This year, this very special year, our family received a gift unlike any other. And we might never get a gift like this again, or we might — we just don't know yet. You see, our youngest son and his wife got a phone call just days before Christmas. They have been waiting for this particular call for a while now. Actually, since their son was 6 months old. And then it came, a simple yet life-changing phone call, one stating that their little baby girl was ready to be picked up! They had been chosen by the birth mother to raise this little tiny baby. They had some paperwork to fill out, and then she'd be theirs. Yes, a her, a girl. She is beautiful, perfect, and adorable. And since they have a new daughter, we have a new granddaughter — that is 6 grandchildren for us! We are so excited and happy for them and for us!
Shortly after they married, we knew that our son and daughter-in-law were talking about adopting. When the time came for them to start a family, they filled out all the necessary forms and waited and waited and waited until one day, our daughter-in-law found out she was pregnant. We were all so happy, however, that meant putting off adopting for a time.
Their little boy is now almost 2 years old, so the timing of this new baby is perfect in every way. For one thing, she is a little Christmas baby, a gift. For another, she has my maternal grandmother's name, given to her by her birth mother. And she was a special gift just for my son, who turned 30 a few days ago. So you see, this was meant to be. In fact, the minute I heard her name, I knew that she belonged to our family. She couldn't have more wonderful parents, who already love her deeply. And her grandparents love her and think she is pretty awesome, too!
She is now 2 weeks old. Our sweet little granddaughter, number 6. I can't wait to see her again, rock her, hold her. I really hope that she doesn't grow too much. I want her to stay little for a very long time. I love this baby stage, so tiny and cuddly.
Yes, we had an exciting Christmas this year. Along with all the fun, presents, and family, we all got a new baby. Merry Christmas to us! And thank you, God, for letting us have her as a part of our family. We promise to always protect her, always love her, and always show her your ways.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
A Little Christmas Humor
Oh, come on. I have to share this. We all need a little laugh, especially around the holidays. And believe me, our Christmases are always jam-packed full of fun, laughter, a little crazy, and a whole lot of nuttiness. It's what makes us, us. And I love it that way. I actually have 2 stories to tell this year. One very heartwarming and poignant. The other, well, the other story is just plain funny.
I am going to share the funny one for this blog. The other story will come in a couple of days. We are at our oldest son's house for Christmas this year. Our youngest son lives just 20 miles away. So we are able to spend time with both of our sons and their families; however, our daughter is in California this year with her in-laws, and we sure do miss her.
I never know what to expect while visiting my children. I don't know where we will be going, what we will be doing, or who we will be with, but we are always willing and ready to go. We love seeing, going, doing, having fun, and are always up for just about anything! That's just who we are. Crazy, nutty, fun.
Our plans always end up flowing into our sons' plans--we all got together on Christmas Eve morning for brunch (which, by the way, was cooked by my oldest son), and then we opened our gifts. Our 4 little grandchildren (normally there would be 6) were very excited to open their gifts from grandma and grandpa, and in turn, grandma and grandpa received some pretty awesome presents themselves. Our children never disappoint, always giving us such beautiful and thoughtful gifts. They more often than not bring tears to our eyes--at least to mine anyway. Grandma crybaby.
Afterward, it was time for the little ones to take their naps, so my husband and I ran to the store for some last-minute groceries. Later that evening, we went to church with our oldest son and his family. It's a whole new world--going to church with a 1 1/2-year-old and a 3 1/2-year-old. Some of the funniest quotes ever are spoken during Christmas Eve candlelight services, even though it is meant to be a solemn, quiet time, full of softly sung carols, communion, and reflection. For instance, said loudly by my 3 1/2-year-old granddaughter, "Grandma (shaking her candle hard), why aren't these things turning on?" Now, how could I not laugh a little at that funny question?
Also, I must add here that the guest speaker was my son's father-in-law, who is also my 1 1/2-year-old grandson's other grandfather. So, of course, he is going to try to get his grandpa's attention by yelling out periodically, "Grandpa, Grandpa," while waving his little hands. He's so cute. Little kids help to make the services memorable, that's for sure. They give them life!
After church, we all went to dinner — both sides of the family went along, along with some old church friends. All 15 of us. My poor daughter-in-law tried desperately to find a Chinese restaurant that could accommodate us. It was her family's tradition to always go out for Chinese food after Christmas Eve service. Finally, she found one — a really bad one. Smelly, a little on the dirtier, crustier side. Grungy. However, we decided we could brave it, so we prayed hard over our food, " Please God, protect us from getting sick, and proceeded to go on in. It went from bad to worse within a few minutes after arriving. They claimed to have our reservation, and yet we had to wait for quite a while for our table. Once we took it back to our table, though, we quickly realized it was a table for 8, not 15. Hmmmm, what now? Do we just hijack a nearby table? Yes, that's just what we did, and bussed it ourselves too! At this point, I thought we were making a huge mistake by staying, but stay we did. We ordered, and when the food began arriving, each dish several minutes apart, I knew we were in trouble. We never received refills on any drinks, the fortune cookies were literally thrown on the table, and when I went to take my granddaughter to the restroom, I had to clean it myself before letting her use it. All in all, it was one of those nights where you either have to just laugh or your entire night would be ruined. And nothing can ruin Christmas Eve for me. Nothing. Not even bad Chinese food.
We then drove home, and almost before we reached the front door, we were making a beeline for the bathroom. Unfortunately, the upstairs toilet clogged and soon began pouring water over the sides of the bowl. My son was yelling for more towels, and as his wife was dashing up the stairs, I heard a funny noise coming from the kitchen. One that I couldn't readily identify. I walked into the kitchen to see if an appliance was sparking or something when splash! Water began to pour out through the light fixture above my head. I quickly pulled kitchen towels from the drawers, and soon we were all in the kitchen trying to mop up the mess. By this time (it was midnight), we were all slap-happy and laughing so hard over the entire night's many fiascos. Really, though, what else could we do? It was Christmas Eve, and it was supposed to be fun and memorable.
We deemed it the best Christmas Eve ever, one we'd never forget. One full of funny, nutty, crazy memories. I think we will cherish this Christmas Eve forever. One day, we will look back and start laughing, and hopefully, we won't be able to stop. Because that's what families do. They laugh. And we did, just like we always do when we are all together--making memories!
I am going to share the funny one for this blog. The other story will come in a couple of days. We are at our oldest son's house for Christmas this year. Our youngest son lives just 20 miles away. So we are able to spend time with both of our sons and their families; however, our daughter is in California this year with her in-laws, and we sure do miss her.
I never know what to expect while visiting my children. I don't know where we will be going, what we will be doing, or who we will be with, but we are always willing and ready to go. We love seeing, going, doing, having fun, and are always up for just about anything! That's just who we are. Crazy, nutty, fun.
Our plans always end up flowing into our sons' plans--we all got together on Christmas Eve morning for brunch (which, by the way, was cooked by my oldest son), and then we opened our gifts. Our 4 little grandchildren (normally there would be 6) were very excited to open their gifts from grandma and grandpa, and in turn, grandma and grandpa received some pretty awesome presents themselves. Our children never disappoint, always giving us such beautiful and thoughtful gifts. They more often than not bring tears to our eyes--at least to mine anyway. Grandma crybaby.
Afterward, it was time for the little ones to take their naps, so my husband and I ran to the store for some last-minute groceries. Later that evening, we went to church with our oldest son and his family. It's a whole new world--going to church with a 1 1/2-year-old and a 3 1/2-year-old. Some of the funniest quotes ever are spoken during Christmas Eve candlelight services, even though it is meant to be a solemn, quiet time, full of softly sung carols, communion, and reflection. For instance, said loudly by my 3 1/2-year-old granddaughter, "Grandma (shaking her candle hard), why aren't these things turning on?" Now, how could I not laugh a little at that funny question?
Also, I must add here that the guest speaker was my son's father-in-law, who is also my 1 1/2-year-old grandson's other grandfather. So, of course, he is going to try to get his grandpa's attention by yelling out periodically, "Grandpa, Grandpa," while waving his little hands. He's so cute. Little kids help to make the services memorable, that's for sure. They give them life!
After church, we all went to dinner — both sides of the family went along, along with some old church friends. All 15 of us. My poor daughter-in-law tried desperately to find a Chinese restaurant that could accommodate us. It was her family's tradition to always go out for Chinese food after Christmas Eve service. Finally, she found one — a really bad one. Smelly, a little on the dirtier, crustier side. Grungy. However, we decided we could brave it, so we prayed hard over our food, " Please God, protect us from getting sick, and proceeded to go on in. It went from bad to worse within a few minutes after arriving. They claimed to have our reservation, and yet we had to wait for quite a while for our table. Once we took it back to our table, though, we quickly realized it was a table for 8, not 15. Hmmmm, what now? Do we just hijack a nearby table? Yes, that's just what we did, and bussed it ourselves too! At this point, I thought we were making a huge mistake by staying, but stay we did. We ordered, and when the food began arriving, each dish several minutes apart, I knew we were in trouble. We never received refills on any drinks, the fortune cookies were literally thrown on the table, and when I went to take my granddaughter to the restroom, I had to clean it myself before letting her use it. All in all, it was one of those nights where you either have to just laugh or your entire night would be ruined. And nothing can ruin Christmas Eve for me. Nothing. Not even bad Chinese food.
We then drove home, and almost before we reached the front door, we were making a beeline for the bathroom. Unfortunately, the upstairs toilet clogged and soon began pouring water over the sides of the bowl. My son was yelling for more towels, and as his wife was dashing up the stairs, I heard a funny noise coming from the kitchen. One that I couldn't readily identify. I walked into the kitchen to see if an appliance was sparking or something when splash! Water began to pour out through the light fixture above my head. I quickly pulled kitchen towels from the drawers, and soon we were all in the kitchen trying to mop up the mess. By this time (it was midnight), we were all slap-happy and laughing so hard over the entire night's many fiascos. Really, though, what else could we do? It was Christmas Eve, and it was supposed to be fun and memorable.
We deemed it the best Christmas Eve ever, one we'd never forget. One full of funny, nutty, crazy memories. I think we will cherish this Christmas Eve forever. One day, we will look back and start laughing, and hopefully, we won't be able to stop. Because that's what families do. They laugh. And we did, just like we always do when we are all together--making memories!
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Think On These Things
Last week, a tragedy occurred in my nation. 28 people died. Most were small children. Shot to death by a young man with mental illness. I do not seek to justify nor explain his actions. I have no words for what happened. I don't pretend to have the answers. I am having a problem processing this horrible catastrophe myself. My heart breaks for the parents who lost their children. I can't begin to imagine their pain.
When I first heard the news, I was at a time, in a state of disbelief and shock, as I believe most people were. I began to pray for the families. I also thought of and prayed for the safety and well-being of my own family — my children, my grandchildren, and my husband. I prayed that God would keep them safe. And I cried and mourned with those who mourned. Broken-hearted would be a good descriptor of my emotions for several days.
As I began to pray and realized that I could not make sense of this outrageous crime, I pondered the whys and hows. A thought began to form in my mind. Yes, I thought of something. A passage in scripture. Something to comfort me. Something to get me through.
When I first heard the news, I was at a time, in a state of disbelief and shock, as I believe most people were. I began to pray for the families. I also thought of and prayed for the safety and well-being of my own family — my children, my grandchildren, and my husband. I prayed that God would keep them safe. And I cried and mourned with those who mourned. Broken-hearted would be a good descriptor of my emotions for several days.
As I began to pray and realized that I could not make sense of this outrageous crime, I pondered the whys and hows. A thought began to form in my mind. Yes, I thought of something. A passage in scripture. Something to comfort me. Something to get me through.
Philippians 4:8
The Message (MSG) 8-9 Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw, and what you realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies.
So this is what I will do — I will fill my mind with these things. This is how I chose to deal with life and also with death. I will think about these things. It is the only way that I can make sense of, well, of anything. I must filter it through what the Bible says. Because this is a crazy world we live in. Children die before parents, parents grow old before our eyes, and sickness invades the lives of our loved ones. And in my finite mind, my human frailty, my weakness, this is what I must cling to--the words of my God. And, I must practice what I preach. must think of the things of God. Some might think this is a crutch, and I agree. He, God, His word, is my crutch, and I am OK with that.
For some, this would be a very hard thing to do — think on these things. However, for me, it is not. I am, by nature, by God's design, an optimist. I have always been one, and I believe I will always remain one--the forever optimist. It's who I am. I realize that not all are like me. I have to be careful. I do not want to hurt anyone with my positive outlook, with my joy, with my beliefs. Yes, I have to be very careful.
It isn't that I am not affected when horrible things occur in my life; I am. It isn't that I don't cry, mourn, wonder, or ask God why. It's just that once I begin to read my Bible, I am comforted by the words. They are soothing to me. They heal me. I no longer have the need to dwell on the negative. I praise God, for He is--the pure, the best, the authentic. However, most of all, I trust in Him. I will always trust.
And now I will stop talking about the horror and begin talking about the blessings. Because He is--true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best. He truly is all that to me. And He always will be. He is whom I choose. I will fix my eyes on Him.
For some, this would be a very hard thing to do — think on these things. However, for me, it is not. I am, by nature, by God's design, an optimist. I have always been one, and I believe I will always remain one--the forever optimist. It's who I am. I realize that not all are like me. I have to be careful. I do not want to hurt anyone with my positive outlook, with my joy, with my beliefs. Yes, I have to be very careful.
It isn't that I am not affected when horrible things occur in my life; I am. It isn't that I don't cry, mourn, wonder, or ask God why. It's just that once I begin to read my Bible, I am comforted by the words. They are soothing to me. They heal me. I no longer have the need to dwell on the negative. I praise God, for He is--the pure, the best, the authentic. However, most of all, I trust in Him. I will always trust.
And now I will stop talking about the horror and begin talking about the blessings. Because He is--true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best. He truly is all that to me. And He always will be. He is whom I choose. I will fix my eyes on Him.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Advent
My church asked me to write a special blog for this portion of scripture to be read during Advent. This is not a typical blog posting from me, but I wanted to post it anyway. After reading this particular scripture and then spending time praying over what to write, this is what came pouring out of my heart.
Christmas is almost here; it's just a few short days away. There is a lot on my mind. There are gifts to buy for others — neighbors, friends, and family. There's food to prepare and plans to be made. It's a busy, crazy, fun time of year. And yet through all the hubbub of Christmas, I always take the time to settle down and spend quality time with the person whom this particular season is all about. I need to remember Him. To thank Him with a grateful heart, to keep Him at the forefront of my mind and not shove Him into a closet for the next couple of weeks, only to get Him out later and dust Him off--just in case I need Him.
I don't want to have that kind of a relationship with Him. I want my relationship with Him to be one where I sing out loud and clear for all the world to hear. He is the center of my life. He's more important to me than anything else on this earth. The reason for this season.
As I read these verses in my Bible, I heard something that some of us may have missed before. Or maybe we didn't miss it, but we've forgotten about it. Or maybe we haven't even forgotten, maybe we've just chosen not to acknowledge it. Sometimes it's simpler that way. What we close our ears to--well, maybe we can pretend we aren't responsible for.
However, as I study the scripture, I notice that it reads like a command — it has a "thus saith the Lord" quality. We are told to sing! To raise the rafters, to be happy, and to celebrate!
Are you doing that? Am I?
And, because of the birth of Jesus, we are told that God has sent our enemies away! We have nothing to fear ever again! And yet--do we really believe that? And, if He is ever present with us, why are we so afraid?
Personally? I refuse to live that way. Why? Because I believe in what the Bible has to say. I believe in the holy scripture. I believe that Jesus came and died for me. I believe that when I am told to sing, praise, rejoice, fear not, hold on, hang on, that I am commanded to do it all. What stands out to me most in that scripture are the "singing" and "fearing not" parts. Have you ever thought to count the times in the Bible when we are told to sing and not to fear? I have. In fact, I think the more you sing, the less you fear. Huh! Go figure! So yes, I believe in every last promise in this holy book. I guess I figure that if Jesus gave His life for me, well, that's a mighty big statement.
He died so that I might live. He loved me so that I would never have to live in fear again. And I won't. I'll continue to live this fearless life of mine--no fear, for all of my burdens have rolled away, all of my enemies are gone! For He is the mighty warrior who saves, and He did that for all of us--that day long ago, the day He was born.
Sing, celebrate, rejoice, be happy, live fearlessly--and this Christmas raise the rafters praising our God, our Creator, our Father, our King. Don't be afraid! Just sing!
Zephaniah 3:14-20
The Message (MSG)
14-15 So sing, Daughter Zion!
Raise the rafters, Israel!
Daughter Jerusalem,
be happy! celebrate!
God has reversed his judgments against you
and sent your enemies off chasing their tails.
From now on, God is Israel's King,
in charge at the center.
There's nothing to fear from evil
ever again!
Raise the rafters, Israel!
Daughter Jerusalem,
be happy! celebrate!
God has reversed his judgments against you
and sent your enemies off chasing their tails.
From now on, God is Israel's King,
in charge at the center.
There's nothing to fear from evil
ever again!
God Is Present Among You
16-17 Jerusalem will be told:
"Don't be afraid.
Dear Zion,
Don't despair.
Your God is present among you,
a strong Warrior there to save you.
Happy to have you back, he'll calm you with his love
and delight you with his songs.
"Don't be afraid.
Dear Zion,
Don't despair.
Your God is present among you,
a strong Warrior there to save you.
Happy to have you back, he'll calm you with his love
and delight you with his songs.
18-20 "The accumulated sorrows of your exile
will dissipate.
I, your God, will get rid of them for you.
You've carried those burdens long enough.
At the same time, I'll get rid of all those
who've made your life miserable.
I'll heal the maimed;
I'll bring home the homeless.
In the very countries where they were hated,
they will be venerated.
On Judgment Day
I'll bring you back home—a great family gathering!
You'll be famous and honored
all over the world.
You'll see it with your own eyes—
all those painful partings turned into reunions!"
God's Promise.
will dissipate.
I, your God, will get rid of them for you.
You've carried those burdens long enough.
At the same time, I'll get rid of all those
who've made your life miserable.
I'll heal the maimed;
I'll bring home the homeless.
In the very countries where they were hated,
they will be venerated.
On Judgment Day
I'll bring you back home—a great family gathering!
You'll be famous and honored
all over the world.
You'll see it with your own eyes—
all those painful partings turned into reunions!"
God's Promise.
Christmas is almost here; it's just a few short days away. There is a lot on my mind. There are gifts to buy for others — neighbors, friends, and family. There's food to prepare and plans to be made. It's a busy, crazy, fun time of year. And yet through all the hubbub of Christmas, I always take the time to settle down and spend quality time with the person whom this particular season is all about. I need to remember Him. To thank Him with a grateful heart, to keep Him at the forefront of my mind and not shove Him into a closet for the next couple of weeks, only to get Him out later and dust Him off--just in case I need Him.
I don't want to have that kind of a relationship with Him. I want my relationship with Him to be one where I sing out loud and clear for all the world to hear. He is the center of my life. He's more important to me than anything else on this earth. The reason for this season.
As I read these verses in my Bible, I heard something that some of us may have missed before. Or maybe we didn't miss it, but we've forgotten about it. Or maybe we haven't even forgotten, maybe we've just chosen not to acknowledge it. Sometimes it's simpler that way. What we close our ears to--well, maybe we can pretend we aren't responsible for.
However, as I study the scripture, I notice that it reads like a command — it has a "thus saith the Lord" quality. We are told to sing! To raise the rafters, to be happy, and to celebrate!
Are you doing that? Am I?
And, because of the birth of Jesus, we are told that God has sent our enemies away! We have nothing to fear ever again! And yet--do we really believe that? And, if He is ever present with us, why are we so afraid?
Personally? I refuse to live that way. Why? Because I believe in what the Bible has to say. I believe in the holy scripture. I believe that Jesus came and died for me. I believe that when I am told to sing, praise, rejoice, fear not, hold on, hang on, that I am commanded to do it all. What stands out to me most in that scripture are the "singing" and "fearing not" parts. Have you ever thought to count the times in the Bible when we are told to sing and not to fear? I have. In fact, I think the more you sing, the less you fear. Huh! Go figure! So yes, I believe in every last promise in this holy book. I guess I figure that if Jesus gave His life for me, well, that's a mighty big statement.
He died so that I might live. He loved me so that I would never have to live in fear again. And I won't. I'll continue to live this fearless life of mine--no fear, for all of my burdens have rolled away, all of my enemies are gone! For He is the mighty warrior who saves, and He did that for all of us--that day long ago, the day He was born.
I have been a Christian for over 50 years and a member of the Covenant church for almost 20 years. What drew me in, though, was the denominational motto—where is it written?—with the Bible as our source for what we believe.
So I did a little research and thought you might be interested in a few statistics.
The word celebrate is used 68 times in the Bible
worship-108
sing-121
rejoice-235
and the word praise 340 times.
Sing, celebrate, rejoice, be happy, live fearlessly--and this Christmas raise the rafters praising our God, our Creator, our Father, our King. Don't be afraid! Just sing!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
If I were an Ornament
OK, brace yourselves. I just asked myself the dumbest question. If I were an ornament, which kind would I be? This all came about as I was thinking about what I was going to wear to church this coming Sunday. You see, I've been asked to write something, kind of like a blog post, and then read it to my church. So, my thought this morning was — what shall I wear? Which dovetailed into the ornament question, or was it the other way around? Oh well.
If you know me at all, you know that I am the most casual of casual dressers. In fact, don't tell anyone, but I only own one dress and zero skirts. What? Yep, that's right. And the only reason that dress is still around is that I might just have to wear a dress one day, so its life has been spared.
My closet consists of many (and I mean many) pairs of colored jeans, a couple of pairs of dress pants, tons of shirts, and OK, tons of sweaters. The question is--which pair of denim pants and which sweater shall I wear on Sunday? Oh, and shoes, I have a lot of shoes. I need to ensure they make a statement. And maybe a scarf, since I also have many of those.
So, back to the ornament thing--I have come to the conclusion that I am not a bright shiny ornament. I can fully admit that now. I wanted to be one when I was younger. I tried hard to fit in, i.e., by wearing a dress. But then I realized, as I got older, that I'd never ever be shiny. No, I am dull in color, i.e., I wear jeans. And, I'm OK with that. That is who I am. I am not the shiniest ornament on the tree. However, I have some great friends who are. In fact, last Sunday, one of my good friends was all dressed up in a gorgeous red dress. She looked beautiful. She is taller than I am, thinner, and has lots of pretty jewelry--in other words, she is a shiny ornament. And as I began to look around my little church, I noticed lots of other beautiful shiny ornaments. It seemed as though everyone was dressed festively for the season, and I was not. began to feel a little self-conscious at first and then realized that even if I owned fancier clothing, I would not wear it; it's just not me, and that's OK. Well, it's OK with me anyway, maybe not so much with them.
Yes, I am perfectly OK with being just a plain old ornament--not too tall, not too pretty, not too talented, not too much of anything really. I like just who I am, most of the time. Unless, of course, someone comes along and makes me feel really bad about myself. Then it's a whole new ballgame. I have to analyze a few things, then do some self-talk and pray. After a bit, I am fine again with who God has made me to be. And one thing I'd like to make clear is that I am also OK with how God has made my friends. I like that they are all different — some shiny, some plainer, like me. However, there is one thing they all have in common: they are my friends. I feel so blessed that they are in my life; they encourage me and pray for me, and I know that all I have to do is call out to them, and they'd be here for me in a heartbeat.
All my ornaments--they are from all over the world, some are glass, some are metal, some are made of wood. They are all unique, all beautiful, and all have special meaning, bringing about fond memories. My ornaments, my friends.
While looking at my Christmas tree just now, I found an ornament that best expresses my heart and emotions this season. I guess I am feeling humble today...
If you know me at all, you know that I am the most casual of casual dressers. In fact, don't tell anyone, but I only own one dress and zero skirts. What? Yep, that's right. And the only reason that dress is still around is that I might just have to wear a dress one day, so its life has been spared.
My closet consists of many (and I mean many) pairs of colored jeans, a couple of pairs of dress pants, tons of shirts, and OK, tons of sweaters. The question is--which pair of denim pants and which sweater shall I wear on Sunday? Oh, and shoes, I have a lot of shoes. I need to ensure they make a statement. And maybe a scarf, since I also have many of those.
So, back to the ornament thing--I have come to the conclusion that I am not a bright shiny ornament. I can fully admit that now. I wanted to be one when I was younger. I tried hard to fit in, i.e., by wearing a dress. But then I realized, as I got older, that I'd never ever be shiny. No, I am dull in color, i.e., I wear jeans. And, I'm OK with that. That is who I am. I am not the shiniest ornament on the tree. However, I have some great friends who are. In fact, last Sunday, one of my good friends was all dressed up in a gorgeous red dress. She looked beautiful. She is taller than I am, thinner, and has lots of pretty jewelry--in other words, she is a shiny ornament. And as I began to look around my little church, I noticed lots of other beautiful shiny ornaments. It seemed as though everyone was dressed festively for the season, and I was not. began to feel a little self-conscious at first and then realized that even if I owned fancier clothing, I would not wear it; it's just not me, and that's OK. Well, it's OK with me anyway, maybe not so much with them.
Yes, I am perfectly OK with being just a plain old ornament--not too tall, not too pretty, not too talented, not too much of anything really. I like just who I am, most of the time. Unless, of course, someone comes along and makes me feel really bad about myself. Then it's a whole new ballgame. I have to analyze a few things, then do some self-talk and pray. After a bit, I am fine again with who God has made me to be. And one thing I'd like to make clear is that I am also OK with how God has made my friends. I like that they are all different — some shiny, some plainer, like me. However, there is one thing they all have in common: they are my friends. I feel so blessed that they are in my life; they encourage me and pray for me, and I know that all I have to do is call out to them, and they'd be here for me in a heartbeat.
All my ornaments--they are from all over the world, some are glass, some are metal, some are made of wood. They are all unique, all beautiful, and all have special meaning, bringing about fond memories. My ornaments, my friends.
While looking at my Christmas tree just now, I found an ornament that best expresses my heart and emotions this season. I guess I am feeling humble today...
Friday, December 7, 2012
It's OK to be Sad
It's OK to be sad sometimes. There are just some things that can't be fixed or changed. I accept that. Sometimes. I accept that sometimes we don't get what we want. Or even what we think we want. And during those times, well, I think it's OK to be sad. Just for a little while, just for a bit.
I'm sad right now. It just occurred to me that I won't be seeing my only daughter and my 2 oldest grandchildren at Christmas. Now this is not something new, this just didn't come out of the blue, this wasn't just sprung on me. No, I've known about it for some time. It's just that my emotions hadn't quite caught up with my brain. I knew it in my head, but I didn't know it in my heart. And, even though I will be with my sons and their families over Christmas, I won't be with my daughter, and that makes me sad. I just love it when all of my chicks are safely tucked under my wings, and I feel that all is well with the world. In other words--I want to be with ALL of them.
Yes, it took a while to realize that she won't be with our family this year. And then just tonight, as I was sitting here looking at beautiful pictures of snowy Christmas nights, it hit me that I won't be with my daughter. I began to cry. So, that means blogging. It helps me to blog. It's extremely therapeutic. You see, if I tell my husband about my feelings, or if he (heaven forbid) saw me crying, he would immediately try to fix this unhappy situation. He'd jump to my rescue. It's what he does. He loves me. But he's a fixer. And I don't want to be fixed. Yes, he'd be trying to buy me a plane ticket to be with her over Christmas, or maybe even try to manipulate my daughter into changing her plans. Wouldn't her in-laws love me then?
I'd rather just sit here--cry, rock, type, feel sorry for myself, and feel sad. I'll be OK in the morning. I keep myself really busy. And anyway, there's always next year. It's just that right now I miss my family so much, especially during the holidays. I try hard to not think too much about it. However, you know how it is late at night. Sitting all alone in front of the Christmas tree, with no other lights on in the house. Your mind starts traveling down memory lane, and the next thing you know--boo hoo all over the place.
I miss my kids being little, too. These last few years with them all grown up have been such a hodgepodge of emotions for me — I feel such great pride in who they have become, and, at the same time, sadness because they are all grown up. Where have my little babies gone? Why can't time stand still? At least I have my little grandchildren now. I love them all so much. And I do love being a grandma. But one day soon, they'll grow up too — this sucks...
Am I being a little too honest here? A little too melodramatic? Probably--but that's OK because it's OK to be sad, if even for a little while. And, this is my blog, and I'll write what I want, and I'll cry if I want to.
OK, enough, it's time to stop, wipe my tears, blow my nose, and go watch a sitcom on TV, which always helps. That is, if I can hear the TV over my husband's snoring.
I'm sad right now. It just occurred to me that I won't be seeing my only daughter and my 2 oldest grandchildren at Christmas. Now this is not something new, this just didn't come out of the blue, this wasn't just sprung on me. No, I've known about it for some time. It's just that my emotions hadn't quite caught up with my brain. I knew it in my head, but I didn't know it in my heart. And, even though I will be with my sons and their families over Christmas, I won't be with my daughter, and that makes me sad. I just love it when all of my chicks are safely tucked under my wings, and I feel that all is well with the world. In other words--I want to be with ALL of them.
Yes, it took a while to realize that she won't be with our family this year. And then just tonight, as I was sitting here looking at beautiful pictures of snowy Christmas nights, it hit me that I won't be with my daughter. I began to cry. So, that means blogging. It helps me to blog. It's extremely therapeutic. You see, if I tell my husband about my feelings, or if he (heaven forbid) saw me crying, he would immediately try to fix this unhappy situation. He'd jump to my rescue. It's what he does. He loves me. But he's a fixer. And I don't want to be fixed. Yes, he'd be trying to buy me a plane ticket to be with her over Christmas, or maybe even try to manipulate my daughter into changing her plans. Wouldn't her in-laws love me then?
I'd rather just sit here--cry, rock, type, feel sorry for myself, and feel sad. I'll be OK in the morning. I keep myself really busy. And anyway, there's always next year. It's just that right now I miss my family so much, especially during the holidays. I try hard to not think too much about it. However, you know how it is late at night. Sitting all alone in front of the Christmas tree, with no other lights on in the house. Your mind starts traveling down memory lane, and the next thing you know--boo hoo all over the place.
I miss my kids being little, too. These last few years with them all grown up have been such a hodgepodge of emotions for me — I feel such great pride in who they have become, and, at the same time, sadness because they are all grown up. Where have my little babies gone? Why can't time stand still? At least I have my little grandchildren now. I love them all so much. And I do love being a grandma. But one day soon, they'll grow up too — this sucks...
Am I being a little too honest here? A little too melodramatic? Probably--but that's OK because it's OK to be sad, if even for a little while. And, this is my blog, and I'll write what I want, and I'll cry if I want to.
OK, enough, it's time to stop, wipe my tears, blow my nose, and go watch a sitcom on TV, which always helps. That is, if I can hear the TV over my husband's snoring.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Voice Box
I just remembered something. I was caught off guard, just minding my own business, drying my hair, actually. When I was reminded of something. A long time ago, when I was still just a little girl, I met someone. He was a relative of my father's. I remember being at a relative's house, a family gathering of sorts. This particular man could not speak. He didn't have a voice box. I was told after the fact that he had had cancer and it had been removed. So, to communicate, he had a little gizmo he held to his throat, and he would begin to talk in a robotic-sounding voice.
It scared me a little; I was still pretty young after all. I would watch him listen intently to the others in the room, and then when he had something to say, he'd sort of wave his arms around, put the gizmo up to the place where his voice box should have been, and talk. How sad. No voice. No way to sing. I'm not kidding, that's exactly what I thought when I met him. No way to sing.
I only remember ever seeing him once. However, he impacted my life. I never ever want to be without my voice. You see, I want to be able to sing and praise my God until I take my very last breath. And, just to let you in on a little secret--even if I do end up having to talk through an external device--well, you'll still be hearing me. I'll be singing, shouting, praising, and worshiping. You bet I will.
I've got a voice, I've got hands, I've got a message, I'm going to get the word out any way I can. I'm not going to wait until I lose the ability to sing and praise. I'm not going to wait until my arms are too old and tired, too filled with arthritis. No, I'm going to do it now--loudly, happily, exuberantly before my God.
And, I'm glad I met that man so long ago. He gave me the courage not to worry about what anyone else might think of me. He gave me the courage to speak out for God, to sing to Him. With my own voice box. I am not ashamed of who I serve, believe in, and trust with all my heart. No, I am not. So I will sing. Loudly. Thankfully. Gratefully. Hands held high. Face turned towards Him. Heart melted. Singing...
It scared me a little; I was still pretty young after all. I would watch him listen intently to the others in the room, and then when he had something to say, he'd sort of wave his arms around, put the gizmo up to the place where his voice box should have been, and talk. How sad. No voice. No way to sing. I'm not kidding, that's exactly what I thought when I met him. No way to sing.
I only remember ever seeing him once. However, he impacted my life. I never ever want to be without my voice. You see, I want to be able to sing and praise my God until I take my very last breath. And, just to let you in on a little secret--even if I do end up having to talk through an external device--well, you'll still be hearing me. I'll be singing, shouting, praising, and worshiping. You bet I will.
I've got a voice, I've got hands, I've got a message, I'm going to get the word out any way I can. I'm not going to wait until I lose the ability to sing and praise. I'm not going to wait until my arms are too old and tired, too filled with arthritis. No, I'm going to do it now--loudly, happily, exuberantly before my God.
And, I'm glad I met that man so long ago. He gave me the courage not to worry about what anyone else might think of me. He gave me the courage to speak out for God, to sing to Him. With my own voice box. I am not ashamed of who I serve, believe in, and trust with all my heart. No, I am not. So I will sing. Loudly. Thankfully. Gratefully. Hands held high. Face turned towards Him. Heart melted. Singing...
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Busy, Busy
Wow, to say I've been busy these last several weeks would be an understatement. And the next few weeks ahead, fortunately, yes, I said, fortunately, look just the same. In fact, the next few months look busy, and that's just how I like it. Busy, busy.
I guess God made me that way. I don't need a lot of downtime. I don't sleep a lot, I don't rest a lot. I move a lot. As in, I never sit still. Maybe that's why I like writing, it forces me to sit. I love to read too, which also forces me to sit a spell. I guess you'd call those times the times I relax. I just need a little bit each afternoon, to read, to write, to reflect. That's what I'm doing now. I'm reflecting.
As I sit here typing away on my laptop I'm thinking about the little boy that I've agreed to support for the next several years. He lives in the Republic of Congo. My little church, my friends — between us, we are supporting 70 Congo Kids. I am elated. I get to help, even if it's just in some small way, I get to help. So, this morning I was putting together a little gift to mail to my little boy. He is as cute as a button. The minute I saw his little face, I knew I wanted him. He reminded me of my nephew, who is now in heaven. He has the same eyes and the same serious little look. And because of his little face, he became my little boy in the Congo. It's strange sometimes, what God uses to draw us to others.
Anyway, back to my gift for him — it has to fit in a 6x9 envelope. What? What in the world could possibly fit in an envelope that small? World Vision offered some suggestions that sounded so boring to me. I was more than a little upset. Why? Because I wanted to give that little boy a Christmas like I used to give my children. However, because of the volatile location of the world in which he lives, I can only send him little bits at a time. And that makes me sad. Very sad.
I have gathered stickers, pencils, notepads, and a harmonica! Yes, a blue harmonica. I am praying that it makes it through customs and that it is not stolen or broken on its long journey to the Congo. I am also including a picture of my husband and me and a Christmas card to let him know how much we care. My husband is also supporting a little girl from the same village. Guess who did her Christmas shopping? I'll give you a clue, it wasn't him! That's OK, though, as long as she receives something, she'll be happy, I'm sure.
So yes, it's been busy, busy around here. After Thanksgiving, I hit the ground running. With internet shopping, mall strolling, house decorating, party planning, and card writing--I am busy. But, oh, how I love it. Coffee with friends, browsing my little town, driving through streets filled with beautiful Christmas lights, thinking about God and how He has completely and wonderfully blessed my life--yes, I am busy, busy--and that's just how I like it.
I guess God made me that way. I don't need a lot of downtime. I don't sleep a lot, I don't rest a lot. I move a lot. As in, I never sit still. Maybe that's why I like writing, it forces me to sit. I love to read too, which also forces me to sit a spell. I guess you'd call those times the times I relax. I just need a little bit each afternoon, to read, to write, to reflect. That's what I'm doing now. I'm reflecting.
As I sit here typing away on my laptop I'm thinking about the little boy that I've agreed to support for the next several years. He lives in the Republic of Congo. My little church, my friends — between us, we are supporting 70 Congo Kids. I am elated. I get to help, even if it's just in some small way, I get to help. So, this morning I was putting together a little gift to mail to my little boy. He is as cute as a button. The minute I saw his little face, I knew I wanted him. He reminded me of my nephew, who is now in heaven. He has the same eyes and the same serious little look. And because of his little face, he became my little boy in the Congo. It's strange sometimes, what God uses to draw us to others.
Anyway, back to my gift for him — it has to fit in a 6x9 envelope. What? What in the world could possibly fit in an envelope that small? World Vision offered some suggestions that sounded so boring to me. I was more than a little upset. Why? Because I wanted to give that little boy a Christmas like I used to give my children. However, because of the volatile location of the world in which he lives, I can only send him little bits at a time. And that makes me sad. Very sad.
I have gathered stickers, pencils, notepads, and a harmonica! Yes, a blue harmonica. I am praying that it makes it through customs and that it is not stolen or broken on its long journey to the Congo. I am also including a picture of my husband and me and a Christmas card to let him know how much we care. My husband is also supporting a little girl from the same village. Guess who did her Christmas shopping? I'll give you a clue, it wasn't him! That's OK, though, as long as she receives something, she'll be happy, I'm sure.
So yes, it's been busy, busy around here. After Thanksgiving, I hit the ground running. With internet shopping, mall strolling, house decorating, party planning, and card writing--I am busy. But, oh, how I love it. Coffee with friends, browsing my little town, driving through streets filled with beautiful Christmas lights, thinking about God and how He has completely and wonderfully blessed my life--yes, I am busy, busy--and that's just how I like it.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
I Can't Save The World
I'll admit, it bothers me--that I can't save the world. However, neither can you. It's a fact, plain and simple. And, as several of my friends and I sat around the dinner table last night discussing a book we'd all been asked to read, we came to that realization. No, we can't save the world, and it breaks our hearts. I could hear it in their voices, I could see the anguish in their faces, and I could read it in their body language, that pain of not being able to do everything for everyone. It is heartbreaking to read a book about poverty in our world. Most of us have no clue what it is like for children (and adults) living in 3rd world countries. Some of us have volunteered to travel and work amongst them, but it is short-lived, for we get to return to our warm, cozy homes and our regular lives when our mission is over. And we have a choice, they don't.
I had a much different blog post running through my head this morning. However, after spending the day praying over what exactly to write about, something else came to mind. I'm a little shocked, actually. You see, I believe that God asked me a question. It went something like this. Do you really think I need you to fix the world's problems? I kind of just sat there at first, not really understanding what God was getting at. And then it hit me. I was taking on the burdens of this world that belong to Him and only Him. He is in complete control of every individual in this world. It's a hard concept for me to grasp. It's a big world. And it's full of poverty, problems, sickness, abuse, divorce, and a multitude of other issues. It's just more than my brain can take in.
And, I think that is what He wanted me to realize. It's His world and His problems. And he is big enough to handle things without any help from me. And yet He uses me. He loves to use me, to teach me, so show me how He does it, how He takes care of things, and how sometimes I am just supposed to sit back and watch. Watch the miraculous workings of God. I watch in amazement how He lays a certain person on my heart. Whether it be a beggar or a neighbor--He gives me the go-ahead, the nod, the desire to help. He provides the funds, the means, the wherewithal--it's all Him, and none of me. I don't need to feel one bit guilty; this is God's world, and He can do with it what He wants. I don't have to be afraid because I serve a fearless God. And I don't feel obligated to serve because I feel privileged to do so. I feel honored to serve.
You see, if I did it, if I helped the poor, sent all my money overseas, volunteered all my time, then I would be the one taking all the credit. I would be the one ensuring everything is done just right. Am I doing enough? Am I giving enough? Am I? I guess what I'm saying is--I want to take the I out of this equation. This has to be a God thing. Not a me thing. There is no way on this earth that I, as one person, can meet the needs of millions of people. However, I know someone who can. And I know someone who whispers my name and says to me, "Can you do this for me today?" Give this, go there, listen here.
Yes, there is a Hole in my Gospel. I view things through the eyes of a mere mortal, not through the eyes of God. I want that to change. I want Him to be the center of my world. And then, as He shows me where to go, what to do, who to help--that's when I'll be obedient to Him and give Him all I've got. I'll go, I'll do, I'll run to please the one, true God.
So, simply put, I can't save the world. However, He can and He will, and He'll use me and you to help Him do it. He doesn't need us--He's God. But, I'm His instrument--are you?
This is what I have been praying about today. I wondered about a lot of things--why I was born in this wonderful country, during this time of invention and technology--I wondered why I am this color, this gender, I wondered so many things--why, why me? I had to pray, and pray hard. I needed to know — what is it that you, oh God, want me to do? As your servant, who doesn't want to ever be selfish, what do you want me to do?
And then I heard it, the answer. In that small still voice of His, I heard it. He said to me--be available, give it all, do it all, be all to them, act on my behalf, be there, go there, have my heart.
So, here I am, oh God, your daughter, your servant, use me any way you want. Here I am.
I had a much different blog post running through my head this morning. However, after spending the day praying over what exactly to write about, something else came to mind. I'm a little shocked, actually. You see, I believe that God asked me a question. It went something like this. Do you really think I need you to fix the world's problems? I kind of just sat there at first, not really understanding what God was getting at. And then it hit me. I was taking on the burdens of this world that belong to Him and only Him. He is in complete control of every individual in this world. It's a hard concept for me to grasp. It's a big world. And it's full of poverty, problems, sickness, abuse, divorce, and a multitude of other issues. It's just more than my brain can take in.
And, I think that is what He wanted me to realize. It's His world and His problems. And he is big enough to handle things without any help from me. And yet He uses me. He loves to use me, to teach me, so show me how He does it, how He takes care of things, and how sometimes I am just supposed to sit back and watch. Watch the miraculous workings of God. I watch in amazement how He lays a certain person on my heart. Whether it be a beggar or a neighbor--He gives me the go-ahead, the nod, the desire to help. He provides the funds, the means, the wherewithal--it's all Him, and none of me. I don't need to feel one bit guilty; this is God's world, and He can do with it what He wants. I don't have to be afraid because I serve a fearless God. And I don't feel obligated to serve because I feel privileged to do so. I feel honored to serve.
You see, if I did it, if I helped the poor, sent all my money overseas, volunteered all my time, then I would be the one taking all the credit. I would be the one ensuring everything is done just right. Am I doing enough? Am I giving enough? Am I? I guess what I'm saying is--I want to take the I out of this equation. This has to be a God thing. Not a me thing. There is no way on this earth that I, as one person, can meet the needs of millions of people. However, I know someone who can. And I know someone who whispers my name and says to me, "Can you do this for me today?" Give this, go there, listen here.
Yes, there is a Hole in my Gospel. I view things through the eyes of a mere mortal, not through the eyes of God. I want that to change. I want Him to be the center of my world. And then, as He shows me where to go, what to do, who to help--that's when I'll be obedient to Him and give Him all I've got. I'll go, I'll do, I'll run to please the one, true God.
So, simply put, I can't save the world. However, He can and He will, and He'll use me and you to help Him do it. He doesn't need us--He's God. But, I'm His instrument--are you?
This is what I have been praying about today. I wondered about a lot of things--why I was born in this wonderful country, during this time of invention and technology--I wondered why I am this color, this gender, I wondered so many things--why, why me? I had to pray, and pray hard. I needed to know — what is it that you, oh God, want me to do? As your servant, who doesn't want to ever be selfish, what do you want me to do?
And then I heard it, the answer. In that small still voice of His, I heard it. He said to me--be available, give it all, do it all, be all to them, act on my behalf, be there, go there, have my heart.
So, here I am, oh God, your daughter, your servant, use me any way you want. Here I am.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Thanksgiving Eve
It is quiet here--at my daughter's house. Thankfully, she has a very large home. We are all tucked into our prospective bedrooms, hopefully sleeping, or at least trying to. Me? Well, I don't sleep very much. Maybe 6 hours per night. So I am up late on my laptop, as usual, my husband blissfully snoring beside me, not a care in the world. It is Thanksgiving Eve. And all through the house...well, you get the idea.
We are a pretty big group this year. There are 8 adults, which include my husband and me, my daughter and her husband, and my 2 sons and their wives. There are 5 children, 4 dogs, and 2 cats. We are a house full — literally, a very full house. We've traveled from afar. However, it is well worth it. To be with family during the holidays is one of the most important things in life to me. I love being with my kids and my grandkids. If I could change just one little thing, though, it would be for my parents to join in the fun. I miss them, especially during the holidays.
I am looking forward to tomorrow — Thanksgiving Day. I love getting up early and helping out in any way possible. From stuffing the bird to making side dishes to helping with the grandkids to keeping the guys from stealing food and generally just having a great time together. There will be storytelling, jokes told, games played, and games watched. There will be heavenly smells coming from the kitchen, and much laughter coming from the children. There will be kids chasing dogs, dogs chasing cats, and moms chasing kids. And there I will be--standing in the midst, watching with a full heart. I love my family.
So tonight, while it is quiet, while I can think--I am writing. I know it'll be a few days before I can sit quietly again, so I am taking advantage of this time. Because tomorrow, well, I don't want to miss a minute of tomorrow. I need every minute of every hour focused on them — my family. I want to watch everything, from the laughter to the sharing, I want to remember it all. Kind of like a picture I guess but in my mind. A memory of tomorrow.
Afterward, when our bellies are full, when the guys are snoozing on the sofa, when the children are watching TV, I will try hard to remember everything. It will no longer be Thanksgiving; it will be over, and we will be getting ready for the next season. And that's Ok, as long as I have it right now. Alone with my thoughts on this holiday with all of them--my family.
That's what I am most thankful for in my life. My family. I love them more than I can ever express in words, but I sure do try, don't I? I try hard to share my feelings. However, most of the time, the words don't do justice to the emotions that well up in my heart. My thankful heart, for my wonderful family.
We are a pretty big group this year. There are 8 adults, which include my husband and me, my daughter and her husband, and my 2 sons and their wives. There are 5 children, 4 dogs, and 2 cats. We are a house full — literally, a very full house. We've traveled from afar. However, it is well worth it. To be with family during the holidays is one of the most important things in life to me. I love being with my kids and my grandkids. If I could change just one little thing, though, it would be for my parents to join in the fun. I miss them, especially during the holidays.
I am looking forward to tomorrow — Thanksgiving Day. I love getting up early and helping out in any way possible. From stuffing the bird to making side dishes to helping with the grandkids to keeping the guys from stealing food and generally just having a great time together. There will be storytelling, jokes told, games played, and games watched. There will be heavenly smells coming from the kitchen, and much laughter coming from the children. There will be kids chasing dogs, dogs chasing cats, and moms chasing kids. And there I will be--standing in the midst, watching with a full heart. I love my family.
So tonight, while it is quiet, while I can think--I am writing. I know it'll be a few days before I can sit quietly again, so I am taking advantage of this time. Because tomorrow, well, I don't want to miss a minute of tomorrow. I need every minute of every hour focused on them — my family. I want to watch everything, from the laughter to the sharing, I want to remember it all. Kind of like a picture I guess but in my mind. A memory of tomorrow.
Afterward, when our bellies are full, when the guys are snoozing on the sofa, when the children are watching TV, I will try hard to remember everything. It will no longer be Thanksgiving; it will be over, and we will be getting ready for the next season. And that's Ok, as long as I have it right now. Alone with my thoughts on this holiday with all of them--my family.
That's what I am most thankful for in my life. My family. I love them more than I can ever express in words, but I sure do try, don't I? I try hard to share my feelings. However, most of the time, the words don't do justice to the emotions that well up in my heart. My thankful heart, for my wonderful family.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Confession Time
It's almost Thanksgiving. And yes, don't worry, I am one thankful woman. I have much to be grateful for. I update my Facebook status each day with a "today I am thankful for" statement. And while they are all truthful, there's some pain in my heart. Just a little bit. Let me explain.
We will not be home this year for either holiday. Neither my children nor my grandchildren will be coming to Grandma's house. And I'm mad. Or sad. Or disappointed. Or something. I haven't decided yet. Maybe because I waffle between being mad and feeling sorry for myself on pretty much a 10-minute rotation. My emotions are winning. They are getting the best of me. Yes, they are winning.
I realize that I need to pray. But, honestly, I want to sulk a little first. Lick my wounds. You see, I will be seeing my grandchildren this Thanksgiving — all of them. So why am I not happy? I am. I am happy. I am very excited about seeing them. I can hardly wait. However, yes, I said, however. Why are they not coming to Grandma's house? I am bummed out about this one question. Silly, I know.
Also, they are not coming for Christmas. I have to go to them. They will not see grandma's Christmas decorations, many of which were bought expressly with them in mind. Like the little box with the train that plays a little song. Or the German spinning candles or the lighted village. Nope, none of it is coming out this year. So, to feel I have some control over the situation, I am refusing to put up any Christmas decorations that would remind me of them. Nope. My house will be just plain boring this year. Maybe a tree. Maybe. But that's it.
And, since they are not coming to grandma's house for Thanksgiving--I thought, why not decorate for Christmas before we even leave to go to their house for Thanksgiving? Why not--no one will see it anyway! Who cares! It really does not even matter to me. Not one little bit.
My husband, though, has seen right through this thin veneer of mine. He has brought up the decorations from the basement, set up 2 huge trees, and decorated them all the while playing Christmas music at full blast. Now I ask you — how does one stay in a bad, sulky mood with Christmas music playing? He has made it difficult. I'll admit to that. But I'm trying, I'm trying hard to keep that frown on my face.
However, once again, he has made things right for me. He has dug below the surface of my heart to find out what is really bothering me about this holiday season. He has spent time with me, trying hard to make me happy, and to see the positive side. And while we have been talking, he has made my house cheery and bright. Trees are up, candles are lit, music is playing, and he keeps singing to me. My house, whether I wanted it to be or not, is now ready for the Christmas season. It looks downright festive! We will leave to celebrate Thanksgiving with our family, and when we return home, all will be well within the walls of this little house of ours. It will be Christmas time, and we will be grateful, happy, and thankful, feeling tremendously blessed.
Do you want to know what I'm really thankful for this year? He's sitting here right next to me. He is on his laptop, I am on mine. He doesn't like us to be in different rooms. The fire is going, music is softly playing, and as I type, tears are rolling down my cheeks. Thank you, God, for my husband — you knew just what I needed in this sweet little life of mine. A gift so great, so fantastic, so completely wonderful--a true man of God in every way, who loves me more than I will ever deserve.
Thank you, Father. And Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, wherever you are this year. May God richly bless you.
We will not be home this year for either holiday. Neither my children nor my grandchildren will be coming to Grandma's house. And I'm mad. Or sad. Or disappointed. Or something. I haven't decided yet. Maybe because I waffle between being mad and feeling sorry for myself on pretty much a 10-minute rotation. My emotions are winning. They are getting the best of me. Yes, they are winning.
I realize that I need to pray. But, honestly, I want to sulk a little first. Lick my wounds. You see, I will be seeing my grandchildren this Thanksgiving — all of them. So why am I not happy? I am. I am happy. I am very excited about seeing them. I can hardly wait. However, yes, I said, however. Why are they not coming to Grandma's house? I am bummed out about this one question. Silly, I know.
Also, they are not coming for Christmas. I have to go to them. They will not see grandma's Christmas decorations, many of which were bought expressly with them in mind. Like the little box with the train that plays a little song. Or the German spinning candles or the lighted village. Nope, none of it is coming out this year. So, to feel I have some control over the situation, I am refusing to put up any Christmas decorations that would remind me of them. Nope. My house will be just plain boring this year. Maybe a tree. Maybe. But that's it.
And, since they are not coming to grandma's house for Thanksgiving--I thought, why not decorate for Christmas before we even leave to go to their house for Thanksgiving? Why not--no one will see it anyway! Who cares! It really does not even matter to me. Not one little bit.
My husband, though, has seen right through this thin veneer of mine. He has brought up the decorations from the basement, set up 2 huge trees, and decorated them all the while playing Christmas music at full blast. Now I ask you — how does one stay in a bad, sulky mood with Christmas music playing? He has made it difficult. I'll admit to that. But I'm trying, I'm trying hard to keep that frown on my face.
However, once again, he has made things right for me. He has dug below the surface of my heart to find out what is really bothering me about this holiday season. He has spent time with me, trying hard to make me happy, and to see the positive side. And while we have been talking, he has made my house cheery and bright. Trees are up, candles are lit, music is playing, and he keeps singing to me. My house, whether I wanted it to be or not, is now ready for the Christmas season. It looks downright festive! We will leave to celebrate Thanksgiving with our family, and when we return home, all will be well within the walls of this little house of ours. It will be Christmas time, and we will be grateful, happy, and thankful, feeling tremendously blessed.
Do you want to know what I'm really thankful for this year? He's sitting here right next to me. He is on his laptop, I am on mine. He doesn't like us to be in different rooms. The fire is going, music is softly playing, and as I type, tears are rolling down my cheeks. Thank you, God, for my husband — you knew just what I needed in this sweet little life of mine. A gift so great, so fantastic, so completely wonderful--a true man of God in every way, who loves me more than I will ever deserve.
Thank you, Father. And Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, wherever you are this year. May God richly bless you.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
The Least of These
Have you ever looked at a small child passing you by and wondered about them? Who were they, and where did they live? Are they happy, fed, warm, and clothed?
How about the homeless man on the corner? The one who reeks of alcohol, or maybe is even missing a limb or two from a wartime injury?
And what about the single mom? You know the one — she has way too many children and doesn't keep them very clean. What about her?
I think about these people all the time. Our pastor even preached about them this past Sunday. He taught on Matthew 25. It's one of my top favorite passages in the Bible. Why? Well, because I can relate to a few of the scenarios mentioned in that passage. It was a difficult time in my life. I was just old enough to be embarrassed, but too young to understand what exactly was going on. And without saying too much, without sharing things about my childhood that my parents might not appreciate me sharing--I'll just talk about how I felt, because I was one of those--the least of these.
I was afraid. I was a little under 8 years of age. I was hungry. Many nights. I'm deciding how much to share and what to say. My Father had lost his job, and we had very little food, so we ate very little. My stomach would growl after I was tucked into bed. There wasn't much left in the cupboards. So I didn't complain. My parents were new Christians. We prayed. We prayed a lot. We needed God to meet our needs. We needed food. Every morning, my mom would make us oatmeal, and for lunch, she would pack us up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich along with some carrot sticks. And for dinner we'd have spaghetti. This went on for a year or more. I know this is going to sound weird, but to this day, I cannot eat those foods. I can feel myself begin to gag, and it brings back some painful memories, so I avoid them.
I was also cold. Thankfully, we lived in California, but believe me, it still would get down into the 30s at night in the winter. One year, the electric company had cut off our heat, so we all huddled together in our tiny living room in front of the fireplace, trying to keep warm. No electricity meant no lights, so my Father would fire up the camping lantern — that thing scared me. We were told not to get near it, because if we knocked it over, it could start a fire. I was convinced that someone was going to do just that, and I worried enough for our entire family. I had nightmares about our house catching fire for years after that.
And water? Well, that was turned off, too. No money to pay the bills. Our kind neighbor next door ran her garden hose through our kitchen window so that we could have running water. I was 6 years old that year, and was feeling my first tinges of humiliation. We were poor, dirt poor. We weren't homeless--yet. But almost. My parents had also lost their car. No heat, lights, water, car, or food--not quite homeless--yet.
So yes, when I read Matthew 25 or hear someone preach from that part of the Bible, my mind goes back in time to a place I'd rather forget. I wonder if my parents even realize just how much I do remember. How do I tell them — I remember everything. I remember it all. From the fear to the hunger to the embarrassment. And yet, would I change it? Any of it? No, I would not.
To this very day, when I see the faces of people in pain, whether they are homeless, grieving, or physically disabled, my heart automatically goes out to them. I want to help in some small way. I wonder — what do they need? Food, water, warm clothing, a counselor, a friend, what? How can I help the way others helped me? I guess my past helped shape my future. It made me into who I am today. When I see a need, I try to fill it. I like to get involved. I like to help the way others helped me. I give, I counsel, I pray, I listen. I'm there. Just the way God was there for me when I was little. He used those around us to help meet our needs. A friend brought food over, a neighbor shared her water, another friend had a car, we made it, we survived. I want others to survive, too. I want to help in any way I can. I want to be a sheep--not a goat.
I am now reading a book called--The Hole in Our Gospel. It's breaking my heart all over again. It's making me cry. It's making me realize that what I went through as a child was nothing compared to what others went through. Nothing at all. Just a short memory. However, as an adult now, I can make a change. I can do something.
And I'm going to--for the least of these.
46 "Then those 'goats' will be herded to their eternal doom, but the 'sheep' to their eternal reward."
How about the homeless man on the corner? The one who reeks of alcohol, or maybe is even missing a limb or two from a wartime injury?
And what about the single mom? You know the one — she has way too many children and doesn't keep them very clean. What about her?
I think about these people all the time. Our pastor even preached about them this past Sunday. He taught on Matthew 25. It's one of my top favorite passages in the Bible. Why? Well, because I can relate to a few of the scenarios mentioned in that passage. It was a difficult time in my life. I was just old enough to be embarrassed, but too young to understand what exactly was going on. And without saying too much, without sharing things about my childhood that my parents might not appreciate me sharing--I'll just talk about how I felt, because I was one of those--the least of these.
I was afraid. I was a little under 8 years of age. I was hungry. Many nights. I'm deciding how much to share and what to say. My Father had lost his job, and we had very little food, so we ate very little. My stomach would growl after I was tucked into bed. There wasn't much left in the cupboards. So I didn't complain. My parents were new Christians. We prayed. We prayed a lot. We needed God to meet our needs. We needed food. Every morning, my mom would make us oatmeal, and for lunch, she would pack us up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich along with some carrot sticks. And for dinner we'd have spaghetti. This went on for a year or more. I know this is going to sound weird, but to this day, I cannot eat those foods. I can feel myself begin to gag, and it brings back some painful memories, so I avoid them.
I was also cold. Thankfully, we lived in California, but believe me, it still would get down into the 30s at night in the winter. One year, the electric company had cut off our heat, so we all huddled together in our tiny living room in front of the fireplace, trying to keep warm. No electricity meant no lights, so my Father would fire up the camping lantern — that thing scared me. We were told not to get near it, because if we knocked it over, it could start a fire. I was convinced that someone was going to do just that, and I worried enough for our entire family. I had nightmares about our house catching fire for years after that.
And water? Well, that was turned off, too. No money to pay the bills. Our kind neighbor next door ran her garden hose through our kitchen window so that we could have running water. I was 6 years old that year, and was feeling my first tinges of humiliation. We were poor, dirt poor. We weren't homeless--yet. But almost. My parents had also lost their car. No heat, lights, water, car, or food--not quite homeless--yet.
So yes, when I read Matthew 25 or hear someone preach from that part of the Bible, my mind goes back in time to a place I'd rather forget. I wonder if my parents even realize just how much I do remember. How do I tell them — I remember everything. I remember it all. From the fear to the hunger to the embarrassment. And yet, would I change it? Any of it? No, I would not.
To this very day, when I see the faces of people in pain, whether they are homeless, grieving, or physically disabled, my heart automatically goes out to them. I want to help in some small way. I wonder — what do they need? Food, water, warm clothing, a counselor, a friend, what? How can I help the way others helped me? I guess my past helped shape my future. It made me into who I am today. When I see a need, I try to fill it. I like to get involved. I like to help the way others helped me. I give, I counsel, I pray, I listen. I'm there. Just the way God was there for me when I was little. He used those around us to help meet our needs. A friend brought food over, a neighbor shared her water, another friend had a car, we made it, we survived. I want others to survive, too. I want to help in any way I can. I want to be a sheep--not a goat.
I am now reading a book called--The Hole in Our Gospel. It's breaking my heart all over again. It's making me cry. It's making me realize that what I went through as a child was nothing compared to what others went through. Nothing at all. Just a short memory. However, as an adult now, I can make a change. I can do something.
And I'm going to--for the least of these.
Matthew 25:31-46
The Message (MSG)
The Sheep and the Goats
31-33 "When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him, and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.
34-36 "Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:
I was hungry, and you fed me,
I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless, and you gave me a room,
I was shivering, and you gave me clothes,
I was sick, and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison, and you came to me.'
I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless, and you gave me a room,
I was shivering, and you gave me clothes,
I was sick, and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison, and you came to me.'
37-40 "Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'
41-43 "Then he will turn to the 'goats,' the ones on his left, and say, 'Get out, worthless goats! You're good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—
I was hungry, and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty, and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless, and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering, and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'
I was thirsty, and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless, and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering, and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'
44 "Then those 'goats' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn't help?'
45 "He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'46 "Then those 'goats' will be herded to their eternal doom, but the 'sheep' to their eternal reward."
Monday, November 5, 2012
Getting Ready
I'm having a complete adrenaline rush. It's been going on for about 2 days now, and relief won't come until the morning. That's OK with me, though. I love these traveling rushes that accompany my trips to the airport. That's right, I said airport. I am leaving in the morning! And while this flight isn't an overseas flight, it's a flight nonetheless. And I'm excited. I get to go to the airport. I get to fly on an airplane. I get to people-watch, browse expensive airport shops, and drink expensive airport cappuccinos.
I've barely slept the last 2 nights. Packing and unpacking in my head. Awake or asleep--it doesn't matter. I'm packing! I need clothing for daytime shopping and for evening dinners; I need shoes for walking and for looking fancy. And handbags--I need handbags. They are by far my most important items to pack. They are my ruination. My downfall. The one thing I feel most guilty about. However, I can honestly say they've all been gifts from my husband. There, I've just alleviated my guilt--a little bit.
So, in my hours of fitful sleep, I have repacked my one suitcase (yes, I said one, it's a short trip) several times. Along with clothing, shoes, and handbags, there is jewelry and cosmetics to consider — I just love my makeup! Can you understand why I'm not sleeping well? No? Well, that's OK, I get it. I understand myself.
I also have our dog to kennel, our house to clean, neighbors to notify, boarding passes to print, and a refrigerator to clean out. I have this very weird thing I have to do before I can leave on any trip longer than 2 days. I have to clean my house--just in case I am killed along the way and someone comes into my home and says--wow, she was really a disorganized pig. I couldn't handle that, so I cleaned like a mad lady. Then there is the refrigerator situation. All food that might go bad must be thrown away, and the shelves wiped clean and straightened — for the same reason mentioned above. Can you say neurotic?
We leave tomorrow morning. As soon as I sit down on that plane, I know what's going to happen. I will be so exhausted that the hum of the engines warming will lull me to sleep, if even for just a few minutes. Then I will wake up, take out my Kindle, and relax. Until the next trip, and then the entire process will commence once again. And that's OK with me, I love to travel. Almost as much as I love getting ready.
I've barely slept the last 2 nights. Packing and unpacking in my head. Awake or asleep--it doesn't matter. I'm packing! I need clothing for daytime shopping and for evening dinners; I need shoes for walking and for looking fancy. And handbags--I need handbags. They are by far my most important items to pack. They are my ruination. My downfall. The one thing I feel most guilty about. However, I can honestly say they've all been gifts from my husband. There, I've just alleviated my guilt--a little bit.
So, in my hours of fitful sleep, I have repacked my one suitcase (yes, I said one, it's a short trip) several times. Along with clothing, shoes, and handbags, there is jewelry and cosmetics to consider — I just love my makeup! Can you understand why I'm not sleeping well? No? Well, that's OK, I get it. I understand myself.
I also have our dog to kennel, our house to clean, neighbors to notify, boarding passes to print, and a refrigerator to clean out. I have this very weird thing I have to do before I can leave on any trip longer than 2 days. I have to clean my house--just in case I am killed along the way and someone comes into my home and says--wow, she was really a disorganized pig. I couldn't handle that, so I cleaned like a mad lady. Then there is the refrigerator situation. All food that might go bad must be thrown away, and the shelves wiped clean and straightened — for the same reason mentioned above. Can you say neurotic?
We leave tomorrow morning. As soon as I sit down on that plane, I know what's going to happen. I will be so exhausted that the hum of the engines warming will lull me to sleep, if even for just a few minutes. Then I will wake up, take out my Kindle, and relax. Until the next trip, and then the entire process will commence once again. And that's OK with me, I love to travel. Almost as much as I love getting ready.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Hard Stuff
I'm doing it again. My mind is traveling at the speed of light. I just happened to watch a video yesterday, and that's what started this ball a rollin'! The speaker was Priscilla Shirer. I've heard her before, and she touched my heart back then, too. However, I am in a different place now. Very different, so I need to share just where my head (and heart) is at.
As I've mentioned before, I moved away from family and friends 2 years ago. Previously, I moved 13 years ago —the same scenario. Just to be clear — I don't like moving. I don't like too much change. I love my family and friends. My closest friends are family, so that even makes moving doubly hard. But, with my husband's job comes change, moving, making new friends, and exploring new possibilities. That's what I tell myself anyway. New possibilities.
This last move--2 years ago--was by far the hardest move I've made thus far. I moved away from grandchildren. Not good. Not good at all. Who knew that those 5 little grandbabies would steal my heart so completely--that I would do anything to remain close to them. That wasn't going to be the case, though. God had other plans for my life. And since I had given my life over to him, well, I had to move and move readily, with a smile on my face and a willingness in my heart. OK, forget the smile and the heart bit. It was just plain horrible. I cried the whole 6-hour drive to my new little town. My husband is driving, I'm crying, and he feels like the biggest heel on earth.
I can honestly say that I wasn't mad at God. I was just sad. It was a lonely place to be in emotionally; it was hard. It was a bad time in my life. And while God wanted me to see the good stuff, Satan wanted me to only see the bad stuff. I soon learned, though, that through those hard, lonely, sad, awful days--God was doing something. He was setting me up. He had good stuff in store, a plan, and a future. I learned that if I just kept praying, he'd show me the good stuff, a little at a time. And so I did. I waited, I prayed, I anticipated, I cried (I do that a lot), and I wondered — is it time yet, God? And when, oh when, will this pain of loneliness and sadness go away? Basically, I just wanted to go home. Home to my forever house, to my friends, to my kids and grandkids, to my old Bible study friends--home. Just let me go home. I would actually daydream about the day my husband walked into our house and said, "Guess what?" We're going home! Only that never happened.
It's been 2 years. What's changed? Everything! When I was ready to throw in the towel, God was there. When I was lying in bed, crying my eyes out, God was there. I leaned in and pressed close because I had no one else. My husband was extremely busy with his new position at his company. I did not have even one friend to come alongside me. I had no one to talk to. No one. Only God.
It was during that lonely time that I began to write. I started this blog. It became my voice. My only mode of relating my emotions, my stories, and my experiences about my new life. And, out of this little blog, believe it or not, a ministry was born. Hmmm--out of pain, a birth. Now, just where have I heard that before?
I look at things much differently now. I am happy. I am no longer lonely. We have settled in, and I know that I am right where God intended me to be. He didn't make a mistake. He didn't send me out here to punish me. He had a plan. A plan that revolves around him and not me. A plan to use my college degree, and a plan to use this blog to minister to others. A plan for me to make some fantastic lifelong friends. Yes, he had a plan all along. I am content. I am fully engaged in what God is doing in my life. Was it hard? Extremely. Was I sad? Yep. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. I love my life; it is sweet, and it belongs to my father, who will never ever leave me or forsake me. I am more than willing to walk this road, this path, this plan, as long as I am walking it with him.
Even in the hard times, I will serve you, oh my God.
I will praise you even when I cannot lift my head.
I will sing to you even when it is only a whisper.
I will open up my eyes to all you have for me to see.
I will trust you, and seek you, and remember all you've done for me.
I will shout your name from the depths of my heart.
For you, oh God, are mine.
As I've mentioned before, I moved away from family and friends 2 years ago. Previously, I moved 13 years ago —the same scenario. Just to be clear — I don't like moving. I don't like too much change. I love my family and friends. My closest friends are family, so that even makes moving doubly hard. But, with my husband's job comes change, moving, making new friends, and exploring new possibilities. That's what I tell myself anyway. New possibilities.
This last move--2 years ago--was by far the hardest move I've made thus far. I moved away from grandchildren. Not good. Not good at all. Who knew that those 5 little grandbabies would steal my heart so completely--that I would do anything to remain close to them. That wasn't going to be the case, though. God had other plans for my life. And since I had given my life over to him, well, I had to move and move readily, with a smile on my face and a willingness in my heart. OK, forget the smile and the heart bit. It was just plain horrible. I cried the whole 6-hour drive to my new little town. My husband is driving, I'm crying, and he feels like the biggest heel on earth.
I can honestly say that I wasn't mad at God. I was just sad. It was a lonely place to be in emotionally; it was hard. It was a bad time in my life. And while God wanted me to see the good stuff, Satan wanted me to only see the bad stuff. I soon learned, though, that through those hard, lonely, sad, awful days--God was doing something. He was setting me up. He had good stuff in store, a plan, and a future. I learned that if I just kept praying, he'd show me the good stuff, a little at a time. And so I did. I waited, I prayed, I anticipated, I cried (I do that a lot), and I wondered — is it time yet, God? And when, oh when, will this pain of loneliness and sadness go away? Basically, I just wanted to go home. Home to my forever house, to my friends, to my kids and grandkids, to my old Bible study friends--home. Just let me go home. I would actually daydream about the day my husband walked into our house and said, "Guess what?" We're going home! Only that never happened.
It's been 2 years. What's changed? Everything! When I was ready to throw in the towel, God was there. When I was lying in bed, crying my eyes out, God was there. I leaned in and pressed close because I had no one else. My husband was extremely busy with his new position at his company. I did not have even one friend to come alongside me. I had no one to talk to. No one. Only God.
It was during that lonely time that I began to write. I started this blog. It became my voice. My only mode of relating my emotions, my stories, and my experiences about my new life. And, out of this little blog, believe it or not, a ministry was born. Hmmm--out of pain, a birth. Now, just where have I heard that before?
I look at things much differently now. I am happy. I am no longer lonely. We have settled in, and I know that I am right where God intended me to be. He didn't make a mistake. He didn't send me out here to punish me. He had a plan. A plan that revolves around him and not me. A plan to use my college degree, and a plan to use this blog to minister to others. A plan for me to make some fantastic lifelong friends. Yes, he had a plan all along. I am content. I am fully engaged in what God is doing in my life. Was it hard? Extremely. Was I sad? Yep. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. I love my life; it is sweet, and it belongs to my father, who will never ever leave me or forsake me. I am more than willing to walk this road, this path, this plan, as long as I am walking it with him.
Even in the hard times, I will serve you, oh my God.
I will praise you even when I cannot lift my head.
I will sing to you even when it is only a whisper.
I will open up my eyes to all you have for me to see.
I will trust you, and seek you, and remember all you've done for me.
I will shout your name from the depths of my heart.
For you, oh God, are mine.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Brave
We have finished with the Bible study on the book Brave. Remember? I was going to let you know how I did. How it affected me. How it changed me. Did you know? But, not in the way I expected it to. How often, though, do things happen the way we think they should? And, how often are we even able to see ourselves the way God does?
So I went for several weeks, reading, writing, studying, and wondering — just how does this affect me? I wasn't feeling a connection to this particular book. I was OK with that, though. I was enjoying meeting a lot of the women who attend my new church. I was making friends. And frankly, that was good enough for me. I was enjoying myself.
That wasn't really good enough for God, though. I should have seen it coming. Maybe I'm a little slow. He had plans. I wasn't going to be let off that easily. It wasn't until the very last chapter of the book--that's when God began to show me some things about myself. Things that I don't really like to think about--things from my past.
The last chapter of our book on being Brave was on brokenness. I thought to myself--I'm not broken. I'm not. That's what I kept saying to God. I'm not broken. Yes, it's very true that I am tender-hearted, that I cry easily, that I can empathize with the best of them--but broken? No. Not me. I was not broken. However, very gently (as He always does), God took me down a road--the road of my childhood.
I was right, you know. I am not broken as an adult. I was, however, broken as a child. I didn't even think about that aspect of brokenness. My heart as a child had been broken, and through that brokenness, God has been able to use me to help others. I realized, via a scripture we read today, that I have been healed. My broken childhood is gone; it no longer exists. At least that's what I thought--until today. He showed me that even though He has healed me from the brokenness of my childhood, I still bear scars. And through those scars, I can walk alongside others who are hurting. I feel their pain, I cry with them. And I thought all along that I had chosen Psychology on my own...little did I realize--God had a plan.
In the book of Ruth, chapter 2, verse 10, Ruth says to Boaz--10 At this, she bowed down with her face to the ground. She asked him, "Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me—a foreigner?"
And that's when it hit me. I had found favor in God's eyes. He noticed me as a broken little child. He reached down, scooped me up, and healed me. He came after me. He found me. He is truly my redeemer. That is why, as an adult, I did not identify with this last chapter in our Bible study book on brokenness. I am no longer broken. A few cracks? Yes. But broken no. I have been redeemed, I am broken no more. However, I am a crybaby, an empathizer, a counselor, a friend; I feel things deeply, and I now know that I am those things because of what God has done in my heart. I identify with His children, his broken children. That's what I cry about, I cry for the people whom God loves, I cry for the broken-hearted, I cry for what He cries for. Why? Because I've been there.
I'll write about that broken childhood one day. And when I do, I'll share it all. It will have to be in God's perfect timing, though. Just as He heals me layer by layer, piece by piece, bit by bit, I will share my life through these pages. A little at a time. And, He'll be with me as I write, so I won't be afraid--I'll be brave.
So I went for several weeks, reading, writing, studying, and wondering — just how does this affect me? I wasn't feeling a connection to this particular book. I was OK with that, though. I was enjoying meeting a lot of the women who attend my new church. I was making friends. And frankly, that was good enough for me. I was enjoying myself.
That wasn't really good enough for God, though. I should have seen it coming. Maybe I'm a little slow. He had plans. I wasn't going to be let off that easily. It wasn't until the very last chapter of the book--that's when God began to show me some things about myself. Things that I don't really like to think about--things from my past.
The last chapter of our book on being Brave was on brokenness. I thought to myself--I'm not broken. I'm not. That's what I kept saying to God. I'm not broken. Yes, it's very true that I am tender-hearted, that I cry easily, that I can empathize with the best of them--but broken? No. Not me. I was not broken. However, very gently (as He always does), God took me down a road--the road of my childhood.
I was right, you know. I am not broken as an adult. I was, however, broken as a child. I didn't even think about that aspect of brokenness. My heart as a child had been broken, and through that brokenness, God has been able to use me to help others. I realized, via a scripture we read today, that I have been healed. My broken childhood is gone; it no longer exists. At least that's what I thought--until today. He showed me that even though He has healed me from the brokenness of my childhood, I still bear scars. And through those scars, I can walk alongside others who are hurting. I feel their pain, I cry with them. And I thought all along that I had chosen Psychology on my own...little did I realize--God had a plan.
In the book of Ruth, chapter 2, verse 10, Ruth says to Boaz--10 At this, she bowed down with her face to the ground. She asked him, "Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me—a foreigner?"
And that's when it hit me. I had found favor in God's eyes. He noticed me as a broken little child. He reached down, scooped me up, and healed me. He came after me. He found me. He is truly my redeemer. That is why, as an adult, I did not identify with this last chapter in our Bible study book on brokenness. I am no longer broken. A few cracks? Yes. But broken no. I have been redeemed, I am broken no more. However, I am a crybaby, an empathizer, a counselor, a friend; I feel things deeply, and I now know that I am those things because of what God has done in my heart. I identify with His children, his broken children. That's what I cry about, I cry for the people whom God loves, I cry for the broken-hearted, I cry for what He cries for. Why? Because I've been there.
I'll write about that broken childhood one day. And when I do, I'll share it all. It will have to be in God's perfect timing, though. Just as He heals me layer by layer, piece by piece, bit by bit, I will share my life through these pages. A little at a time. And, He'll be with me as I write, so I won't be afraid--I'll be brave.
Monday, October 22, 2012
School Bus
He saw it before we did. I heard him calling out over and over again-"school bus, school bus"-while pointing off in the distance. My daughter-in-law assured me — there has to be one nearby. We were shopping. Of course. When grandma visits, we shop. I love buying my grandchildren new little toys, cute clothing, or even something for a new hobby. They know that when I come--it's gift time. Always. Even if it's just something small, I just have to leave them with a present or two.
So there we were at the mall when my 20-month-old grandson saw it — the school bus. We searched high and low, and finally, there it was, low, very low. Within his stroller's line of sight was the school bus. It sat on a lower shelf. I bent down and picked it up. Carved wood, carved little people, and expensive-looking. Who cares, though, right? Grandma's here! At least that's what I imagine him to be thinking. Grandma's here, she'll buy it for me. And how do I know this? Because she loves me, that's how. Grandma loves me.
And, without even looking at the price, I took it up to the counter and bought said school bus. His little arms reaching for it--school bus, school bus! He wanted it now. I gave him his new school bus, and away we went. He carried it all the way to the restaurant, where we tried to get him to eat. But no, the minute I unwrapped his school bus, he never let go. His little hands were moving the wooden people in and out of the bus. His face was concentrating on opening and closing the wooden door and the stop sign. Take time to eat? No way! His job for the next hour was to figure out where to place his little wooden people in his new little wooden school bus.
That gift was a hit, a huge hit. As I pushed him in his stroller through the mall after lunch, every so often he'd look back at me and smile, and he'd yell out, " School bus, Grandma! " That little smile, that grin of pure joy, is what grandmothers live for. That look of gratitude and thankfulness, that look of love, really — it just steals my heart.
I love my 5 grandchildren. I'd do anything for them. I'd buy them the moon if they wanted it. Their little arms wrapped around my neck, the smiles while playing, the watching movies and eating popcorn together, those are grandma times. Important times. Memory times. Precious times.
I can still hear him, you know--school bus grandma, school bus. And my heart smiles.
So there we were at the mall when my 20-month-old grandson saw it — the school bus. We searched high and low, and finally, there it was, low, very low. Within his stroller's line of sight was the school bus. It sat on a lower shelf. I bent down and picked it up. Carved wood, carved little people, and expensive-looking. Who cares, though, right? Grandma's here! At least that's what I imagine him to be thinking. Grandma's here, she'll buy it for me. And how do I know this? Because she loves me, that's how. Grandma loves me.
And, without even looking at the price, I took it up to the counter and bought said school bus. His little arms reaching for it--school bus, school bus! He wanted it now. I gave him his new school bus, and away we went. He carried it all the way to the restaurant, where we tried to get him to eat. But no, the minute I unwrapped his school bus, he never let go. His little hands were moving the wooden people in and out of the bus. His face was concentrating on opening and closing the wooden door and the stop sign. Take time to eat? No way! His job for the next hour was to figure out where to place his little wooden people in his new little wooden school bus.
That gift was a hit, a huge hit. As I pushed him in his stroller through the mall after lunch, every so often he'd look back at me and smile, and he'd yell out, " School bus, Grandma! " That little smile, that grin of pure joy, is what grandmothers live for. That look of gratitude and thankfulness, that look of love, really — it just steals my heart.
I love my 5 grandchildren. I'd do anything for them. I'd buy them the moon if they wanted it. Their little arms wrapped around my neck, the smiles while playing, the watching movies and eating popcorn together, those are grandma times. Important times. Memory times. Precious times.
I can still hear him, you know--school bus grandma, school bus. And my heart smiles.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Carry Me
Sometimes I just need you to carry me.
To pick me up, put me on your shoulders, and carry me.
When I can't walk, when I can't talk, when I can't breathe, just carry me.
You have done it before. You have said you'll come after me.
You will leave the others and come find me when I'm lost.
When I'm all alone, when I'm afraid, you will come.
That is who you are to me, the one who comes after me.
The one who comforts me, the one who hears me when I cry.
The one who never lets me out of your sight,
not even for a second.
You are always there, your eyes on me.
Always watching, always protecting.
I sometimes think about those times when
I have chased you away or run from you.
Those times when I've screamed and yelled
when things didn't go my way.
And yet, there you were, arms held open
ready for me to run back to you.
That is what love is to me.
What you have shown me, what
You have done for me.
That you came for me, even when I ran,
you brought me home and held me closely.
I heard your heartbeat, and you heard mine.
A true father's heart, it's what I live for.
It's what keeps me going. This knowing.
So please carry me, don't give up on me.
As I try so hard to please you, to serve you,
to learn from you, to praise you, to worship you.
A daughter's heart that needs to be carried by you.
To pick me up, put me on your shoulders, and carry me.
When I can't walk, when I can't talk, when I can't breathe, just carry me.
You have done it before. You have said you'll come after me.
You will leave the others and come find me when I'm lost.
When I'm all alone, when I'm afraid, you will come.
That is who you are to me, the one who comes after me.
The one who comforts me, the one who hears me when I cry.
The one who never lets me out of your sight,
not even for a second.
You are always there, your eyes on me.
Always watching, always protecting.
I sometimes think about those times when
I have chased you away or run from you.
Those times when I've screamed and yelled
when things didn't go my way.
And yet, there you were, arms held open
ready for me to run back to you.
That is what love is to me.
What you have shown me, what
You have done for me.
That you came for me, even when I ran,
you brought me home and held me closely.
I heard your heartbeat, and you heard mine.
A true father's heart, it's what I live for.
It's what keeps me going. This knowing.
So please carry me, don't give up on me.
As I try so hard to please you, to serve you,
to learn from you, to praise you, to worship you.
A daughter's heart that needs to be carried by you.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Cute Jeans
It's funny what you notice about a person. For me, it's usually something a person (especially if it's a woman) is wearing—their hair, shoes, or earrings. I know that I sound shallow. And that's not really what I'm getting at here. What I'm trying to say is that I notice people. I tend to gravitate towards certain types. You know, the folks that I might have something in common with. It really doesn't matter what, specifically, I notice. It's just that something will catch my eye and then--well then, it's usually because God has put them in my line of sight for a reason. Such is the case of what happened the other day.
We happened to be attending the same seminar when I looked over and noticed her jeans at the registration desk. They were so cute, I loved them and wondered where she had bought them. As we all moved into the large classroom to begin our lecture time, I looked over to see her at the table right next to mine. Coincidence? I think not! And when we both happened to get up and go to get coffee at the same time, I thought I'd compliment her on her awesome jeans. Well, we had an instant connection. It seems we both love fashion and love to shop. I then told her about a couple of cute little boutiques I had found during my many shopping trips and wrote the addresses on a piece of paper for her. We were both happy to have found each other. New friends via cute jeans.
Just a few short hours later, we were put together again and ended up finding out even more about each other. It's a miraculous thing to witness God bringing two new friends together. We prayed for each other, talked for a while, and exchanged business cards. A new friendship was made that day--all because of a pair of cute jeans. Maybe I'm the only one fascinated by the simple workings of God. I don't know. Maybe God was once again trying to show me His sovereignty. I'm not sure. He got my attention, though. He made me stop, take notice, and watch Him working around me. He made me wonder why He cares so much about all of us that He would arrange a silly little chance meeting between 2 women who otherwise never would have met. And yet, we did. Over jeans. Awesome.
Yes, we live in different towns, we go to different churches, we come from different cultures, and yet God saw a need. God saw a reason why the two of us should meet. I marvel sometimes (OK, all the time) over the workings of the mighty God whom I serve. He cares that much. He meets us just where we are. He finds the perfect person to bring into our lives on a perfect day. All we have to do is be aware, keep our eyes open, and our hearts ready. He's got a plan. And I just happened to walk right into it that day.
I realize that I might not ever see her again. I know that sometimes God brings people into our lives for just a few short minutes or even a few short hours. Sometimes He brings them into our lives for a season, and sometimes for a lifetime. Either way--I'm ready. I'm ready to be used, to pray, to serve, and to live for Him. I am also happy that He uses simple things to get my attention — cute jeans; that's all it took. Wow, I am a little shallow now that I think about it. :)
We happened to be attending the same seminar when I looked over and noticed her jeans at the registration desk. They were so cute, I loved them and wondered where she had bought them. As we all moved into the large classroom to begin our lecture time, I looked over to see her at the table right next to mine. Coincidence? I think not! And when we both happened to get up and go to get coffee at the same time, I thought I'd compliment her on her awesome jeans. Well, we had an instant connection. It seems we both love fashion and love to shop. I then told her about a couple of cute little boutiques I had found during my many shopping trips and wrote the addresses on a piece of paper for her. We were both happy to have found each other. New friends via cute jeans.
Just a few short hours later, we were put together again and ended up finding out even more about each other. It's a miraculous thing to witness God bringing two new friends together. We prayed for each other, talked for a while, and exchanged business cards. A new friendship was made that day--all because of a pair of cute jeans. Maybe I'm the only one fascinated by the simple workings of God. I don't know. Maybe God was once again trying to show me His sovereignty. I'm not sure. He got my attention, though. He made me stop, take notice, and watch Him working around me. He made me wonder why He cares so much about all of us that He would arrange a silly little chance meeting between 2 women who otherwise never would have met. And yet, we did. Over jeans. Awesome.
Yes, we live in different towns, we go to different churches, we come from different cultures, and yet God saw a need. God saw a reason why the two of us should meet. I marvel sometimes (OK, all the time) over the workings of the mighty God whom I serve. He cares that much. He meets us just where we are. He finds the perfect person to bring into our lives on a perfect day. All we have to do is be aware, keep our eyes open, and our hearts ready. He's got a plan. And I just happened to walk right into it that day.
I realize that I might not ever see her again. I know that sometimes God brings people into our lives for just a few short minutes or even a few short hours. Sometimes He brings them into our lives for a season, and sometimes for a lifetime. Either way--I'm ready. I'm ready to be used, to pray, to serve, and to live for Him. I am also happy that He uses simple things to get my attention — cute jeans; that's all it took. Wow, I am a little shallow now that I think about it. :)
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Fearless
I've decided to share something. I am being completely vulnerable; I am leaving myself open to criticism. So I guess in a sense, I am afraid. No. I am not afraid, that's why I'm sharing. I'll need to remind myself of that later.
I've been told that I am brave, that I have a certain confidence, and that I am a fearless person — to some extent. However, please understand that what I share with you does not mean that I live a life empty of fear. I do not. I just chose to live my life fearlessly, based on something that I experienced years ago.
I was (please note the "was") afraid of the dark--as a child and as an adult. I was married, with children, and approaching my 30s when my fear of darkness came to an ugly head. My husband's job was demanding more and more travel, which meant nights away — and believe me when I tell you, that meant nights of no sleep for me. The dark circles under my eyes should have given this phobia away; however, I hid my fear well. Not from my husband, of course, he found out early on about my fears. They pretty much consumed me. I am very thankful that he did not ridicule me — instead, if I needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, he would get up and turn the light on for me. I was afraid of the dark. Never could a room be completely without light; there always had to be a small crack left to illuminate the darkness that surrounded me at night. When darkness fell, my terror came alive. I do not know why. I have no answer. It just happened, and it had been happening since I was a small child. It might have come from a movie or television show. My guess is as good as yours. I do know, though, that it was real and it was terrifying, and it was taking over my life--this horrible fear of the dark.
At that time, I was attending a women's Bible study at my church. As I sat there week after week, being taught about God answering prayers, about healing, and about miracles, etc., I began to wonder — would He answer my prayer? Would He deliver me from this horrible fear of mine? Would he even care enough--after all, who was I to even ask? One day, those questions were fiercely bubbling up inside of me, and as we were asked if we had any prayer needs before I could grab my hand back down, it shot up into the air, and I blurted out--Please pray for me! I began to sob as I told them about my fear of the dark. I was mortified that I had just shared my darkest secret. My shame. After all, I was a Christian, wasn't I? Where was my faith? Where was my trust in God? I just knew they were judging me.
As I sat there crying, though, I looked up and noticed that the entire room of women had surrounded me. Somewhere between 30 and 40 pairs of loving arms and sympathetic eyes were kneeling before me, ready to pray. I have never felt so much love, kindness, and understanding in my life--not before nor since. I cried, they prayed, and we stayed that way for a very long time. Those are my real friends. Those who prayed with me and stayed until the job was done. They didn't need to say one word, they didn't need to placate me with verses from the Bible, they didn't need to share their own fears that day--no, all they needed to do was pray for me and show me with their kind actions that they were standing with me in the midst of my fears.
I went home that day feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but I can't lie. I wondered what nightfall would bring. My husband was on a business trip once again. So, that night I opened my Bible to the book of Psalms chapter 91, and I read it and then laid it open on my nightstand--
Psalm 91
When I woke up the next morning, I realized I had slept through the night. No fear--fearless.
God had heard my cry, God had answered my prayer, and God had given me the most peaceful night's sleep that I had ever had. I cried. I really did. I felt so loved in that moment. I wondered — had I really been healed? Yes, yes, I had. No more sleepless nights. No more fear of the dark. It was gone.
Why share this? Because I believe that when God does something miraculous in our lives, we need to share it. We need to let others know. I learned something that day — we all have fears. And, there is not a thing we can do about it in and of ourselves. However, I serve an almighty God--who can do anything!
Fearless? Now I am! I can sleep in the pitch dark, I can walk through a dark house, I can go to the bathroom alone by myself--without the light on, I can stay home alone at night without giving it a second thought.
And if you don't think that's a miracle--then I don't know what one is! I am one very thankful, fearless child of God. I am absolutely convinced that God allowed what I went through to happen to me for a reason. Nothing could make me think otherwise. There is nothing He can't do. I know--I've asked.
I've been told that I am brave, that I have a certain confidence, and that I am a fearless person — to some extent. However, please understand that what I share with you does not mean that I live a life empty of fear. I do not. I just chose to live my life fearlessly, based on something that I experienced years ago.
I was (please note the "was") afraid of the dark--as a child and as an adult. I was married, with children, and approaching my 30s when my fear of darkness came to an ugly head. My husband's job was demanding more and more travel, which meant nights away — and believe me when I tell you, that meant nights of no sleep for me. The dark circles under my eyes should have given this phobia away; however, I hid my fear well. Not from my husband, of course, he found out early on about my fears. They pretty much consumed me. I am very thankful that he did not ridicule me — instead, if I needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, he would get up and turn the light on for me. I was afraid of the dark. Never could a room be completely without light; there always had to be a small crack left to illuminate the darkness that surrounded me at night. When darkness fell, my terror came alive. I do not know why. I have no answer. It just happened, and it had been happening since I was a small child. It might have come from a movie or television show. My guess is as good as yours. I do know, though, that it was real and it was terrifying, and it was taking over my life--this horrible fear of the dark.
At that time, I was attending a women's Bible study at my church. As I sat there week after week, being taught about God answering prayers, about healing, and about miracles, etc., I began to wonder — would He answer my prayer? Would He deliver me from this horrible fear of mine? Would he even care enough--after all, who was I to even ask? One day, those questions were fiercely bubbling up inside of me, and as we were asked if we had any prayer needs before I could grab my hand back down, it shot up into the air, and I blurted out--Please pray for me! I began to sob as I told them about my fear of the dark. I was mortified that I had just shared my darkest secret. My shame. After all, I was a Christian, wasn't I? Where was my faith? Where was my trust in God? I just knew they were judging me.
As I sat there crying, though, I looked up and noticed that the entire room of women had surrounded me. Somewhere between 30 and 40 pairs of loving arms and sympathetic eyes were kneeling before me, ready to pray. I have never felt so much love, kindness, and understanding in my life--not before nor since. I cried, they prayed, and we stayed that way for a very long time. Those are my real friends. Those who prayed with me and stayed until the job was done. They didn't need to say one word, they didn't need to placate me with verses from the Bible, they didn't need to share their own fears that day--no, all they needed to do was pray for me and show me with their kind actions that they were standing with me in the midst of my fears.
I went home that day feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but I can't lie. I wondered what nightfall would bring. My husband was on a business trip once again. So, that night I opened my Bible to the book of Psalms chapter 91, and I read it and then laid it open on my nightstand--
Psalm 91
1 Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.[a]
2 I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust."
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.[a]
2 I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust."
3 Surely he will save you
from the Fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
Nor the plague that destroys at midday.
7 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
But it will not come near you.
8 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.
from the Fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
Nor the plague that destroys at midday.
7 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
But it will not come near you.
8 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.
9 If you say, "The Lord is my refuge,"
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
10 No harm will overtake you,
No disaster will come near your tent.
11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
12 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
13 You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
You will trample the great lion and the serpent.
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
10 No harm will overtake you,
No disaster will come near your tent.
11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
12 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
13 You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
You will trample the great lion and the serpent.
14 "Because he[b] loves me," says the Lord, "I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
15 He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
16 With long life, I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation."
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
15 He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
16 With long life, I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation."
God had heard my cry, God had answered my prayer, and God had given me the most peaceful night's sleep that I had ever had. I cried. I really did. I felt so loved in that moment. I wondered — had I really been healed? Yes, yes, I had. No more sleepless nights. No more fear of the dark. It was gone.
Why share this? Because I believe that when God does something miraculous in our lives, we need to share it. We need to let others know. I learned something that day — we all have fears. And, there is not a thing we can do about it in and of ourselves. However, I serve an almighty God--who can do anything!
Fearless? Now I am! I can sleep in the pitch dark, I can walk through a dark house, I can go to the bathroom alone by myself--without the light on, I can stay home alone at night without giving it a second thought.
And if you don't think that's a miracle--then I don't know what one is! I am one very thankful, fearless child of God. I am absolutely convinced that God allowed what I went through to happen to me for a reason. Nothing could make me think otherwise. There is nothing He can't do. I know--I've asked.
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