That is Faith

Hebrews 11:1 & 2

The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It's our handle on what we can't see. The act of faith is what distinguished our ancestors, set them above the crowd.

The word faith means to have complete trust, or a belief, or a confidence in someone.  For me, that someone is God.  He is the only person in whom I have hope and in whom I have complete trust.  I met God, accepted Him into my heart, believed in who He said He was, and then faith (trust, belief, confidence) began to grow within me.  Year by year, experience upon experience.  It does not waver.  That is faith.

The other night, once again, my mind went spiraling out of control as I sat with friends discussing the famous Paul in the Bible.  There are many instances recorded during Biblical times of great men and women of God.  The word faith is used almost 500 times in the Bible depending on which version you read.  That being the case, it seems to me it must be a pretty important aspect of our Christian walk--our faith walk, our foundation, and our very existence.  As we sat talking about Paul's faith in God, I sat there wondering--what about us?  What about now, today, our walk?  Are we or are we not still serving the same God as Paul?  And if so, then why do we question our faith or question what God is doing in our lives?  Why do we sit and wonder--is God using me?  Am I doing His will?  Am I hearing from Him?
To me, faith is fundamental, it is foundational, it should not be questioned.  We, as God's children should walk and do walk in the same faith that Paul walked in.  Some might think that Paul's conversion experience was so fantastic that it cemented his faith in God, it was very strong because of all that God did and all that He showed him.  And I am sure that is true.  However, I think that each one of us had an amazing experience too.  It might not be just like Paul's but it was just as exciting.

I am examining my heart this week.  I am asking God--why am I confident in my faith?  I need to pray about this.  I want to know why--why do I feel so different when I hear others talk about their faith.  Why do I feel so strong?  So confident?  I know that I know that God has complete control over my life--I've given Him that control.  I've surrendered to Him.  He is my God.  Period.  That is where my hope, peace, truth, and assurance come from--complete faith in Him.  Isn't that how it should be?  I trust Him with my family, my friends, my home, and while some might criticize me, others who know me well know that I mean what I say.  Through all that I have endured in this life (and remember, I haven't yet shared all of it with you) I still trust God and have complete faith in Him and His ways.  That is faith.

God uses us all the time.  Do we recognize it?  Do we see Him at work?  Do we even notice Him working in our lives on a daily basis?  Because He is there, He is working, and as He works, our faith increases.  Be open, be aware, ask to be used.

I was just thinking about the numerous times that I've been on some business dinners with my husband and while they are all talking business stuff, I am praying.  I am asking God--who have you sat me next to?  Who should I talk to this time?  I've decided to share a story of what happened on one particular evening.  Please note--this has happened to me on almost even single trip or dinner I have gone on.
At a dinner one night I knew, I just knew that the young man sitting next to me needed to talk.  I didn't know anything about him, I had never before met him.  And yet, there was a connection.  He began the conversation with--what do you do for a living?  I told him that I had gone to school for Psychology.  It was funny in a way, there I was trying to explain to one of my husband's co-workers whom I think was Spanish (although if I remember correctly we were in Belgium) that I volunteered doing crisis therapy.  And, even though there were some language barriers, we managed just fine and after a while, he felt at ease and began to confide in me, we talked for hours, all through dinner, all through dessert.  And before the evening ended I told him that I would be praying for him.  I still pray for him to this day.  Something happened that evening, something changed in the man's heart.  God was at work.  At the beginning, I had a choice.  Do I step out in faith and listen and share and let God minister to him?  Or do I stay quiet?  What would you have done?  Yes, sometimes it's scary, sometimes it's emotional, sometimes it's hard, but all the time God is there with me, right beside me, guiding me, telling me just what to say or do.  Leading me.  And I trust Him.  Completely.  God is ready to use us all the time, He waits patiently for us to listen and then He says GO!  That is faith.

You see--I think I am the kind of person that wakes up in the morning and instead of asking--God?  Are you there?  I yell out--Here I am God!  And with the exuberance of a 6-year-old little girl, I look at Him with anticipation and continue yelling--look at me, look at me.  Look what I just made, or did or discovered!  Look Father--looky what I did!!!  I am determined in my heart to please Him.  To make Him proud of me, to show Him that I love Him.  To jump up and down in pure delight.  Spinning around and around in the sunlight, arms raised high, a smile on my face and a love deep in my heart.  Just like my kids did when they were little.  Look at me mom, look what I just did--mom, mom, mom.  

Faith--it's free-falling while hanging on, all at the same time.  It's holding tightly with utter abandon.  It's a hard concept to convey but a very easy (yes, I just said easy) one to live out.  Maybe it comes from being so young when I met Him--that faith of a child, who curled up on her dad's lap, snuggled in for the duration, sitting in complete and total peace, and safely resting for the first time.  For me, that peace, that faith, that feeling of comfort and assurance--I know that He knows what's best for me, and He has never ever left me nor forsaken me.  That is faith.

I call out, He answers.  I listen for His voice, He speaks.  I trust Him completely, He takes care of me.  Always.  Do I ever doubt Him?  No.  Really?  No, I never do.  Do I always like what He wants me to do or say or go or whatever, no, I do not.  However, I do it anyway.  Sometimes tearfully, sometimes joyfully, sometimes slowly, while stomping my feet and pouting but always, always obediently and in faith.  Believing.  Knowing.  Trusting.  He is after all the great I AM.  And by faith I will serve Him.  He is my God.  He is the same today, yesterday and forever.   Do I trust Him?  Yes, yes I do.  That is faith.

Amigos

I wonder if their memories will be the same as my memories?  As they looked through the viewfinders of their cameras, were they seeing what I saw?  Were they feeling what I felt?  Were they just as excited to see me as I was to see them?

There used to be more of us, maybe 6 or 7, we all lived in the same city, went to the same church, and raised our children together.  In the summertime, we'd take the kids to the local pool, to the cheap afternoon matinees at the movie theater, and then on to McDonald's or Burger King--whichever one had the best kids toy with the happy meal.  We'd have church picnics in the park, and bar-b-ques at each other's houses.  We celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, job promotions, and graduations together.  Yes, those were the good old days.  Before.  Before some of us (as in me) began to move away, and then another and then another.  Our children grew up, things began to change, but we held on, at least some of us did.  Some of them have experienced a divorce, the loss of a child, an almost divorce, a change of religious beliefs and a move across the country--the last one would be me.  Yes, things change, some are good, some not so good.  But change is, well, change is certain, of that we can be sure.

However, throughout the years some of us have tried hard to get together from time to time for dinners, lunches, or just to grab a coffee whenever we can.  It can be difficult though--life is ever changing, and sadly sometimes we tend to get too busy for our old friends.  Some of us try harder than others too, which is heartbreaking for someone like me, who feeds on nostalgia.  When I fly back to California I frantically email, or call trying to set up times to get together with my old friends.  Honestly, they mean the world to me.  We have those types of ties that usually come about only through blood.  But with us it's different--we love each other, pray for each other, hurt for each other, and cry for each other.  Their pain is my pain, their happiness my happiness.  Really, this is true.

So, when 2 of these old friends called and wanted to come for a visit--I was overjoyed!  And that is putting it mildly.  The minute they bought their tickets I began to make plans.  Yes, I am a planner by nature, I am one of those people.  I had just a few days to show them everything--where I lived, including all things historical--where I ate, including all eateries, and where I shopped, including all our many cute boutiques.  And then there is Chicago!  Oh my goodness, we'd need lots of time for that amazing city!  I wanted them to see what my life is like now and I wanted to play tour guide, and I wanted them to love it here as much as I do.  I had to do all this while juggling my exuberant excitement and joy over the fact that 2 of my closest California friends were coming for a visit!  I was thrilled to have them, if even for just a few days.  I think I was almost to the point of hyperventilating, I was that excited!

We began our first day of being together again by touring Chicago.  I wanted them to experience the Metra--our train--that goes into the city.  I love it.  I had also bought tickets for us to go sailing on Lake Michigan--which I left, accidentally (I might add) sitting on the counter at home.  Change of plans--flip flop the days, my husband and I decided instead to show them Macy's on State Street, and Michigan Ave.  You have to see those when visiting Chicago--it's the law.  Walking from Union Station over to Macy's, touring Macy's and then walking across the river on Wacker Dr, and then walking up the Magnificent Mile--well, I was in tour guide heaven.  They, on the other hand, were panting wildly, I don't think they were used to that much walking.  No worries though, there was, fortunately, a coffee stop in our future.  And water, lots of water.  We had lunch that day at the Purple Pig--it's one of my favorites, kind of like an American version of Tapas.  They had never had Tapas before but ate theirs with a smile on their little faces, so I'm thinking that maybe yes, yes, they liked their Tapas.  And other than wearing them ragged, I think they liked Chicago--how could they not, it's beautiful.  Dinner that night was Lou Malnati's deep dish pizza--another law when visiting Chicago--must eat pizza!  It also seemed to bring a smile to their faces.

Day 2--I thought I'd take it easy on them, we'd stay local.  Sleep in, run over to the outlets--that's always fun, right?  And then we'd meander through downtown Naperville.  Strolling.  Slowly.  We had a wonderful lunch that afternoon at Hugo's Frog Bar and a great day visiting and catching up.  I think I wore them out a bit, so I tried hard to slow down--very hard for me, the slowing down thing--very hard.  I'm typically a goer and a doer, I don't sit down unless I am writing (as in right now) or reading.  I am always on the go.  I had to tell myself that I needed to pace myself, or they'd leave and never want to return.  The jury is still out on how well I did with this little endeavor.  The slowing down thing.  We had dinner that night out on a huge patio at Jimmy's Grill.  It's a great place for people watching, and the food isn't too bad either.  All in all a relaxing day--for me anyway.

Day 3--we finally made it to Navy Pier and to our sailboat.  I remembered the tickets!  What a glorious day it turned out to be.  I took awesome pictures of the city and of them too.  We had lunch on the Pier and then went over to the Bean and Millennium Park, we also walked over to the Buckingham fountain, and took more pictures.  One would have thought that I was a tourist right along with them as much as I was taking pictures.  What a day that was--topped off that evening by visiting with one of their old friends from way back before they even knew me!  What a small world.  Friends from childhood had moved to Chicagoland several years ago and they were able to catch up on old times.  It felt good to be the middleman.  And I also discovered that this friends cousins daughter used to babysit for my kids when they were really little--very small world indeed.  And if you can follow that thread of who's who--you're pretty good at this!

For our last day together I planned a day of extreme shopping at the famous (well, at least to us Chicagoland people) Oak Brook Mall.  We shopped, had a wonderful lunch, great conversation and of course coffee.  Later that afternoon it began to hit me that this was our last day.  Tomorrow they'd be going home.  Back to their lives that no longer included me.  Back to husbands and family and to new friends whom I've never met.  I wanted more time.  I wanted them to meet all of my new friends, to go to my church, to be a part of my life as it is now.  However, that wasn't to be.  Time and miles have separated us.  Funny how that happens.  And sad too.

They flew home early the next morning, and as my husband and I went through the house, changing sheets and cleaning up I noticed that we were both a little sad.  We missed our friends.  We wanted them to come back and stay longer.  No, that's not exactly true, what we wanted was for everything to be just like it used to be.  When our kids were little and life was simpler and we were all friends.   However, life goes on, kids grow up, people move away and yet--there is always a way to maintain those old friendships.  They just need to be tended to, nurtured, and remembered.  I hope they always think of me and our times together--old and new.  I hope that when they look at the pictures of their trip, they remember only the fun times and not the blisters on their feet.  I hope they remember the great food and not the heartburn.  I hope they remember the sharing of funny stories from our past and not the sad ones.  I hope they remember that I'll always be here for them even if they'll always be way over there.

You see, these few women--they are and will forever be my sweet amigos.

In the reflection of the Bean

On my back deck

Mexican food!

The 3 amigos

Sailing on Lake Michigan

The wind in our face

Lunch on Navy Pier--Chicago

Our French gift--the Metra sign

Newspaper Article

I woke up at 5:15 am, still a little giddy over this week's newspaper article.  It happened this way.  A few weeks back I received an email from a writer for our local newspaper.  She asked if she could write about my blog.  She wanted to interview me over the phone, so of course, I said yes.  I have to admit, nothing and I mean nothing like this has ever happened to me before.  I have not ever done anything remotely momentous in the respect that someone would actually want to write about it.

I was nervous when she called to interview me.  I was sitting in my big brown leather rocker recliner--rocking quickly back and forth and it seemed to me that I was saying a lot of um's and hmmm, let me think about that for a minute.  I wanted desperately to come across somewhat intelligent, so I thought to myself if I take my time answering these questions, I just might do an OK job.  I spoke slowly and deliberately and within 20 minutes or so we were finished.

She asked me some basic questions and also some harder ones, some thinker questions.  For example, she asked me what was your favorite blog?  My favorite blog?  For me, that would be like trying to pick a favorite kid!  However, one particular blog did pop into my mind.  The one called My Real Dad.  Out of all the blogs I have posted, that piece has my total heart.  It captures the very essence of who I truly am.  And it still brings tears to my eyes when I read it.

She also asked me why I had started writing a blog in the first place.  Well, that was also a little hard to answer.  Why did I start writing?  Hmmm, I said--I guess I wanted to unlock memories.  I wanted my children and grandchildren to have what I do not.  Knowledge.  I wanted them to intimately know me as a woman, a person, a friend, and not just as a mom or grandmother.

My husband is over the top excited immediately wanted to take pictures of me out on our back deck, as a recent picture was needed of me for the article.  He came armed with cameras and lenses and tripods, and he actually took some pretty good photos (despite the true fact that I am the complete opposite of photogenic) one of which I used to email to her for the article.

And then a couple of nights ago as my husband walked in the door after walking our dog--with a big grin on his face he said--guess what one of our neighbors gave me?  Your blog is in the paper!

I do not believe it was until that very moment that I realized that people, actual real live people, like neighbors and friends, were going to be able to see a picture of me and read an article about my blog in the newspaper and that those newspapers would be delivered to their homes!  I stood there a little bit shell-shocked.  And, little did I know that my friends and neighbors with whom we were going to be with that evening had all read the article and had saved their copies for me to keep.  My friends are all very supportive, which makes me feel awesome!

Yes, this has been a very good week.  What a wonderful experience this has been for me.  I have stepped out of my comfort zone to share my life with my family and friends and what a true blessing it has been to be able to write and know that somewhere people are reading my blog and enjoying it.  It makes me so happy.  I am encouraged to keep on writing--about the silly and the serious, about the memories and the present, about the sometimes sad and the oh so sweet times--which is all about my life.  Thank you for reading my blog.

Shamping

Camping plus shopping equals shamping.  Easy enough to figure out, right?  This was a word made up by my closest friends, it was used to describe me.  I'm a shamper.  Sweet!  And I'm proud of it.

I didn't grow up camping.  My parent's idea of camping was staying in an inexpensive hotel.  So, what is the first thing that one wants to try once moved out of their parents home?  Why--the very thing they have never ever been able to do before.  I had no clue what I was getting myself into that first time around.  We needed everything according to my husband--the expert camper.  He'd had experience!  He grew up camping.  He said that we would need a tent, a stove, an ice chest, and sleeping bags--can't forget those.  And of course, we needed lots of other stuff too.

I had fun running around the camping department of whatever outdoors store we were in.  I can't remember the name of that place but it had everything--things I didn't even know I needed.  But, I wanted it all.  Sometimes I just wanted it because it was so cute and little.  Camping stuff is tiny.  It's so cute. Anyway, we bought the necessities and off we went--2 nights of sleeping in a tent on the ground, of cooking over a tiny little stove, of freezing my behind off, of swatting away bugs, and the worst part--gross public restrooms and shower stalls.  Camping--in one 2 day weekend became a this isn't going to ever happen again experience for me.  At least not the way that the first weekend went.  No.  Not that way, not ever again.

I was bound and determined to make camping my own.  Yes, I would own it.  I went back to the camping store and with my list of must-have amenities--I went shopping.  Here are a few things that I purchased that day.  First off--air mattresses, then a heater for our tent, and how about a blow dryer that plugs into a car cigarette lighter, and of course a butane curling iron.  Paper plates followed (who wants to wash all those crusty dishes?) along with a solar shower, for those campsites that did not provide nice showers.  And how can I forget the best thing ever?  A drip coffee maker that used a cone that flowed right into a cute little coffee pot.  Now everything was going to be better, right?

Wrong.  I now wanted a recreational vehicle.  I'd seen one on the freeway--and soon it was going to be mine.  It was just a matter of time!  And yes, just a few short years later I snagged one.  It was really cute and tiny.  Did I mention tiny?  We were by then a family of 5, and my new little travel trailer was only 19 feet long.  The word sardine pops into my head.  We only kept it for a couple of years.  I actually sold it for quite a profit--I had done some interior decorating on that little thing--made it cute as a button!  It was a must have for all the camping moms.

Enter camping vehicle number 2--an older version of number 1, but 24 feet long.  Believe me, that extra 5 feet made all the difference in the world.  5 feet of heaven.  It had an apartment sized refrigerator, a little oven, a shower and a queen size bed.  Mama was happy!  There was now room for all 5 of us.  Kind of, sort of.  Well, at least when it was raining outside.  Otherwise, in good weather, the kids slept in their very own tents!  Yay.  They were getting to be such big kids by now, they were so responsible, they were growing up, they were so trustworthy--and mama wanted more space.

We camped from Canada to Mexico, from along the Pacific Ocean up to the Sierra Nevada mountains.  We went a lot.  We took our family vacations in that little trailer and made many family memories.  With 3 children in private school and me being a stay at home mom, well, it was what was affordable for our little family.

So where does the shamping word come in?   I blame it on Lake Tahoe.  How can one go camping at Lake Tahoe and not drive into the quaint little towns along the shore and not stop at the cute boutiques?  For some reason my friend's husbands thought that camping meant--you go to the campsite, set up camp, build a fire and plant yourself for the duration.  Well, I put a stop to that.  There were shops just up the road, with coffee, real coffee, and pastries!  Thus, I became the shamping queen.  It had already been decided that I was the shopping queen years before.  And now since  I had acquired all the camping paraphernalia know to man--you add them together and voila!   You get me.

I haven't shamped now in about 10 years.  I can't say as I really miss it.  We sold our RV when we moved to the Midwest, our kids grew up and moved out.  And times have changed--we now have extra money.  OK, so hotels it is--nice hotels at that.  However, there are those days when I look back at my old photos of our wonderfully goofy vacations and I do miss something--yes, I miss the memories.  I miss my kids being little and having to wash them up at night before tucking them into their sleeping bags.  I miss hiking through the woods and yelling out be careful there's poison ivy around here.  I miss ordering pizza from my cell phone and having it delivered to my campsite just to get a laugh.  I miss sitting around the campfire with my friends and singing while holding my kids on my lap.  I miss those days.

Yes, I guess I do miss shamping after all.  What sweet memories I've been blessed with.

Motorcycle Man

He walked in on a Sunday morning.  Right down the center aisle.  He wore black leathers, a huge knife on his side and chains.  Big chains.  We all looked, no, we gaped at him as he walked in.  He was all alone.  Thankfully.  We could take him if we had to, honestly, that thought crossed my mind as the motorcycle man walked into our conservative little church that morning.

He went right up front and sat in the center row.  Right smack in the middle of the front of the church!  I don't think anyone was more shocked than our pastor.  And what he did next has impacted my life ever since.  He looked right at this man and with the kindest eyes I've ever seen, and asked him--what's your name sir?  Motorcycle man replied in a very snarly sounding voice (hey, it sounded snarly to me) it's Dave, just Dave.  Our pastor then said--well, hello Just Dave.  And then proceeded to talk the rest of the sermon to Just Dave.  That morning as far as our pastor was concerned, Just Dave was the only person in the room.

Yes, it was an interesting morning, to be sure.  I spent more time looking at motorcycle man than listening to our pastor preach.  I was fascinated by the fact that motorcycle man had the guts to walk right into our little church and sit right down just as if he belonged.  Just as if he belonged.  And then it hit me, he did belong.  He had just as much a right to be there as I did.  Even more so really, you see, I was already a follower of Christ--a believer, and he was coming in to meet Him for the very first time.  As I sat there putting these puzzling facts together in my simple-minded way, I had an epiphany.  This was what church was supposed to be about.  Exactly this!

As our pastor was preaching that morning I envisioned Jesus sitting there beckoning the unbeliever to come to Him, to hear Him out, to learn what this God thing was all about.  To experience forgiveness and love and acceptance.  And then I wondered--could I be like that?  Could I love, accept, and forgive someone like Just Dave?  Did I think I was better than him?  I needed God to tell me, to show me how I could be more like Jesus because at that very moment I realized--I was nothing like Him.  Nothing like the very Jesus I claimed to love and serve.

I got my answers that morning.  As I sat there with tears flowing down my face I began to pray for Just Dave.  I prayed that he would come to know God like I know God.  That he would see Him as his father, his savior, his friend.  I prayed that he would realize that his very life depended on it.  Yes, that morning I prayed for a biker, whom I had never met before.  I prayed for him as if he were my very own brother.  I guess because, in reality, he was.

And if you are wondering whatever happened to our motorcycle man, well, he did over time become a Christian.  He came back to church every Sunday morning, and with him came his friends.  I type this with a smile because talk about shaking up a stiff-necked church full of watered down believers!  Just Dave didn't know it at the time, but God had great plans for him.  He would eventually begin a ministry to bikers just like him.  And every so often Just Dave would stop by our little church and give us updates on all that God was doing in and amongst others just like him.  It was awesome to hear him talk and share about the miracles and changes that were going on in the lives of his friends.  He touched our hearts in a way no other biker could.

I never realized at the time just how brave he was.  To walk into a church full of hypocrites, myself included, was a daring thing to do.  I learned that day that church wasn't just for me--it really was for people like "Just Dave".  That my friend is what church really is all about.

Thank you, Just Dave, for teaching me that life lesson early on in my walk with God and for changing my perspective on people who are a little bit different from me.  I still pray for you Just Dave, and I pray for the lives of others that you touch for God.  And I hope that you can forgive me for prejudging you the way I did all those many years ago.

Europe From My Eyes

My husband has asked me to do something just a little bit different.  He wanted me to post a blog in pictures.  I now have approximately 17, 000 pictures on my laptop.  Not all of them are of Europe of course, however, a lot of them are--I'll admit to that.  So, here are some of my favorite photos.  I have not included all of the countries that I have traveled too, but most are here, in some fashion.  I took some for the colors, some for the people, some for the architecture and I took some just for the emotions that swelled up within me.  I have taken most of these pictures over the last 10 years, they are all my own work, they are in effect Europe from my eyes.  Some I have hanging on the walls of my home.  When I look at them my heart is immediately sent back in time.  I hope you like them too.

                                                               

Paris, France

                                                         

English countryside

Venice, Italy

                                                                   

Venice, Italy

                                   
                                                               

Venice, Italy

                                                           

Brussels, Belgium

                                                             

Bruges, Belgium

                                                               

Bruges, Belgium

                                                             

Bruges, Belgium

                                                             

Brussels, Belgium

                                                             

Warwick, England

                                                             

Barcelona, Spain

                                                           

Costa Brava, Spain

                                                             

Barcelona, Spain

                                                             

Honfleur, France

                                                             

Deauville, France

                                                           

Lake Como, Italy

                                                       

Nuremberg, Germany

                                                             

Nuremberg, Germany

                                                           

Nuremberg, Germany

                                                               

Barcelona, Spain

                                                               

Pals, Spain

                                                                 

Brussels, Belgium

                                                             

Brussels, Belgium

                                                             

Lake Como, Italy

                                                                      Rome, Italy

Rome, Italy

                                                                 

Rome, Italy

                                                                 

Rome, Italy

                                                                   

Capri, Italy

                                                                     

Capri, Italy

                                                                 

Capri, Italy

                                                             

Sorrento, Italy

                                                               

Positano italy

                                                                 

Amalfi, Italy

                                                               

Amalfi, Italy

                                                                 

Florence, Italy

                                                                 

Florence, Italy

                                                                 

Paris, France

                                                                   

Paris, France