about a contraption called a "gentle leader" and it has made walks with Gracie possible again, but still I worry about her around other dogs and people. Recently, we have had a friend's dog staying with us and there have been a few horrid fights, of which Gracie comes out the worse, and so she has scars on various limbs and her face. She is dirty from all the mud lately, and she is skinny. She is also quite black--for a dalmatian.

Today, K and I took Gracie for a walk. K wanted to look at some construction going on in town, and we love to be with Gracie. But there were dogs and people everywhere. At one point a dog came running over to her and I covered her as best as I could with my body, not so much to protect her, but to protect the other dog, as Gracie might fight. The owners assured me their dog was friendly.....and I'm sure it looked to them like I was protecting Gracie (not their dog).

But everywhere we went, people commented on what a beautiful dog she was. I of course would say "thank you", but I wondered what they were seeing? She is very skinny, her eyes are cloudy with cataracts, even though she is fairly young, and her head is practically all brown where it should be white from rolling in the mud and playing outside....What did they see?

I'm thinking they probably were seeing with their hearts. Perhaps it shows that Gracie is a very loved dog. Can they see that she was fed for a month against her will as a puppy? Can they see that she gets shots twice a day for her diabetes? Probably not. Do they see the happiness in her eyes that she is out with her people? Her whole body expresses her delight when she is with us. She adores us. It's probably her happiness and enthusiasm that make her beautiful despite her physical appearance.

We have a wall of pictures in our office and we realized that Mom and Dad aren't represented. In choosing a picture of them to print, I picked one where they were both smiling really big and I told G that I chose that one because whenever I see Dad, he is smiling like that at me. And to be honest, Gracie always smiles at me too, if a dog can smile...with a wag of the tail and a dance of the feet and a lift of the head and perk of the ears.

Yes, I think that is where beauty is after all.

"Who? Us? We weren't doing nuthing, honest!!"

Wishes Granted

2008-08-17T06:32:00.000-07:00

When I was an elementary student, I used to spend my summers in Hazel Dell, which at that time consisted of a general store and post office on the corner, but otherwise was just farms and country houses on small acreages (think Apine, Oregon). --That description of Hazel Dell should date me, for anyone who has been there recently!!

Anyway, while the younger kids were having naps, I would often be sent to the post office for the mail, which consisted of walking down the steep gravel driveway and then down the gravel road, which was maybe a quarter of a mile long. I remember walking back one day, barefoot, choosing that strip of greenery down the center of the lane, seeing all the wildflowers (Queen Anne's lace, chicory, dandelions, buttercups) that were growing along the side of the road, apple orchard on one side, pasture on the other, and thinking, "When I grow up, I want to live down a gravel road just like this."

A few years ago, as I was walking back up my driveway, from getting the mail, choosing the softer strip down the middle to walk on, I noticed the Chicory and Queen Anne's lace, chest high, lining both sides of my driveway, and I realized that God had granted that wish, made decades earlier by a 9-year-old enjoying the freedom and rest and beauty of a summer day. I had almost forgotten that wish, but God never did.

Boy Germs

2008-08-11T19:51:00.000-07:00

We survived another Scandinavian Festival. What a treat that the kids get to participate in this every year. They don't know how lucky they are, really.

My son was in the 1st to 3rd grade group this year, and even at this young, innocent age, the girls (who usually outnumber the boys in these groups) are starting to be repulsed by sweaty, grimy boy hands--cooties, as they were known in my day. And I realize that for the next five years or so, it will only get worse (before it gets better--or perhaps, when the girls decide K is cute and fun and smart, I will longingly wish for the days of cooties).

But in the meantime, how sad to be rejected because you are exactly what God made you. Earlier this summer, I looked at the strawberry lovingly being offered to me, served up on a muddy hand, and I tried not to let my mind imagine where all that hand had been before I smiled and savored the gift. One day, a few years back, I came in from the pasture and took note of all the Tonkas strewn about the back yard and sand box--as if the lunch whistle blew and the crew abandoned the equipment for refreshement. It might as well have been a neon sign that read, "A Boy Lives Here". I stopped and I savored that vision and locked that feeling and memory deep inside my heart. I pull it up now and then to look at it.

A boy lives here. My life is complete. Perfectly good computer fans get their wires cut off to become the bases of rockets. Pens get taken apart just to see how they work. Words of ownership get written on bathroom walls. The garden becomes a forest for the bike/wagon train hauling lovely composted dirt from here to there, to repair a break in the tracks. The born foreman hollers instructions to imaginary workers. A boy lives here.

And someday, some girl is going to notice him and treasure him. And I hope that when she trips over his shoes in the middle of the night or finds his underwear anywhere but in the hamper, her heart will be warmed and she will think, "A man lives here."

Monkey in the Middle

2008-08-07T21:01:00.000-07:00

We were in church Sunday and Gordon said something that prompted G and I to look at each other and ask, simultaneously, "Which one of us needed to learn patience, that God gave us K?" But seriously, I am learning SO much by walking through life with K. He stretches me almost every day in new ways. And I find that the things I am teaching him, I also need to apply to my own life.

For example, in swimming a week or so ago, the kids had some free time after practice and some of the older kids were throwing a football back and forth, and K asked if he could play too, but they wouldn't share. (Previously, when he has pushed them, they have reluctantly agreed and will play "Monkey in the Middle"--which my generation called "keep away"--until K is frustrated to tears.) This hurt K. He wants SO much to be a part of the group, to play sports, especially. On the trip home, we talked about how sharing would have been the right thing for those boys to do, and probably what God would have wanted them to do; but we can't force people to do the right thing, we can't force them to do what God wants. I told K that if that were to happen again, he either needed to be content to play by himself or to find someone who WOULD play with him. I also told him to remember how it felt to be excluded, and when someone asked him to share and he didn't want to, to remember this.

But those words are speaking into my own life as well. There are situations where I am frustrated by the choices other people make--choices that hurt my feelings, that exclude me, choices that I think are wrong (whether they are or not, God only knows). But I have to take my own advice--go find someone else who WILL play, and remember not to exclude anyone.

Wasn't there a book once called something like "All I Ever Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten"? Well, MY life lessons are coming to me through a 2nd grader. I must have missed that year!! And as hard as it is to be repeating this grade, and to see this precious, tender little boy get hurt, I could not be more thankful for him being a part of my life. During the more difficult years, G and I started this habit every morning of hugging K when he first got up and telling him how happy we are that God made him a part of our family. We have continued this, and I think it has changed our hearts--or at least kept us focused and truly thankful. And I hope that it gets so deep into K's psyche that in later years, when difficult times come for him, he will not question that he is wanted and loved and valued by the people who know him best--even though the world is telling him the opposite.

There is a line from a song that has gotten me through a lot of hard times, and when the world plays "Monkey in the Middle" with you I hope this comforts you. "The One who knows me best loves me most."

And that's the truth!

Inside and Out

2008-08-06T21:59:00.000-07:00

I have been a walker for nearly 15 years now. The town I live in is roughly a mile square. Almost every block has an alley through it, running north/south. To vary my route, I have often walked these alleys, and it is always interesting to me how the back yards and private areas compare to the front yards, the public areas. Sometimes they are as neat in the back as in the front. Sometimes they are messy front and back. But the ones that interest me are the ones that are neat on the front and messy in the back. I wonder if the house represents the character of the people who live there. I wonder if the people who live there put on one face for society and another in private.

Back in the Carter era, there used to be this joke, based on a Snickers tag line, "How is Jimmy Carter like a Snickers bar? No matter how you slice him, he comes up peanuts." I know that was really meant as a put down, but I kinda liked it. I always hoped that people would say that about me. I don't want to be one way in public and another way in private. Perhaps this adds to my gruffness and my lack of tact; but I want to be "what you see is what you get". I'm always disappointed when I think a person is one way or thinks one way, and then they turn out to be another, or think something else. Whether messy or well-groomed, I want my back yard to look like my front yard. I want the person you meet in church on Sunday to be the same person you see in the park on Monday or in the store on Tuesday.

I suspect this is how we are supposed to be. That's how God is..."no shadow of turning". So, do you come up peanuts no matter how you are sliced?

The Mind of the Maker

2008-08-05T06:18:00.001-07:00

There is nothing new under the sun. You know how you are just hanging out with God and He shows you something and you go, "Wow, that is so cool. I have never seen that before!"? But you have seen it before, probably, just a little different facet of it....Or even if you haven't, you might think, "Wow, no one has ever thought this before!" Well, doggone it!! There is nothing new under the sun!!

When K and I were visiting Gma and Gpa earlier this summer and we were picking up rocks and shells on the beach, I found it interesting what he saw as "beautiful" versus what I picked out. You know how we see the world anew through our children's eyes? I realized that God delights in us delighting in His creation. The mere fact of K picking up a rock and thinking some aspect of it is beautiful allows God to see His creation anew, through K's eyes. And the same with you and me. When we appreciate something, or think some thought, we take what God has made and give it back to Him, as seen through our eyes, and He is seeing it anew.

I was thinking one day, not all that long ago, as Gordon was speaking, how similar what he was saying was to the things God had shown me recently. And I thought, even if he were uttering ideas I had written, it would still be different, having gone through the filter of Gordon, and would be colored by his experiences and his personality, and it would be new.

What a concept!!! But it's not new....

I was reading Dorothy Sayers "The Mind of the Maker" last night (yeah, by the end of the year I will have read 3 books --write THAT one on the calendar!). Anyway, she writes "When the writer's Idea is revealed or incarnate by his Energy, then, and only then, can his Power work on the world. More briefly and obviously, a book has no influence till somebody can read it.

"Before the Energy was revealed or incarnate it was ... already present in Power within the creator's mind, but now that Power is released for communication to other men, and returns from their minds to his with a new response. It dwells in them and works upon them with creative energy, producing in them fresh manifestations of Power."

.....and returns from their mind to his with a new response... This is worth pondering.

My Favorite Flower

2008-07-30T16:08:00.000-07:00

I'm wearing a flower in my hair today--Queen Anne's Lace. Why? Because I have a son who loves me and who loves beauty and who thinks I look extra beautiful with a reminder of his love in my hair. (In other words, he picked it while we were picking up horse manure from the front pasture.)

My mom says her favorite flower is the dandelion. They are the flowers of love...always picked with love, given with love--and often grubby hands. Forget roses and carnations....give me Queen Anne's Lace, chicory, dandelion, daisies and cherry blossoms. And bless the grubby hands that make the offering with love.

Reading versus Playing by Ear

2008-07-28T21:15:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago I was enjoying listening to my friend Francine singing in worship. She has this ability to sing all around the melody and make it sound good. She also has the voice to go with the ability. I, on the other hand, have gone from the mezzo-soprano I was as a youth to barely an alto now. Almost everything they sing in church is written for tenors and sopranos, leaving those of who can't sing those notes looking for really good harmonies in our range.

Now, I grew up in a noninstrumental Church of Christ, and our congregation was blessed with a song leader who was willing to teach music. So I learned music theory and I learned to read music, and I learned to sing alto! But I have to have the music in front of me. If I can hear an alto line, I generally learn it and sing it by ear. But I sure can't make one up!!

This leaves me in awe of those who can "sing around the melody".

But I find that that is true of me in life in general. I'm really good with details. Give me a specific job and I'm happy to do it. But give me something too general and I just stand there not knowing how to tackle it.

I think there are two kinds of people. There are the kind who can take a big job and tackle it and break into small pieces and either delegate or do it themselves. (They tend to get the "bossy" label and they also tend to get frustrated with the rest of us, who don't have that amazing ability.) And then there are the rest of us who can't see the trees for the forest. My kids are both like me. I learned long ago that "Go clean your room" was hopeless and frustrating to both sides. "Make your bed." "Put your horses away." "Fold your clothes." These were much more effective commands. I think my mom understood this to some extent. Saturday was always housecleaning day, and she would always write out lists of things for us girls to do. I remember my Aunt Elsie telling my mom once, "If I could only get them to SEE what needed to be done." Apparently, both my mom and her sister got the "big picture" gene, but I think most of us cousins got the "just the details" gene. I'm not sure that it is something that can be trained into a person. I think it is a gift. You have it or you don't.

My friend Francine also has the "big picture" gene. She has the amazing ability to walk into just about any situation and see what needs to be done. I'm completely happy if someone gives me a specific task. I'm completely frustrated, and will stand dumbfounded, if someone gives me too general a command.

I see this difference also in our little homeschool group. The people with the "big picture" gene get a little frustrated with us "just the details" types, because they feel bossy if they tell us what to do, and yet, we are more than happy to have it broken down and divied up, because we lack that talent. Perhaps if we understood that this is the way God made us, and it's okay to be different, we might get along a little easier....

But I still keep trying to play by ear. Maybe at the very least I'll get a little better at it, although I still admire the ability of those who come by it naturally....

The Cringe Factor

2008-07-21T13:07:00.000-07:00

G showed me today some movies he had made of K shortly after we had moved L's loft bed into his room (after L got married). He threw a quilt over the edge as a curtain and pretended that under the bed was a stage. I had forgotten how absolutely adorable he was with his little Lawrence Welk "Uh-one, uh-one, uh-one, two, thwee, fow, five, six, seben, eight, nine, ten." I had forgotton how little his voice was (compared to now) and how he used to say his 'r's imperfectly. Ahhhh. Tooo cute. He always looks cuter in pictures and videos than I remember him being at the time. I want to go back and look more. Lots more.

And I wonder, what does God think of us? Does he go back in His memory and think, "Oh, she was so cute then!" Not only about physical development, like we look at pictures of our kittens, now cats, and think, "Oh, they were so cute!". But also about our social, psychological, spiritual development... Can you picture Him saying, "Oh, there's J when she was just learning patience. How cute that little temper tantrum is." ? Or perhaps, "Look how little her faith was. Isn't that adorable?"

Before you cringe...Just because we are "better" at something now, does not mean that being "worse" at it before is cringe-worthy. It just so happens that the background music for K's dancing was me playing the viola (I had only been playing a few months)...talk about Cringe-Factor!! So I know that we feel that way about ourselves and our own development. But I want you to consider my own feelings about K's development. He was going on 5. His voice was little. He counted imperfectly. He spoke imperfectly. He danced uniquely, to his own rhythm. Did I cringe? No, I found it adorable. Heartwarmingly adorable--so much so that I want to see more of him back then.

Imperfect as I am, no matter how handsome I think my son is now, when I look back at pictures of him in a few years, I will think of him as even more handsome. But I am limited by so many things, time and energy and my own immaturity, physical pain, my to-do list, etc. I will never be able to fully appreciate every aspect of my son at any given stage. But God is not limited like I am. When He looks at me, He sees all that I am, every facet, every nuance, and He is able to fully appreciate all that I am in this very moment. He sees me growing in every little area that I cannot even imagine--in patience and faith, in generosity and compassion, in calmness and creativity, in humor and appreciation of life. And He thinks every step is adorable. Heartwarmingly adorable. And HE doesn't have to look BACK to think that!!!

My Wisdom on Marriage

2008-07-20T10:44:00.000-07:00

Well, by popular demand, I have decided to post my wisdom on marriage...I think it took me all of 3 minutes to say the other night!!

I am competetive by nature. In all my previous relationships I competed with my partner at every level. But I desperately wanted a marriage that would last, for my toddler L's sake as well as for myself. God gave me G, a tenderhearted, noncompetetive, sensitive man. My biggest fear going into marriage was that I would destroy him emotionally, and in the end he would leave me (and L).

Before Gordon married G and I, or perhaps during the ceremony, he said something along the lines of “Your best shot at making marriage last is for both of you to remain in Christ.” The realization hit me like a brick that, although I could control MY relationship with God, I had no control at all over G’s. And the best chance I had at making my marriage last was to do my best to encourage G in his walk with the Lord. And to do THAT, I had to create (to borrow Doug Griffith’s words) an environment conducive to growth. I had to make a consistent environment of positives—a home where he felt safe, a refuge from the world, a place he could rest and recharge, a place he was welcomed with accepting, loving arms. A place where he would not be criticized, not judged, not nit-picked, not bossed or whined at, and definitely not competed with. I needed to do everything in my power to make home look attractive. When the world and work and whatever else was beating G down, HOME needed to be the place he could come to for shelter. (I have just given you all the wisdom I have concerning marriage.)

This was not something I could have done on my own. I didn’t have the maturity or the strength or the wisdom. But this was something that God showed me. When I asked God to please (please, please!!) make my marriage last, He showed me what to do, and HE changed my heart. He took out almost all the competetiveness and made me a teammate. He took me from competition to cooperation. But I’m telling you, this was GOD changing my heart, almost overnight. And then me choosing to create the environment, day by day, brick by brick, reinforcing the positives, trying to pry out the negatives.

God gave me His heart for G. (We just celebrated our 20th anniversary!!)

More on Language

2008-07-16T22:48:00.000-07:00

L just did a horse camp for kids and she told me about this object lesson she used.

They have a horse from the wild there who has not been worked with much. He did not know L and so she was working with him to develop trust. Since he has not been worked with, he only speaks "horse" not "human". So Laura was trying, in her human body, to act out some horse body language. The horse was getting it to some degree. So Laura said to the kids, "How much better do you think he would understand me if I actually had the body of a horse?" That's what God did for us. He became a man. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

Thoughts on Language

2008-07-16T18:15:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed that you really find out how well you know something when you have to try to explain it to someone else?

K doesn't like tomatoes (yet), but he likes tomato soup. He was telling me that he had tomato soup for lunch and he said, "I'm just a tomato daver." What does that mean? He often makes up words...And when there is some kind of meaning there, it is cute. Like when he was little, and we would "buckle him in" his carseat, he would ask for us to "buckle him out" when we got home. But often he just makes sounds to be making sounds (it seems). This is actually a hindrance in his relationships with others, as they often don't understand what he means and they tend to give up on him (understandably).

So we had a little discussion about language on the way home from swimming. I asked him why he thought God invented language. "So we can talk to each other?" I think so. So I said, "K, schmwanke dink." He said, "What?" I said, "Exactly. You don't know whether I said, 'I love you' or 'Fasten your seatbelt', or something else." Language is hugely important, so we can tell each other things. But when we just make meaningless sounds at each other, it's an abuse of a precious gift.

I have heard it said that without words, there is no thought. I have pondered this for decades, and I think I have finally decided that I don't believe it. I mean, if I lean into the warm wind, I can appreciate it without words, I can thank the Maker without words, I can remember other warm winds without words.

I was walking the other morning and there was a slight breeze and most of the trees were gently waving their branches like people wave their arms in worship. But there was a group of trees--aspens?--whose branches didn't sway, but instead, the leaves shimmered. We have a lady at church whose hands quiver just like that. Her arms don't sway, but her hands quiver like that tree's leaves. I just laughed and laughed at the thought of her as an aspen tree, standing among the maples and oaks and evergreens. But I didn't need words to appreciate that humor.

I did, however, need words to share it with you. Language is a gift. It's meant to connect us. How often do we use it to create distance..... Just a thought.

This is the Day

2008-07-09T22:44:00.001-07:00

One spring day, when I was in college (yeah, the olden days!), I was sitting outside studying before chapel, when this tree caught my eye (yes, the very tree in this picture). I noticed a leaf, how intricately made it was, with veins just so, like the veins on the back of my hand. I looked at another leaf, the same but different. Same general shape, same general color, same basic structure, but not quite the same. The closer I looked, the more differences I saw. I looked at another, and another. All generally the same, but different. I realized that each leaf was unique. There were a LOT of leaves on that tree. I was standing there in awe of God's ability to create such variety in sameness, when He said to me, "Look further." So I looked further, and all around, as far as I could see were trees, all kinds of trees, countless trees, and yet, no doubt, no two leaves the same.

This nearly blew my mind. Like the first time you realize the stars go on forever and ever and ever. But it was such an insight, for me, into God's nature. I just wanted to share it with everyone! About then, it was time for mandatory chapel to start and students started to trickle along the paths toward the chapel. I stopped person after person to explain to them about the leaves, but everyone was in a hurry or just didn't get it. I was saddened that this thing that was so awesome to me was of no interest to anyone else, especially since most of the people there supposedly were there to know God better.

As I was about to give up, I saw Dr. Root hurrying across the street, nearly late as he often was. I stopped him and explained it to him. He smiled as he considered what I had said and he replied, "This is the day the Lord has made--and no two alike!" My heart leapt inside me with joy. Finally someone understood, and a connection was made at a deep level.... A connection that felt so right. This is how we are supposed to understand each other all the time. The memory is with me still, two and a half decades later.

I had a similar experience this week with something awesome that the Lord showed me. I shared it with several people and no one really got it. I was reminded of this day, so long ago. And it occurred to me that it was really an allegory about God and His longing for relationship with us. God desires relationship with us in such a passionate way we cannot comprehend it. He wants to bless us, to touch us, to heal us, to reveal Himself to us, to lavish His affection on us; but we are on our way somewhere in a hurry and we don't connect with Him. And as I was saddened that so many people didn't connect with me, didn't share my joy; how much more is God saddened when we hurry on by?

I want to make God feel the way I felt when Dr. Root "got it". I want to "get" whatever God has to share with me today. Do you?

I Still Love You

2008-07-06T20:28:00.000-07:00

Kermit says to Maid Marian (Lynn Redgrave):
Your eyes are not bulgie,
You don’t live in a swamp,
You don’t hop or turn somersaults,
Your feet are not webbed and you never eat flies.
I’m sorry to dwell on your faults.
But I still love you. I always will love you.
You shine in my mind like a dream.
And yet I still love you, I always will love you,
Although you are not even green.

MM to K:
I know I’m an odd one,
I’m not like a frog,
My head is all covered with hair.
No flippers, no bulges, no croaking, no warts—
No wonder that sometimes you stare.
And yet you love me

K: You know that I love you.

MM: You shine in my mind like a dream.

K:
And so if I love you, I really do love you.
Who cares if you’re not even green.

I have been thinking about God loving us no matter what stage of maturity we are in. I think sometimes, because we know that God hates sin, we think because we are not yet fully mature in this area or that, God can't love us perfectly. Or perhaps because the way God created us is different than how He created somebody else...even MOST somebody elses....that we don't measure up, we don't please God. But we need to only be who we are, who God created us to be, and earnestly seek a relationship with God to please Him. I don't have to sing like my friend Rebecca (I CAN'T anyway), or dance like my friend Francine, or dress like Linda, or wear my hair like Johanna, or have quiet times like Gordon, or study like Bonka, or pray like Toni. I just have to BE ME. God made me the way He made me, with the gifts and the weaknesses I have. Who I grow into as I mature isn't going to look like anyone else, and that's okay. That I am not "perfect" (complete, mature) right now, is okay.

God loves the person I am today, right this very moment, as much as He ever has or ever will--although I am not even green!!

Harry the Chihuahua and the Duck

2008-07-05T09:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, while we are on the subject of bad limericks, here is another. Perhaps you remember the story of Kara chasing the ducks, who would "duck", and she would run right over the top of them--a game we called "duck bowling". Harry gave it a try, but it didn't quite work out the way Harry expected....

"Do like I do, " said Kara to Harry,
"Chase the duck, watch her tuck, then jump. Merry!"
Harry gave it a shot
But old Quack didn't squat.
Now that duck's being ridden by Harry!

KaraBeagle of Smithacre

2008-07-04T17:56:00.000-07:00

I came across a poem today, so thought I would post it just for fun. I used Reuben's picture in lieu of one of Kara....hope no one minds!! Enjoy.

There once was a beagle quite pretty,
Who wandered alone in the city.
The dog catcher nabbed her.
The Smith family grabbed her.
Now she lives on a farm with three kitties.

You light up the room!!

2008-07-03T15:14:00.000-07:00

(6-30-08)

We had a guest speaker at church last night. As J was out of town, I invited L and she came!! I was smiling from ear to ear as people who knew her greeted her and I got to introduce her to friends of mine who did not know her.

At Gma Smiley's memorial, someone commented that family had visited and come to church with her recently and she just beamed the whole time. Now I understand, and NOW I understand God's heart a little better too!! Even though we see L every day (Thank you, Jesus!!!), when she comes in the morning she lights up the room. Same with K, when he gets out of bed and comes to give us hugs and kisses. There is just something in our hearts that rejoices absolutely completely when we see our kids after even a few hours apart.

That is what God feels when we enter His presence. I think we miss that sometimes. We light up the room for Him, just as our kids light up the room for us. I need to remember that, all of us need to remember that. And I know God was beaming yesterday morning at all the people who came to "his house"...and last night as well. What a cool image that is. And can you imagine what Heaven will be like?---How His face will light up then?

Spring

2008-07-01T22:07:00.000-07:00

(from 3-26-08)

Ah, spring.... G did school with K this morning, I worked all morning...I had thought this was going to be an easy week...well, maybe tomorrow!!

About 3:30 I was beat and it was sunny, so K and I went outside to feed the horses and replace some rotted fence posts in the back yard..a job I have been putting off all winter. I don't mind the nailing or the digging, but inevitably the posts are rotted only a foot down, and so the other foot and a half is still good and next to impossible to pull up.

K and I ducked into the lean-to to dodge one hail storm. We have pea-sized hail that stings bad enough...I can't imagine what hail would be like if it were golf ball sized like in the midwest!! The hail stopped as quickly as it started and we went to work knocking off rails and pulling up posts, and started digging out our first post K spotted a baby snake (garter snake) so we looked it over and I explained to him that we couldn't keep it in the house because Daddy would flip....and then I pulled up another scoop of rotted wood and sitting right on top of that was an even bigger garter snake, maybe 10 inches long.

When we first moved here, we had red racers...black with red heads and red/orange stripes. But the ones we have been seeing in the past few years are the most beautiful blue...We held the slow-moving, slow-motion snake in our gloved hands and watched as it "tasted" the spring air, deciding who held it and if it was time to wake up yet. It warmed up as we held it and admired it. It had a pale yellow stripe down the back and each side and the spots on the black body between the stripes were a neon blue. In ths summer, these snakes move so fast (and there are BIG ones in our manure pile, aka the fly-smorgasborg) that I half thought I imagined the neon blue. But it really is neon blue. As we examined his tummy, the sun came out and K noted the opalescence of his gray-blue underside, glimmering blue and pink and silver and cream.

What an amazing God we have that would make even the underside of a snake beautiful!! And how fortunate for us that we got to catch one and examine it today!! And how lucky I am to have a boy to share it all with!! The rain and cold finally drove us inside, but at least we got one post replaced...enough to keep Gracie out of Bill's yard!!

Mussels

2008-07-01T14:31:00.000-07:00

K and I went to the coast Friday to see Mom and Dad and got back today (5-24-08). The tide was low early and we went after breakfast to explore a new beach and look for agates--and other pretty rocks. K kept picking up pieces of mussels. As you know, mussels are just plain nondescript black on the outside, but they are irridescent on the inside. It started me to thinking...why do you suppose God designed it that way? Why would He put something beautiful on the inside of something plain? It's not like mussels ever open up so that anyone could see the beauty inside. In fact, it isn't until they die and their shells are loosened from their home on some rock and broken in the pounding waves and they are finally cast upon the shore that anyone ever sees the beauty. Is there a lesson here for us?

I think it is an insight into God's nature. If you think about it, even pearls are made in hidden places, formed in response to foreign bodies in the host mollusk. God isn't concerned with just the visible, His creation is wondrous throughout--inside and out--He hides beauty everywhere. It is a joy for us when we discover it, but it is a joy to Him whether man discovers it or not.

And how is beauty defined? Mom and Dad moved inland a little ways and now don't have all the rocks they had when they lived in Yachats, 100 yards from the beach. So the last time K and I went, we found some big rocks for her flower beds. K, remembering this, picked some lovely rocks (lovely to him, plain ordinary basalt to me) to take to Grandma. He packed them from where he found them, huffing and puffing, a true act of love. But they were beautiful to him for various reasons--size, shape, color. And as I talked to Mom about mussels being beautiful on the inside, she commented that perhaps to God they were beautiful on the outside too...just as the plain old gray-blue basalt rocks were beautiful to K.

Whose eyes? It's amazing to me that we are so limited in our literal vision. I know, it's by design, but some other creaturees see ultraviolet colors that we cannot see and other creatures hear in ranges too low or too high for most of us humans to hear. Even a small jumping spider does a mating dance that is so quick and so soft that we cannot perceive it, but when photographed and slowed down, and when done on a special platform that can pick up the vibrations and minute sounds, we can see it. So much of God's creation is outside of our perception!! Even if were to look, there is so much of God that we cannot see because we are not designed to...we have to "take dominion" and explore God's creation using our own created methods to see, hear and feel what is beyond our senses.

And, looking at all this from a differnt perspective, does it mean anything to us, all of us who are broken, that the beauty of God's creation, perhaps even in us, cannot be seen until our shells are broken and washed up on the shore??