No matter what happens in this life, whether happy or sad,
I will love you.
I will continue to praise you through times of great sadness
and also through times of great joy.
With tears of grief, I will praise you, for you are my father.
With these tears of sadness, I will be grateful for this life that you have
blessed me with, even though I do not feel one bit worthy.
I will be thankful and I will sing to you and always serve you,
for you are my God.
I will remember that rain falls on the just and the unjust.
I will not question you or wonder why.
I will trust you with my whole heart, for you are my father.
And I am your daughter.
I will wake up each day and remember all you have done for me
and all that you have given to me, and I will thank you.
No matter what--for you, oh God are mighty and great and holy.
And I will worship you all the days of my life.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
First Encounter
I was asked to help out. I didn't fully realize what I was getting myself into, but that first encounter changed my life. Mostly it changed who I was to become on the inside and later, it changed what I was to become on the outside. It's funny how that happens sometimes, it happens when you least expect it, when you are ill-prepared and when you are most vulnerable. Maybe that's how God likes it. That way He can take full credit for setting things up. After all, doesn't it say in Psalms that His Word is the light to my path and a lamp to my feet? In other words--He lights the way that I should go and He sets in motion those encounters that have changed my life.
It started when I received a phone call. Could I help co-facilitate a sexual abuse group? What? That's really what I said. What? I was shocked. I had absolutely no experience in dealing with sexual abuse nor sexual assault. Someone had obviously given this poor man the wrong name and number. But no, he insisted I was the right person for the job and could I please at least meet with him and talk this through. I hesitantly said yes, and we met later for coffee. He said he wanted me to help him with a group of women that needed counseling. I would be there as a co-facilitator, a sounding board, and a listener. He had prayed about who he would ask to help him and my name was the only name that came to him. He was insistent. I was stunned. I remember saying to him over and over that I did not have experience in this type of thing, that I couldn't relate to these poor women, that I wasn't qualified, and that I was totally inadequate. And yet, he just sat there and said please help me. They need you.
I went home that afternoon fully intending to say no, but I told him I would pray about it, and get back to him as soon as possible. I prayed, I talked it over with my husband, and I waited for God to say no--I just knew He was going to say no, I certainly hoped He would anyway. I did not want to counsel women who had been abused, I did not want to hear their stories--I knew that hearing them would break my heart. Sexual abuse? No way, not my thing! I was not trained, nor was I qualified, I was completely inadequate, I was not the right person for the job!
However, a few days later as I sat there praying away in my rocking chair, God began to do something in my heart. He began to break it for those women, and He began to put a desire in my heart to help them. As inadequate and poorly educated as I felt--I knew that somehow, someway, I was supposed to help out.
My first night at group was the night that changed my life. You see, this group took place at my church. I walked into the room, and there before me sitting in a circle were about 25 women that I personally knew. My reaction startled me. I began to cry. I didn't know that I would know them. I guess I thought they would all be strangers, but they weren't. They were my friends and acquaintances. I pulled myself together and was introduced as the co-facilitator and was welcomed with open arms. Literally, they hugged and comforted me, telling me that they, along with the counselor had been praying for me. They said they knew that I was the right person to come alongside him and help them. Humbling doesn't begin to describe how I felt that night. I think they thought that I was there for them during that first 12-week session. However, they were the ones that helped me. Because of them I went back to school and finished my degree, I went on to counsel other abuse survivors, did crisis counseling, worked a suicide hotline, and much more. And because of them, I gained a heart for listening. That first encounter all those many years ago not only changed my life but it changed my life course.
Now when I get those phone calls I take them very seriously. I listen intently to that still small voice of God, I wait, I pray and then I say--well God if you think I should--and I do it. All because of that first encounter.
Encounters--you always have a first but I hope and pray that I never have a last.
It started when I received a phone call. Could I help co-facilitate a sexual abuse group? What? That's really what I said. What? I was shocked. I had absolutely no experience in dealing with sexual abuse nor sexual assault. Someone had obviously given this poor man the wrong name and number. But no, he insisted I was the right person for the job and could I please at least meet with him and talk this through. I hesitantly said yes, and we met later for coffee. He said he wanted me to help him with a group of women that needed counseling. I would be there as a co-facilitator, a sounding board, and a listener. He had prayed about who he would ask to help him and my name was the only name that came to him. He was insistent. I was stunned. I remember saying to him over and over that I did not have experience in this type of thing, that I couldn't relate to these poor women, that I wasn't qualified, and that I was totally inadequate. And yet, he just sat there and said please help me. They need you.
I went home that afternoon fully intending to say no, but I told him I would pray about it, and get back to him as soon as possible. I prayed, I talked it over with my husband, and I waited for God to say no--I just knew He was going to say no, I certainly hoped He would anyway. I did not want to counsel women who had been abused, I did not want to hear their stories--I knew that hearing them would break my heart. Sexual abuse? No way, not my thing! I was not trained, nor was I qualified, I was completely inadequate, I was not the right person for the job!
However, a few days later as I sat there praying away in my rocking chair, God began to do something in my heart. He began to break it for those women, and He began to put a desire in my heart to help them. As inadequate and poorly educated as I felt--I knew that somehow, someway, I was supposed to help out.
My first night at group was the night that changed my life. You see, this group took place at my church. I walked into the room, and there before me sitting in a circle were about 25 women that I personally knew. My reaction startled me. I began to cry. I didn't know that I would know them. I guess I thought they would all be strangers, but they weren't. They were my friends and acquaintances. I pulled myself together and was introduced as the co-facilitator and was welcomed with open arms. Literally, they hugged and comforted me, telling me that they, along with the counselor had been praying for me. They said they knew that I was the right person to come alongside him and help them. Humbling doesn't begin to describe how I felt that night. I think they thought that I was there for them during that first 12-week session. However, they were the ones that helped me. Because of them I went back to school and finished my degree, I went on to counsel other abuse survivors, did crisis counseling, worked a suicide hotline, and much more. And because of them, I gained a heart for listening. That first encounter all those many years ago not only changed my life but it changed my life course.
Now when I get those phone calls I take them very seriously. I listen intently to that still small voice of God, I wait, I pray and then I say--well God if you think I should--and I do it. All because of that first encounter.
Encounters--you always have a first but I hope and pray that I never have a last.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
His Patience
Don't just do something--stand there. It was a concept hard for me to wrap my little brain around at first. Stand there? Are you kidding me? I have a type A personality--I can't just do nothing? Or so I thought. That was a long time ago--maybe 15 years or so. I've learned a lot since then, I've learned that I don't have to be all things to all people and that God doesn't need me to do everything--in fact He can pretty much handle things on His own. It took me a while, but I've got it down now. Maybe.
For someone with a high IQ, sometimes I'm a slow learner. Or maybe I just cover my ears. That's probably what I do. Cover my ears. At least I learn though--through my ignorance--I learn. And that is what has happened this time. A learning experience.
I have to admit something, when we moved to Chicagoland a little over a year ago I decided to put myself in a semi retired/vacation/I'm tired of people/I need a break mode. I didn't pray about it. I just did it. I reluctantly moved here--no friends, no family, no kids or grandkids--maybe I was a little ticked off. So, in my heart, I think I was spiritually pouting. I did all the right things--kept going to church, prayed, found a Bible study, basically went through the motions, but all the while deep down inside I was a little mad at God. After all--He was the one who moved me here. So, in retaliation (and everyone knows one should never ever do that) I posted. Not that anyone would have known--I'm a good cover-upper.
As the weeks turned into months, occasionally I would hear that small still voice of God asking me to do some little things. Which I did, as long as He wasn't asking me to do big things. The big things being--counseling of any sort. I wasn't in the mood for facilitating sexual abuse groups, working for rape crisis, volunteering for anything or getting involved. In fact honestly, I was just plain sick of everything and also I was tired of criticism within the church. The least involvement the better as far as I was concerned.
I was symbolically taking my shingle down--the office was closed for business. What I wanted now was to just relax, have fun, meet new interesting people and enjoy life. I had intended to play hooky for as long as God would allow. I really wasn't sure what was going to happen--you see--I've never acted this way before. I felt sort of noncommittal and lazy--and completely selfish.
However, something happened the other day. The wall in my heart began to come down a little and I was face to face with God asking me to do something bigger for Him. There was no longer a don't just do something--stand there mode, no, it was an I have a new plan for you mode. And for the first time since moving here I found that my ears were open, and so was my heart.
I think, no, I know, that He knew all along I needed that break. He let me fiddle fart around for several months and then He once again called out to me. Time for work--He said. And this time I didn't cover my ears. I'm ready. For whatever it is, I am finally ready. My time of resting is over. And He has been patient. Why? I don't know. But, if I were to guess I'd say it's because I'm his daughter and He loves me. That's what I think anyway.
I'm excited to see what's ahead. I have a small idea. I'm pretty sure He's been slowly letting me catch a glimpse all these past months of what's going to be happening in the near future. He's getting me ready for the next phase of my life. He knows I'm up for it. And I am so grateful for His patience and kindness and love and acceptance and forgiveness. I am thankful that He created me and knows me from the inside out. I am beginning to feel that thrill of excitement that builds when you know that you are on the horizon of something new, exciting and fun. A plan--all His and I get to come along!
For someone with a high IQ, sometimes I'm a slow learner. Or maybe I just cover my ears. That's probably what I do. Cover my ears. At least I learn though--through my ignorance--I learn. And that is what has happened this time. A learning experience.
I have to admit something, when we moved to Chicagoland a little over a year ago I decided to put myself in a semi retired/vacation/I'm tired of people/I need a break mode. I didn't pray about it. I just did it. I reluctantly moved here--no friends, no family, no kids or grandkids--maybe I was a little ticked off. So, in my heart, I think I was spiritually pouting. I did all the right things--kept going to church, prayed, found a Bible study, basically went through the motions, but all the while deep down inside I was a little mad at God. After all--He was the one who moved me here. So, in retaliation (and everyone knows one should never ever do that) I posted. Not that anyone would have known--I'm a good cover-upper.
As the weeks turned into months, occasionally I would hear that small still voice of God asking me to do some little things. Which I did, as long as He wasn't asking me to do big things. The big things being--counseling of any sort. I wasn't in the mood for facilitating sexual abuse groups, working for rape crisis, volunteering for anything or getting involved. In fact honestly, I was just plain sick of everything and also I was tired of criticism within the church. The least involvement the better as far as I was concerned.
I was symbolically taking my shingle down--the office was closed for business. What I wanted now was to just relax, have fun, meet new interesting people and enjoy life. I had intended to play hooky for as long as God would allow. I really wasn't sure what was going to happen--you see--I've never acted this way before. I felt sort of noncommittal and lazy--and completely selfish.
However, something happened the other day. The wall in my heart began to come down a little and I was face to face with God asking me to do something bigger for Him. There was no longer a don't just do something--stand there mode, no, it was an I have a new plan for you mode. And for the first time since moving here I found that my ears were open, and so was my heart.
I think, no, I know, that He knew all along I needed that break. He let me fiddle fart around for several months and then He once again called out to me. Time for work--He said. And this time I didn't cover my ears. I'm ready. For whatever it is, I am finally ready. My time of resting is over. And He has been patient. Why? I don't know. But, if I were to guess I'd say it's because I'm his daughter and He loves me. That's what I think anyway.
I'm excited to see what's ahead. I have a small idea. I'm pretty sure He's been slowly letting me catch a glimpse all these past months of what's going to be happening in the near future. He's getting me ready for the next phase of my life. He knows I'm up for it. And I am so grateful for His patience and kindness and love and acceptance and forgiveness. I am thankful that He created me and knows me from the inside out. I am beginning to feel that thrill of excitement that builds when you know that you are on the horizon of something new, exciting and fun. A plan--all His and I get to come along!
Friday, January 20, 2012
Francophile
Francophile--a person who is fond of or greatly admires France or the French. Or in my case--a person who is obsessed with, loves and wants to live there.
It's a problem in the sense that sometimes it's all I think about. I love France. I get French magazines delivered to my house. I love all things French and even have French decor sprinkled throughout my home. Don't get me wrong--I truly love all of Europe. Each and every country that I have visited has been unbelievably beautiful. The smells, sights, food, people, rivers, villages and even the sounds are fantastic. Each unique, each fascinating, each charming and each alluring, however--there is France.
And when I am there, nothing compares.
The very first time I ever went to Paris will be a memory forever etched into my brain. It was January, it was raining, it was cold, but it was Paris. Everyone from the flight attendants to the taxi drivers were apologizing for the weather. What I could not express to them were the emotions rolling through me after leaving the airport and seeing Paris for the first time. As we were driving into the city center I was fighting back tears. I was in Paris. The city that I had only dreamed about.
Paris. It's only a word, a name, a place and yet from the moment my feet touched the earth, I felt at home. The language although different from mine sounded wonderful. The people were smartly dressed and the food smelled delicious. And that was just in the airport.
We quickly checked into our hotel, grabbed a shower, a short nap and we were ready to explore. We had only a couple of hours before my husband had his first business meeting. It was important to me to get the feel of my new surroundings as I was going to be spending pretty much the next week alone--walking the streets of Paris. Poor me. And so, we walked and walked and walked--in the rain. It was one of the most beautiful memories for me. Paris in the rain. After a few hours, my husband left and there I was alone, in my new city, with my umbrella and a map. I took off on foot and headed to the nearest cafe, where I had my first French encounter with a cappuccino. It was wonderful. I sat studying my map, sipping my coffee, and having a conversation in my broken French with the very nice young waiter. He was enjoying my exuberance over his city. He pointed me in the direction of the best shopping and away I went. Fearless and wet--in Paris.
When I was in the 6th grade my teacher just happened to also be a Francophile. He taught us, students, some French, which then inspired me to take French as a foreign language for the next 6 years of school. I'll admit that while I mastered the accent, over the years I forgot most of my French. So, fast forward 30 years and drop me smack in the middle of Paris and poor language skills is what you get. I found though that over the next couple of days while sitting in little cafes sipping my cafe cream, I was able to understand what others around me were saying. At first while distractedly trying not to listen I thought they were speaking English. After a few seconds I realized that no, they were speaking French. I was amazed that I could understand some of what they were saying! I then began to try and read street signs, menus, chalkboards, directions and so much more. I was so excited. It helped so much to feel a part of them--my French people!
In the evenings when I would join my husband and his colleagues for dinner I found that I could master the menu, that I could join in some of the conversation and that I could eavesdrop somewhat. It became a game of sorts for me. While most of the dinners were primarily in English for my husband's sake, every once in a while the others would have to speak French among themselves--and I could understand them. It was an exciting feeling for me. Once home I immediately went out and bought some French language CD's to brush up on my French. I was determined that on my next trip--I would be even more prepared. And believe me, I was going to return. And I have many many times.
As my first week in Paris came to a close I hated to leave. However, I was armed with hundreds of photos and lots of souvenirs. I had bought trinkets from all over, I had my memories tucked safely away and I had a huge smile on my face. I would be coming back. And one day--maybe even spend extended periods of time. As in living in Paris for months on end. It's a dream of mine. To split my time between home and Paris. A dream that might not ever come true or maybe it will. Time will tell. I will share a few of my photos that I took on my very first visit.
So, yes, I am a Francophile. And I am proud of it. And I love Paris. In the rain. OK, in any weather.
It's a problem in the sense that sometimes it's all I think about. I love France. I get French magazines delivered to my house. I love all things French and even have French decor sprinkled throughout my home. Don't get me wrong--I truly love all of Europe. Each and every country that I have visited has been unbelievably beautiful. The smells, sights, food, people, rivers, villages and even the sounds are fantastic. Each unique, each fascinating, each charming and each alluring, however--there is France.
And when I am there, nothing compares.
The very first time I ever went to Paris will be a memory forever etched into my brain. It was January, it was raining, it was cold, but it was Paris. Everyone from the flight attendants to the taxi drivers were apologizing for the weather. What I could not express to them were the emotions rolling through me after leaving the airport and seeing Paris for the first time. As we were driving into the city center I was fighting back tears. I was in Paris. The city that I had only dreamed about.
Paris. It's only a word, a name, a place and yet from the moment my feet touched the earth, I felt at home. The language although different from mine sounded wonderful. The people were smartly dressed and the food smelled delicious. And that was just in the airport.
We quickly checked into our hotel, grabbed a shower, a short nap and we were ready to explore. We had only a couple of hours before my husband had his first business meeting. It was important to me to get the feel of my new surroundings as I was going to be spending pretty much the next week alone--walking the streets of Paris. Poor me. And so, we walked and walked and walked--in the rain. It was one of the most beautiful memories for me. Paris in the rain. After a few hours, my husband left and there I was alone, in my new city, with my umbrella and a map. I took off on foot and headed to the nearest cafe, where I had my first French encounter with a cappuccino. It was wonderful. I sat studying my map, sipping my coffee, and having a conversation in my broken French with the very nice young waiter. He was enjoying my exuberance over his city. He pointed me in the direction of the best shopping and away I went. Fearless and wet--in Paris.
When I was in the 6th grade my teacher just happened to also be a Francophile. He taught us, students, some French, which then inspired me to take French as a foreign language for the next 6 years of school. I'll admit that while I mastered the accent, over the years I forgot most of my French. So, fast forward 30 years and drop me smack in the middle of Paris and poor language skills is what you get. I found though that over the next couple of days while sitting in little cafes sipping my cafe cream, I was able to understand what others around me were saying. At first while distractedly trying not to listen I thought they were speaking English. After a few seconds I realized that no, they were speaking French. I was amazed that I could understand some of what they were saying! I then began to try and read street signs, menus, chalkboards, directions and so much more. I was so excited. It helped so much to feel a part of them--my French people!
In the evenings when I would join my husband and his colleagues for dinner I found that I could master the menu, that I could join in some of the conversation and that I could eavesdrop somewhat. It became a game of sorts for me. While most of the dinners were primarily in English for my husband's sake, every once in a while the others would have to speak French among themselves--and I could understand them. It was an exciting feeling for me. Once home I immediately went out and bought some French language CD's to brush up on my French. I was determined that on my next trip--I would be even more prepared. And believe me, I was going to return. And I have many many times.
As my first week in Paris came to a close I hated to leave. However, I was armed with hundreds of photos and lots of souvenirs. I had bought trinkets from all over, I had my memories tucked safely away and I had a huge smile on my face. I would be coming back. And one day--maybe even spend extended periods of time. As in living in Paris for months on end. It's a dream of mine. To split my time between home and Paris. A dream that might not ever come true or maybe it will. Time will tell. I will share a few of my photos that I took on my very first visit.
So, yes, I am a Francophile. And I am proud of it. And I love Paris. In the rain. OK, in any weather.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Told You
I haven't blogged in a week. I think that's a record for me. I usually always have something to say or a story to tell. But I told you. I get the January Blues and I do get them pretty bad. And even though I've had tons of things going on and even though I've been super busy--deep down inside there in a melancholy feeling that grips me each and every morning.
I have been puzzled for years about this blueness. I wonder why, even when I am busier than ever, why am I saddled with this? I love winter and snow. I have plans galore. I am in a great Bible study. And yet...almost every morning that I wake up in the morning during the month of January--I feel blue.
I refuse to call it what it most likely is. Most likely it is short term depression brought about by the fact that the holiday adrenalin rush is over. The frenzied shopping, the meal planning, the grandkid seeing, the wrapping of gifts--it's over for an entire year. And I hate that. So each morning I wake up to the realization that Christmas is not for another year. Sad. I'm sad.
It's true. I haven't written for an entire week. I'm trying hard to think of stories from my past to write about. I want my children and grandchildren to have this blog to refer to long after I am gone. And yet...even though I sit and ponder those stories I don't have the drive to write about them.
I'll be patient though. I'll wait until the mood strikes me, kind of like now--as I sit here and write about not writing. That's the dumbest thing I've ever said. Or written. Oh well. I told you. And now I'm going to pin on Pinterest. If you don't know don't ask. It's my newest addiction. At least I'm honest.
I have been puzzled for years about this blueness. I wonder why, even when I am busier than ever, why am I saddled with this? I love winter and snow. I have plans galore. I am in a great Bible study. And yet...almost every morning that I wake up in the morning during the month of January--I feel blue.
I refuse to call it what it most likely is. Most likely it is short term depression brought about by the fact that the holiday adrenalin rush is over. The frenzied shopping, the meal planning, the grandkid seeing, the wrapping of gifts--it's over for an entire year. And I hate that. So each morning I wake up to the realization that Christmas is not for another year. Sad. I'm sad.
It's true. I haven't written for an entire week. I'm trying hard to think of stories from my past to write about. I want my children and grandchildren to have this blog to refer to long after I am gone. And yet...even though I sit and ponder those stories I don't have the drive to write about them.
I'll be patient though. I'll wait until the mood strikes me, kind of like now--as I sit here and write about not writing. That's the dumbest thing I've ever said. Or written. Oh well. I told you. And now I'm going to pin on Pinterest. If you don't know don't ask. It's my newest addiction. At least I'm honest.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Snow Day
It's supposed to snow tomorrow. Supposed to. That's what the forecast is--snow. And lots of it. We could have anywhere from 6 to 8 inches. Now I know that I said I get the January Blues, but did I also mention that I get the Snow Adrenaline Rushes? I do. I love snow.
To me, there is nothing better than going to sleep one night and then waking up the next morning to the quiet loveliness of snow. Nothing is more beautiful. It blankets everything that is ugly and brown and barren. It turns everything white and fluffy and clean. And things stand out in the snow--birds, squirrels, chipmunks, and raccoons can easily be seen.
I love watching people walk and play in the snow too. Kids love playing in it--no matter how cold. Couples love walking in it--usually holding hands. You can sit inside warm coffee houses just people watching. And in my little town, all the trees have mini lights still twisted through their branches left over from Christmas. Everything is twinkly and festive. I hope they keep those lights up for at least a couple of months. It's going to be winter again, and I love it.
These past few months we have had unseasonably warm weather. Everyone here seems thrilled--I am not. I like the 4 distinct seasons that we normally have. I want crisp fall days and cold winter nights. I want leaves on the ground in autumn and snow on the ground in winter.
It was 50 degrees out today. Yes, I will admit I loved it. I walked downtown with a friend and we sat in Starbucks for 2 hours chatting away. The sun was warm, the birds were chirping--but, where, oh where, was my snow? 50 degrees in January? No thank you!
Tomorrow though, it will be a different story. Tomorrow it will snow, and snow, and snow. Tomorrow, I will sit inside by the fire and watch from my window facing the river. I don't think I'll go out tomorrow. I think I'll stay home and make soup and enjoy the snow that is finally coming. After all, it's January, it's winter, it's supposed to be cold and snowing. So, I will enjoy the next several days. I will watch my little critters play and I'll sit by the fire and read. Maybe I'll clean out a closet or do something else useful. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll just take time out to watch the snow fall. Maybe.
To me, there is nothing better than going to sleep one night and then waking up the next morning to the quiet loveliness of snow. Nothing is more beautiful. It blankets everything that is ugly and brown and barren. It turns everything white and fluffy and clean. And things stand out in the snow--birds, squirrels, chipmunks, and raccoons can easily be seen.
I love watching people walk and play in the snow too. Kids love playing in it--no matter how cold. Couples love walking in it--usually holding hands. You can sit inside warm coffee houses just people watching. And in my little town, all the trees have mini lights still twisted through their branches left over from Christmas. Everything is twinkly and festive. I hope they keep those lights up for at least a couple of months. It's going to be winter again, and I love it.
These past few months we have had unseasonably warm weather. Everyone here seems thrilled--I am not. I like the 4 distinct seasons that we normally have. I want crisp fall days and cold winter nights. I want leaves on the ground in autumn and snow on the ground in winter.
It was 50 degrees out today. Yes, I will admit I loved it. I walked downtown with a friend and we sat in Starbucks for 2 hours chatting away. The sun was warm, the birds were chirping--but, where, oh where, was my snow? 50 degrees in January? No thank you!
Tomorrow though, it will be a different story. Tomorrow it will snow, and snow, and snow. Tomorrow, I will sit inside by the fire and watch from my window facing the river. I don't think I'll go out tomorrow. I think I'll stay home and make soup and enjoy the snow that is finally coming. After all, it's January, it's winter, it's supposed to be cold and snowing. So, I will enjoy the next several days. I will watch my little critters play and I'll sit by the fire and read. Maybe I'll clean out a closet or do something else useful. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll just take time out to watch the snow fall. Maybe.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Farm Fun
I think it's true what they say. They say that you can feel weather changes coming in your joints. They say that if you've ever broken a bone or if you have arthritis you can tell when a storm is coming. That's what they say and I am inclined to believe them.
A couple of years ago I had an incident. It was embarrassing at the time but it's a story worth telling--at least to me. I want my grandson to hear about this, just in case he doesn't remember what happened when he grows up. It's funny how many of these past accounts are written for them--my grandchildren. I didn't see that coming at the beginning of my blogging life, but it's how it turned out, and I'm OK with that.
We were still living in Ohio at the time, my daughter and her family had come to visit during the month of August. It was warm and sunny and we had lots of fun things planned. One of those being a trip to a farm. They held a big once a year event and we were all excited as we walked through little craft tents, had lunch, did a little wine tasting, watched cows being milked, dogs herding sheep--lots of family entertainment.
It happened at the dog herding event. We all love dogs and I am especially fond of herding dogs. There we were watching that cute little dog herding all those sheep up and down the arena, back and forth. He was amazing. He listened to every whistle and watched every hand signal, never missing a beat. When it was over we stood up on the bleachers and began to all file down. I, however, missed the last step.
Now here is where the story is seen through my eyes, as I was laying on the ground in the dirt. I am sure that it might be a little different from the eyes of those standing around me wondering--why on earth wasn't I just getting up? However, as I stood up to walk down the bleacher steps and got to the very last one that was truly only about 6 inches off the ground, my foot literally wrapped itself around the bottom step and I fell. As I was falling I heard or felt a snap in my ankle. The pain wasn't what laid me out though. As I laid there in the dirt on the ground I went into a semi-shock state. It was the strangest thing. My family was around me trying to sit me up but every time I moved my head and tried to sit up I felt sick to my stomach, so I stayed there looking foolish just laying in the dirt. My ankle immediately began to swell. I could not focus on the faces of my family. I could hear them taking but their voices kept fading in and out. And I had to view everything through tunnel vision. I remember being very concerned about how all this was affecting my grandchildren, I didn't want them to be afraid--all this was going through my brain as I laid there on the ground in the dirt.
My husband and daughter were conferring, my son-in-law had taken the grandchildren as far away as possible, the park officials were standing around looking bewildered and there I lay. Finally, they asked--can you walk to the car? Can you make it to this little golf cart? I kept shaking my head no. And the final question--do you need an ambulance? And then I nodded yes. I guess they knew something was wrong at that point because the next thing I knew I was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. The attendants were extremely nice and stuck with me throughout the ordeal right up until I was seen by a doctor in the ER. I do remember one of them running interference and not letting the nurse triage me out into a waiting area. The EMT insisted that I be seen right away because I had been given morphine. Did I mention that I love morphine? I do.
After the comfort of a soft gurney (it was better than laying in the dirt on the ground) I was given even more morphine and taken to x-ray. There they discovered that I had broken a bone in my foot. Snap! I was given an awesome air cast, some not so awesome crutches, and lots more medication. And after just a few hours I was sent home.
I couldn't wait to see my grandchildren and explain to them that I was just fine. That grandma was OK. Also, I wanted to sport that new air cast. I settled onto the sofa with my family sitting around me. And then my little grandson who was 7 or 8 at the time asked me if he could sit on the sofa with me. Of course, I said yes--pain or no pain, also remember I was heavily medicated. He carefully settled onto one end of the couch and very carefully lifted my foot to rest on his lap. And there we sat or rather he sat, I reclined. His father was nervous at first that he was going to hurt me, but within seconds we could all see the gentleness on the face of that sweet little boy. I think he and I sat that way for hours. At least I hope we did. It was the best.
It took weeks for that foot to heal up and months for the pain to subside. Even now on cold winter days, it will ache. So, I believe what they say. I can feel the weather in my foot. Oh yes, I can. I eventually went from air cast and crutches to a cane. My little granddaughter loved that cane! She was known to grab it from the umbrella stand and start doing a 2 step around my living room.
It was all worth it though--breaking my foot. Because I can close my eyes and still see my sweet little grandson sitting on the end of my sofa with him gently cradling my foot in his lap, with the most tender look on his face. I wonder what he'll be when he grows up. Him with his tender heart.
It was such a silly fall really. Inches off the ground and I fall. Who does that? I guess I do.
A couple of years ago I had an incident. It was embarrassing at the time but it's a story worth telling--at least to me. I want my grandson to hear about this, just in case he doesn't remember what happened when he grows up. It's funny how many of these past accounts are written for them--my grandchildren. I didn't see that coming at the beginning of my blogging life, but it's how it turned out, and I'm OK with that.
We were still living in Ohio at the time, my daughter and her family had come to visit during the month of August. It was warm and sunny and we had lots of fun things planned. One of those being a trip to a farm. They held a big once a year event and we were all excited as we walked through little craft tents, had lunch, did a little wine tasting, watched cows being milked, dogs herding sheep--lots of family entertainment.
It happened at the dog herding event. We all love dogs and I am especially fond of herding dogs. There we were watching that cute little dog herding all those sheep up and down the arena, back and forth. He was amazing. He listened to every whistle and watched every hand signal, never missing a beat. When it was over we stood up on the bleachers and began to all file down. I, however, missed the last step.
Now here is where the story is seen through my eyes, as I was laying on the ground in the dirt. I am sure that it might be a little different from the eyes of those standing around me wondering--why on earth wasn't I just getting up? However, as I stood up to walk down the bleacher steps and got to the very last one that was truly only about 6 inches off the ground, my foot literally wrapped itself around the bottom step and I fell. As I was falling I heard or felt a snap in my ankle. The pain wasn't what laid me out though. As I laid there in the dirt on the ground I went into a semi-shock state. It was the strangest thing. My family was around me trying to sit me up but every time I moved my head and tried to sit up I felt sick to my stomach, so I stayed there looking foolish just laying in the dirt. My ankle immediately began to swell. I could not focus on the faces of my family. I could hear them taking but their voices kept fading in and out. And I had to view everything through tunnel vision. I remember being very concerned about how all this was affecting my grandchildren, I didn't want them to be afraid--all this was going through my brain as I laid there on the ground in the dirt.
My husband and daughter were conferring, my son-in-law had taken the grandchildren as far away as possible, the park officials were standing around looking bewildered and there I lay. Finally, they asked--can you walk to the car? Can you make it to this little golf cart? I kept shaking my head no. And the final question--do you need an ambulance? And then I nodded yes. I guess they knew something was wrong at that point because the next thing I knew I was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. The attendants were extremely nice and stuck with me throughout the ordeal right up until I was seen by a doctor in the ER. I do remember one of them running interference and not letting the nurse triage me out into a waiting area. The EMT insisted that I be seen right away because I had been given morphine. Did I mention that I love morphine? I do.
After the comfort of a soft gurney (it was better than laying in the dirt on the ground) I was given even more morphine and taken to x-ray. There they discovered that I had broken a bone in my foot. Snap! I was given an awesome air cast, some not so awesome crutches, and lots more medication. And after just a few hours I was sent home.
I couldn't wait to see my grandchildren and explain to them that I was just fine. That grandma was OK. Also, I wanted to sport that new air cast. I settled onto the sofa with my family sitting around me. And then my little grandson who was 7 or 8 at the time asked me if he could sit on the sofa with me. Of course, I said yes--pain or no pain, also remember I was heavily medicated. He carefully settled onto one end of the couch and very carefully lifted my foot to rest on his lap. And there we sat or rather he sat, I reclined. His father was nervous at first that he was going to hurt me, but within seconds we could all see the gentleness on the face of that sweet little boy. I think he and I sat that way for hours. At least I hope we did. It was the best.
It took weeks for that foot to heal up and months for the pain to subside. Even now on cold winter days, it will ache. So, I believe what they say. I can feel the weather in my foot. Oh yes, I can. I eventually went from air cast and crutches to a cane. My little granddaughter loved that cane! She was known to grab it from the umbrella stand and start doing a 2 step around my living room.
It was all worth it though--breaking my foot. Because I can close my eyes and still see my sweet little grandson sitting on the end of my sofa with him gently cradling my foot in his lap, with the most tender look on his face. I wonder what he'll be when he grows up. Him with his tender heart.
It was such a silly fall really. Inches off the ground and I fall. Who does that? I guess I do.
 |
| Watching dog-herding one minute |
 |
| broken foot the next |
 |
| loved this walking cast |
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
January Blues
I have a secret. I get them. January Blues--that's what I call them. Christmas done, gifts done, kids and grandkids done. All that's left is loneliness. I know. It sounds morose and selfish and all things negative. What happened to the optimist? That's what I'd like to know. Where is she, where has she gone? Why isn't she here making me feel better? Instead, I begin to think of things that are bothersome. Things like--dark winter sunless days, my husband going back to work, nothing to shop for, no reason (in their minds only) to get together with family, nowhere to go, nothing fun going on. So, I sit contemplating life. The un-sweet part. And I don't like it, not one little bit. I hate January and what it does to me. It turns me into someone whom I don't even recognize. And that scares me.
This morning I found myself rereading my past blogs and I came upon the one entitled Lifetimes and began to cry. Just a little, just a few tears, but it upset my husband. He wanted to know why I was crying and it was so hard to explain. What do I say? That I'm watching my life slip through my fingers? That I miss my family so much it hurts? That I wish that we had tons of plans for the month of January so that I didn't have to face this awful month alone? Is that what I tell him? But no. It isn't what I said to him at all. I reassured him that I was just in an emotional spot and that everything was fine. I lied.
I think what I need to do is plan some things. I need to get them on the calendar now before it's too late. Just for the month of January--February is fine, I've got lots going on in February. There's our anniversary, Valentine's Day, and 2 upcoming trips--lots of fun! March is even better. It's just this month--I've got to fix it--all by myself, I've just got to. I'll need to email friends and make some lunch dates, Bible study started up again today--that helps a lot. I'll need to plan some shopping trips and maybe a party or two. Ok, I'm feeling better now. Much better. Stupid January--it gets me every year. You would think I'd be a little wiser, a little more heads up. However, I think the rush of adrenaline that comes from all things Christmas trips me up a bit.
So, I'm going to sit here in my cozy brown leather rocking chair and I'm going to pray. I'm going to ask God to take the gloominess away--to please make January a little more sunny, a little less cloudy. Everything looks better in the sun, right? I think that praying along with planning just might fix my January Blues. At least I hope so.
Today in Bible study we talked about the word Testament and how it meant covenant. That started my little brain working overtime. Because covenant to me means promise and promise to me means hope and hope to me means faith and that comes right back to me having faith. Or not. Do I have enough? I only need my faith to be the size of a mustard seed. A tiny little seed, a tiny speck of faith--that's all I need and maybe just maybe this January will be OK. I'll have to pray about this. I'll have to trust in the promise of my God to make everything OK. He always does, why don't I remember that? Especially this month? Why am I so dense?
I'm so grateful that He is my Father and that He created me and that He understands what I am feeling. I am so thankful that He is patient with me and that He gives me time to figure these things out.
January Blues--maybe they are just God's way of getting my attention. Maybe He just wants the focus of last year to be on Him this year. He certainly has my attention now.
This morning I found myself rereading my past blogs and I came upon the one entitled Lifetimes and began to cry. Just a little, just a few tears, but it upset my husband. He wanted to know why I was crying and it was so hard to explain. What do I say? That I'm watching my life slip through my fingers? That I miss my family so much it hurts? That I wish that we had tons of plans for the month of January so that I didn't have to face this awful month alone? Is that what I tell him? But no. It isn't what I said to him at all. I reassured him that I was just in an emotional spot and that everything was fine. I lied.
I think what I need to do is plan some things. I need to get them on the calendar now before it's too late. Just for the month of January--February is fine, I've got lots going on in February. There's our anniversary, Valentine's Day, and 2 upcoming trips--lots of fun! March is even better. It's just this month--I've got to fix it--all by myself, I've just got to. I'll need to email friends and make some lunch dates, Bible study started up again today--that helps a lot. I'll need to plan some shopping trips and maybe a party or two. Ok, I'm feeling better now. Much better. Stupid January--it gets me every year. You would think I'd be a little wiser, a little more heads up. However, I think the rush of adrenaline that comes from all things Christmas trips me up a bit.
So, I'm going to sit here in my cozy brown leather rocking chair and I'm going to pray. I'm going to ask God to take the gloominess away--to please make January a little more sunny, a little less cloudy. Everything looks better in the sun, right? I think that praying along with planning just might fix my January Blues. At least I hope so.
Today in Bible study we talked about the word Testament and how it meant covenant. That started my little brain working overtime. Because covenant to me means promise and promise to me means hope and hope to me means faith and that comes right back to me having faith. Or not. Do I have enough? I only need my faith to be the size of a mustard seed. A tiny little seed, a tiny speck of faith--that's all I need and maybe just maybe this January will be OK. I'll have to pray about this. I'll have to trust in the promise of my God to make everything OK. He always does, why don't I remember that? Especially this month? Why am I so dense?
I'm so grateful that He is my Father and that He created me and that He understands what I am feeling. I am so thankful that He is patient with me and that He gives me time to figure these things out.
January Blues--maybe they are just God's way of getting my attention. Maybe He just wants the focus of last year to be on Him this year. He certainly has my attention now.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
New Years Resolutions
I've never given much thought to New Year's resolutions. The whole idea seems a little silly to me. Making promises that you'll never keep, talking about things you'll never do--I don't know, it just seems like a waste of time. Besides--I don't like failing, and the whole idea seems like a setup.
But then, I started thinking about the whole concept and a plan began to formulate. What if I blog about the things I'd like to achieve this year and then the fact that it's actually out there in bloggerland--well, just maybe I'll get off my rear-end and do something. I'll make promises and vows and agreements and I'll have to keep them or at least try or I'll look like an idiot. An idiot who is also a failure. Ouch.
So, here is my list of resolutions for the year of 2012--
I will take off another 15 pounds--oh, yes I will.
I will fly out to California to visit my parents.
I will shop more and buy less--I promise.
I will exercise more--even if it's just another 15 minutes on the treadmill.
I will try really hard to get even more personal in my blog.
I will try to go back to Europe--I need to save up for that.
I will try to get my bathroom remodeled this year--it's really ugly.
I will plant even more flowers this spring and then water them this summer.
I will try to throw more parties--and go out to lunch more often.
I will try to be more flexible and not so thin skinned.
I will try to sit on my deck facing the river more often.
I will try not to cry when I leave my grandchildren--I am getting better at hiding it.
I will try to watch less TV--no, forget that one.
And lastly but most importantly--I will pray more and try so hard to be the woman that God has called me to be. I will listen harder and talk less. I promise.
So these are some of the commitments I am making to myself. They are out there now for all to see. I am committed to making them happen. However, please notice that I said try--and that's an important word in this little scenario. Try. I wonder if in a year from now I will laugh at myself for being such a simpleton or will I smile and be proud of my accomplishments? I wonder--will I really lose 15 more pounds? Will my bathroom ever get done? Will I have yet more pictures of Europe to share?
Only time will tell and I've only got a year so I better get crackin'.
But then, I started thinking about the whole concept and a plan began to formulate. What if I blog about the things I'd like to achieve this year and then the fact that it's actually out there in bloggerland--well, just maybe I'll get off my rear-end and do something. I'll make promises and vows and agreements and I'll have to keep them or at least try or I'll look like an idiot. An idiot who is also a failure. Ouch.
So, here is my list of resolutions for the year of 2012--
I will take off another 15 pounds--oh, yes I will.
I will fly out to California to visit my parents.
I will shop more and buy less--I promise.
I will exercise more--even if it's just another 15 minutes on the treadmill.
I will try really hard to get even more personal in my blog.
I will try to go back to Europe--I need to save up for that.
I will try to get my bathroom remodeled this year--it's really ugly.
I will plant even more flowers this spring and then water them this summer.
I will try to throw more parties--and go out to lunch more often.
I will try to be more flexible and not so thin skinned.
I will try to sit on my deck facing the river more often.
I will try not to cry when I leave my grandchildren--I am getting better at hiding it.
I will try to watch less TV--no, forget that one.
And lastly but most importantly--I will pray more and try so hard to be the woman that God has called me to be. I will listen harder and talk less. I promise.
So these are some of the commitments I am making to myself. They are out there now for all to see. I am committed to making them happen. However, please notice that I said try--and that's an important word in this little scenario. Try. I wonder if in a year from now I will laugh at myself for being such a simpleton or will I smile and be proud of my accomplishments? I wonder--will I really lose 15 more pounds? Will my bathroom ever get done? Will I have yet more pictures of Europe to share?
Only time will tell and I've only got a year so I better get crackin'.
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