Apartment Living--Nice

We did something different in France this time. We rented an apartment — sight unseen — over the internet. Yeah, I don't think we'll do that again. This will be a hard blog for me to write, as I don't want to come across negatively.  Nor do I want to come across as snobby. However, even as I am thinking about the 5 days we spent in Nice, I can feel the pampered American coming out in me. I am so very spoiled.

This is the description (as told by the owner) of the apartment — in the heart of the pedestrian city, 1 bedroom, air conditioning, washing machine, shower, coffee maker, kitchen utensils, linens, internet, TV —close to shopping and restaurants.

This is the description (as told by me) of the apartment--2nd floor apartment 2 doors down from a bar that doesn't close until 3 am, 1 bedroom with hard mattress that slopes, very noisy air conditioner, washing machine/no dryer--can wash 4 items at a time, (very) limited hot water, 20 year old coffee maker (bring your own filters) spotty internet, extremely small (13 in) TV. And BYOTP--toilet paper.

  The kitchen — the blue door is the refrigerator; no dishwasher, but there was a little oven.

 The living room arrangement wasn't good; I was dying to rearrange the whole place.

  Eat-in (kind of) kitchen, the small door held the washing machine, which was about 15 inches wide.

And lastly, the bathroom. The smallest shower ever, with the smallest water heater ever.

And that's probably what started the whole bad attitude thing--we met a woman at the apartment (that we were unable to park near--remember pedestrian area) and unloaded our luggage while my husband was double-parked.  He then had to look for a parking garage while I followed the barely English-speaking lady to the rental. She showed me where everything was — really not that hard to figure out — and then she left.  I liked her; she was nice. Why didn't I ask her how to work the washing machine?  How could I be so stupid? We did eventually figure it out, so all was well.  Kind of.  OK, not really.

This apartment was small, really small. Really, really small. I soon discovered that there wasn't anywhere to store our luggage, and I wasn't going to put our things in the dusty old chest of drawers. So that took a while to figure out. But, that's OK, I was determined to make the best of a badly decorated, super small, noisy apartment. It was sort of cute — had I decorated it. I'm sure that 30 years ago, all the decor looked fresh and clean. We unpacked, as best we could, and then realized there was only half a roll of toilet paper in the bathroom. Only 2 sets of towels and only 3 coffee filters in the kitchen. It was a Sunday evening, and if you know anything about most of Europe, you know that on Sundays it's pretty much shut down. We decided we had better quickly Google a map and find a nearby grocery store — and that's when we found out about the poor internet connection. We took off on foot, found our little store, and made the necessary purchases. I felt settled then--parked, unpacked--toilet paper and coffee filters bought.

We found out later that night about the hard bed and the loud bar. It's a good thing that my husband and I are seasoned travelers. We lay in bed that night and were overtaken by a laughing attack--with tears rolling down our faces, and our bodies sloping on our small, extremely uncomfortable bed, we laughed until the wee hours of the morning.  The next morning, not so much.

Since adventure and exploration are our middle names, we set off to discover all that Nice had to offer. We walked the pedestrian streets, took a pedicab tour (totally fun), and that evening walked the famous Promenade des Anglais. Sightseeing and food improved our moods dramatically until that night when we crawled into that horrible bed. After another night of sleeplessness, I was ready to check into a hotel and leave the apartment life far behind. My ever-brilliant husband, though, had a thought--don't we have a pull-out sofa sleeper in the living room?  Ummm, yes, yes we do! There we were at midnight, pulling out a sofa sleeper, praying that somehow, someway it would be more comfy than our bed. And it was. Oh, sweet bliss. We were able to sleep much more comfortably for the next 2 nights.  It's funny how much better Nice looked to us once we were well rested. Call us old farts if you want to, but we need our sleep. Nice was finally beginning to look nice.

Lose In Toulouse

I forgot to mention something that occurred while we were in Rennes. I can't believe I didn't write about it, since it was a significant part of the start of our trip. On the second day of our vacation, as I was blow-drying my hair, I did something stupid.  You know how you mindlessly throw your head forward to dry underneath? Yeah, I did that and was immediately assaulted with vertigo. The only thing I could do was grab onto the bathroom sink and yell out my husband's name. He came running and sat on the bathroom floor, holding me tightly and patiently waiting for the episode to end. I was sweating and sick to my stomach for the next couple of hours. I won't do that again--ever.

To say that I was fearful of another attack like that coming on again is an understatement. I was terrified. I got out my iPad and did the only thing I could. I reached out to my friends and family on Facebook and asked them to pray for me. We still had another 2 weeks of vacation ahead of us, and believe me, I didn't want to spend it lying down with spells of vertigo and feeling sick. Fortunately, I have several friends who are nurses, and they told me to get some motion sickness pills. So, once we arrived in Toulouse, I walked right across the street from our hotel armed with the French words--Dramamine, car sick, motion sickness, dizzy, and vertigo. I expected one of them to be translatable. It was, and I left with an ample supply to get me through our vacation. Thank God for friends! And for a pharmacist with a good sense of humor, my French wasn't too good when it came to those types of words, but we made do, and from that moment on, whenever I began to feel dizzy, I'd pop a French motion sickness pill.  I am very thankful that I have these special people in my life, who cared enough to pray and enough to help me out with some sage advice.

For me, Toulouse was interesting. First off, I loved our hotel. It was located right in the city center, which is what we love. It was modern, clean, and perfect for us, with a Nespresso machine (score), a big comfy bed (double score), and a window seat overlooking the main square.  The city of Toulouse, though, was really, truly not my cup of tea.  For one thing, we were a bit too old. It's a university town--loud, lots of bars, and tons of live music.

We set out to explore, walking through the main plaza and soaking up the scene. We listened to live music, stopped for a coffee, did some shopping, and then had dinner. Looking back, there is something I was very thankful for: double-glazed windows.  We were able to shut out the noise (which was still going on into the wee hours of the morning) and get a decent night's sleep. Funny how small things matter.


Honestly, because of the age factor, I wasn't too enamored with the city and wished I had chosen a different destination.  However, it was just one night, and we were soon off to Nice. We had a 6-hour drive ahead of us, with tollways, rest stops, and coffee to buy —it was time to go.

My husband wondered why I had chosen Toulouse as a stopover. I told him that years ago, we were supposed to go there for a business trip.  After much planning and looking forward to the trip, it was canceled at the very last minute. I was so disappointed. This was my way of finally seeing the city that I had researched all those years ago. Checked that box--on to Nice.

Beautiful Bordeaux

Here we come, Bordeaux, are you ready for us? We packed up the next morning and drove on down. Why in the world have I not heard much about this city before? That's my question. Because it was awesome. Yes, I had heard about the region and the wines, but not much about the city. And I can't figure out why. I didn't really have any expectations, as it was just on our route as we traveled throughout France, just another city to check off on our list. However, I was in for a pleasant surprise.

First off, our hotel was fantastic; it was owned and operated by the Monaco Consulate. Our room was actually the old stable; it had tangerine walls and concrete floors — very industrial, but super neat. I loved it, and it also had a courtyard with beautiful roses right outside our door. It was just a 5-minute walk to the main plaza where we had a wonderful dinner at a cute outdoor cafe, and then we roamed around taking some incredible pictures.

                                                        Our view during dinner...

In the morning, we went for a walk and stumbled upon old Roman ruins. In fact, as we were leaving our hotel to begin exploring, a lady flagged us down. Being American, we were a little skeptical at first (kinda like, what does she want with us?) However, as it turned out, she was a school teacher who didn't want us to walk right past those beautiful ruins without noticing them. Does she know us or what? We took pictures as she shared the history of the ruins with us — they were built in the 300s.  Unbelievable. I just love how others can catch our excitement and our love for foreign cities. I think they sense our love for Europe and want to become a part of our unquenchable thirst for exploration. Between the teacher's English and my French, we were able to converse nicely. I'm so glad she took time off her holiday and played tour guide.


After saying our goodbyes and thank-yous, we wandered through the city and found a flea market that was to die for. I have found that I am a total flea market junkie. Any flea market, anytime, anywhere--my new tag line. Yes, French flea markets are the best thing going, it is now my prayer that heaven looks like a French flea market, that's how much I love them. I picked up a little woven hand-basket — thinking it'll be great for future flea markets.



Honestly, we hated to leave Bordeaux and have already discussed going back — we need more time to explore the city and eat a lot more of their food.
There was a river through the middle of the city that I did not cross; there were vineyards and castles and villages to travel to in nearby regions, and probably a lot more flea markets with my name on them. I seriously did not want to leave.
Too little time for such a wonderful city. We will return--I promise. I really do promise.

However, our next destination was waiting — Toulouse.

Finally, Mount Saint Michel

Oh yes, this will certainly be a multiple-part blog. My husband and I traveled to 6 cities in France over 2 weeks. 6 cities! So, I shall start from the beginning — sharing my best times and my worst, my thoughts and my fears, and a few photos along the way. The trip was a celebration of our 40 years of marriage — we laughed, I cried, we ate, I shopped, we had tons of fun, and we are now a little (OK, a lot) depressed that it all went by much too quickly.

We landed in Paris, and although all I saw was the airport, it was still exciting. We then drove to our first destination — Rennes. We decided to stay in that particular city because of its proximity to Mont-Saint-Michel.  I was determined to see it on this trip. Very determined. I have been to France many times before, and every single time, something has come up to change the plans (mainly due to business meetings), so I missed seeing it all these years.  To say that I was excited would be an understatement. I was practically like a big ole' dog hanging out the window. But wait--back to Rennes.

I didn't really mind our hotel room--had it been in a different location in the city, and had a softer bed, and maybe better water pressure in the shower, but nonetheless, it was fine--it was going to just be a quick (2-night) resting place for my beloved Mount Saint Michel. It took us about 6 hours (remember, we stopped for coffee multiple times during any trip, no matter how near or far) to finally reach Rennes. It rained on and off that first day, and I prayed hard that the next day, my big day--that the rain would subside. And it did, God heard my prayers!

I, of course, slept some of the way. I'm not one to sleep well on planes.  I think I slept maybe 30 minutes total during our 9-hour flight; my husband, on the other hand, well, let's just say he was well rested when we arrived.  So, he did the driving, and I did the sleeping, and the drinking of the coffee--on to Rennes.

We used our little hotel room in Rennes as just a place to sleep.  I tried hard not to dwell on the negative aspect of that particular hotel. Really, I did. I tried hard not to notice that there was a movie theater across the square that let out at 3:00 am. I tried hard not to notice the many stray dogs roaming the streets all night long, barking, and barking, and did I mention barking? All night long!
I tried hard not to notice the homeless teenagers, crusty old men, and lack of good restaurants nearby. Yes, I tried hard not to notice all those things as I patiently waited for my day trip to Mont-Saint-Michel.  She outweighed them all. She, in all her beauty, eclipsed the contrary woes of that dismal place.  It was my fault, really. I should have done a little more research on the location of our hotel.  Nonetheless, we suffered through the unpleasant aspects of that hotel experience and secretly prayed that our next several hotels would be in better locations for the next 5 cities. I was probably praying a little harder.

The next morning, I was wide awake and bouncing off the walls, ready to take the 1-hour drive up to Mont-Saint-Michel. Oh, sure — I had been warned. I knew it was going to be very touristy, but hey, I'm a tourist too! And things like that don't really bother me. As long as there are clean restrooms and lots of places for food and coffee--I'm good to go. Our GPS (in our cute little Renault rental car) took us a little off the beaten path. Instead of highways, she decided to take us the byways--we drove through little villages, and our first glimpse of the monastery was across a field of bright yellow flowers. It literally took my breath away. We pulled over along the side of that little country road and began snapping pictures of crazy people, and just sat gazing at its beauty. Was it everything I thought it would be? Yes, it was. It was beautiful. So historical, with fantastic views and great architecture — everything was perfect. I didn't let the tourists and t-shirt shops bother me. I had a blast taking pictures and discovering little-hidden alleyways. We had a tourist-priced lunch and enjoyed our day. I loved the curved pathways that led us to the top, I loved the views of the tide being out, and the expansiveness of the sandy beaches. I loved the rooftops of the buildings, the cobbled streets, the French pastries, and the coffee--for me, it just doesn't get much better than that. What a glorious day. We drove back to Rennes that evening with some really great memories. Finally, Mount Saint Michel.

               

Yes, I finally made it, and yes, it was everything I thought it would be. I loved it. Would I go again? Probably not. Been there, done that. However, I am so glad that I went. I'm happy that I didn't listen to anyone else's opinion, I'm glad that I followed that yearning in my heart to visit such a wonderful, majestic place. I now have my memories, my pictures, and my heart feels very content.

Now on to Bordeaux.

Afterthoughts

It's funny what comes to your mind after. Those thoughts that you remember thinking. The ones that were hard to access at the time.  But then later they surface. Slowly. Hazy, lazy, foggy impressions--I thought I'd share them. For it's one thing to experience a weird accident, it's another to analyze it. And I'm good at that--analyzing, especially my own thoughts.

As I mentioned in my last blog, I passed out on the street in front of a local restaurant almost 3 weeks ago. I am still in the midst of testing. From EEGs to EKGs to everything in between, I will be poked and prodded for several more weeks to come.  Hopefully, these tests will come to nothing. However, I will succumb to making my doctors and my husband happy.

Anyway, back to those silly thoughts of mine (you see how my mind now wanders), the first of which happened right there on the sidewalk. When I first regained consciousness, I remember a man kneeling beside me. He was the one taking my pulse, I heard his voice, and felt safe. He felt under my throat, he felt my wrist, and told me that everything was going to be OK. And guess what I did? I reached out and grabbed his hand and held on for dear life. I did not know what was happening, where I was, or what was going on.  All I knew was that this person was taking care of me, and so I held his hand. And he let me. He held my hand right back until the EMTs got there. I'm a little embarrassed now when I think about it. Holding the hand of a stranger, someone whom I've yet to lay eyes on. And yet, for me, at the time, it was the right thing to do. It brought me comfort. And I'm very grateful for that.

As I was lying there in a pool of blood, I noticed that my head was lying on something soft.  First thought?  I hope it's not my new sweater! Seriously.  That's what I thought--not my new sweater! No worries, it was just a few towels brought out by the restaurant to soak up the blood and act as a makeshift pillow for my head.  Secondly, as I lay there, I felt something tugging at my handbag.  I had fallen to the right, and my bag was tucked underneath my arm. I heard a female voice — she was trying to get to my wallet for my ID, and guess what I was concerned about? Don't cut the strap! Yep, that is what was going through my mind as I lay there semi-conscious.  Don't cut the strap, you will devalue my purse if you cut the strap! I'm sure there is a lot to be said about a woman who is more worried about her sweater and handbag than she is worried about her own bleeding head--however, we won't go there now, will we?

Once in the ambulance, and once my eyes were finally beginning to open and the pain was settling in, other thoughts began to form. When I felt the EMT begin to run his fingers through my scalp, I tried to get the words out (but they would not come) don't let them shave my head! Again, vain upon vain--I know! I'm just being honest, though. Would you want a shaved head? Fortunately for me, the laceration was on my face. Oh wow, that comes across ever weirder and more vain. However, they found that it was to the right of my eye, between the eye and the hairline. No shaving necessary. Relieved doesn't even begin to describe how I felt at that moment. My hair was going to be saved!

One thing I should probably admit right here and now is that I watch a lot of TV.  I love my TV's (oh, I only have 2, big deal), the bigger the better as far as I'm concerned.  Maybe because I've lived most of my adult life with a traveling husband, so it became an important part of my evening--to wile away the loneliness. Maybe. Sounds good anyway. So, imagine this: you wake up in an ambulance, lights and sirens are going, and you pull into some type of big bay that looks like an airline hangar.  OK, bear with me here--I had a random thought--what if I'm being kidnapped--like on 24? Don't laugh, it could happen! Never mind that I'm a nobody, without money or fame--it could happen! Ummm, no. I then realized it was just the ambulance bay. Boring...

When taken into the ER, my mind was finally beginning to clear a little--which made for even more random crazy thoughts. Yes, my thoughts were many and random. I think I kind of told the staff what to do and how to do it.  Hopefully not, though. Maybe I was hallucinating that part.  I can laugh now. I know that I have a very active imagination. I don't know why all this happened to me, but it did. So why not make the most of it? Why not laugh, take selfies, remember the funny, crazy thoughts, and just get back to thanking God every day for this wonderful, awesome life that He has blessed me with? Why not take some time to reflect on all that could have gone wrong that didn't? I'm still here, aren't I?

I've spent the last couple of weeks recovering from a concussion and a big ole' black eye, but I'm OK. I truly believe that when all these tests come back, they will be negative--not a thing wrong with me--just a clean bill of health that will be a comforting piece of knowledge to live with for the next 20-30 years of my life. God is always--good!

Shiner

That's what I ended up with, all right--a shiner and a laceration of about one and one-half inches next to my right eye. I don't remember much. Just that I'd had an awesome day. I had been out shopping and lunching with a friend, then we had decided to meet back up later that same afternoon to check out a little pop-up shop that would be in our town for the next 3 days. Afterward, I was to drive home and throw a tri-tip on the barbecue.  But, I didn't. And that's when it all went wrong.

It was about 6:00 on a Friday evening, a glorious spring day, and I thought--I should call my husband and ask him to walk into town and meet me for dinner. My car was already downtown, and I thought it would be easy to just drive home together afterward. We live just a half mile away--so close.

I remember walking across the street to a nearby restaurant and putting our name in for a table for 2 out on the patio. We love that particular patio; it's great for people watching. My husband soon strolled up, and we walked inside to check on the status of our table — the place was packed with others with the same idea. It was a little warm in there for me, so I told him that I was just going to step outside. I needed some fresh air.

Do you know what tunnel vision is? Yeah. I got that feeling along with a clamminess, and as I was looking for a bench to sit down on, I passed right out. Right there on the sidewalk, smacking the right side of my face hard, splitting it open. I was apparently "knocked out" for several minutes. I remember none of this of course, but this is what was told to me later.

What I do remember is this--slowly awaking to voices talking about my pulse. I remember probing fingers checking underneath my neck and also on my wrist.  I could feel someone tugging at my handbag, trying to reach my wallet for my ID. Once found, they rushed into the restaurant calling my husband's name.  I heard his voice, but I still had not opened my eyes. I hear another male voice and also a female voice--I believe they were the ones who were taking such good care of me.  I heard someone say that the ambulance was on its way, and then I heard sirens. Still, I had not yet opened my eyes.

When the EMTs arrived, things moved quickly.  I tried to sit up and focus--I saw wadded up blood-soaked towels (from the restaurant) where my head had been, but then immediately had to lay my head back down as things began to once again spin out of control.  I was eventually loaded up onto a gurney and whisked away to our local hospital. My husband followed in my car. I was later glad that I had told him exactly where I had parked.

Once in the ER, many tests were taken. CT, X-rays, blood panel, etc. All came back negative. I was in the hospital for a mere 6 hours.  I was fortunate to walk away with a concussion, a one-and-a-half-inch laceration, and a huge black (and later purple and yellow) eye. The diagnoses came back as
Vasovagal Syncope.  It caused me to faint. I just wish I hadn't smacked my head so hard on the cement. It was all the blood that freaked everyone out. And which prompted my lovely trip to the ER.

Of course, I will have to go for a further check-up with my regular doctor, but I am satisfied with the diagnosis that I received from the hospital.  Next time I feel that clammy, tunnel vision type of feeling coming on, I will immediately sit down wherever I am. It's a much shorter distance to the ground that way!

It's now been about 10 days, and I am feeling much better; the swelling is going down, the colors of my eye are changing like the colors of fall, and I am far less dizzy. I am taking it easy, avoiding sudden head movements, and getting back to my normal daily routines.

I am so very thankful for those who came to my assistance — for those who just happened to be in the right place at the right time, for my husband, for the EMTs, and for the ER staff.  Everyone was wonderful, caring, and kind. I am very grateful. All is well. And God is good.

Hope Again

Sometimes when I pray, I don't get an answer. Other times, I hear from God right away. It's the times that I don't hear him, or feel him, or get that answer I so desperately need--well, that bothers me. I wonder, why isn't he speaking to me? I find myself praying even harder, spending that much more time in prayer, seeking him, begging him, really, to answer me. I assure him that I can handle the answer, whether or not it's what I want to hear--I guess in a sense, I am reasoning with him. Oh, what he must think!  I can just imagine him patting me on my little girl's head and saying--don't worry, I've got this handled--you're on a need-to-know basis.

It's the other times, though, that I want to talk about.  The times when he does answer me. When I get that yes or no or wait--that's something to hang on to. The times when I hear that still small voice that calls me by name and says to me--Here is your answer. I got one of those the other night. And it blew me away.

I need to be extremely honest here and say that I had lost hope. Just a little bit. I think I was trying to come to terms with the fact that I might never see or get what I was praying for. I was wondering if I'd have to go my entire life without ever knowing — was my prayer answered? I know, I'm a little weird, but that is what I thought. So, when the answer to my prayer came, I was surprised. I had reconciled myself to not knowing. I guess I was just protecting my heart. I do that sometimes. OK, all the time.

What happened is this. I read a phrase in a book. A verse. And then, through God speaking to my heart, I discovered a different way to interpret that verse. It was in that moment as if time had stopped--just long enough for my little brain to wrap itself around this new concept. In that short amount of time--my world changed. Hope soared through my heart. And at the same time, I felt a little dumb and a little giddy. Why hadn't I noticed that before? Why hadn't I read that simple little twist? I think I know why now. After spending a couple of weeks analyzing and processing what I discovered, I think I know why. It's God's timing. I'm convinced of that. It's all about God's timing. It's all about when we need to know. I didn't need that bit of information until now. However, I guess I was desperate. And in my desperation and need for an answer from my God--the only one with the answers--he heard my cries and showed me something in his word that not only gave me hope but also changed my perspective on certain things. How awesome is that?

Have you ever read the story of the prodigal son? I was raised on it. I'd heard it told every which way. I can recite that story like nobody's business. And I'd like to say right here and now--I was the good one, the faithful one, the one who never left, who always obeyed, and who was always faithful. Yes, I was that one. Or so I thought.  

You see, in the story, the father was so happy that the prodigal son had returned, that he was alive, and not dead. That he wasn't lost. He was just happy to be with him. To have him back home safe and sound. This father loved his sons so much. And right then and there, right after once again reading this story for the billionth time, I heard it--his voice. He said to me--you've been both sons, and I've always loved you, always gone after you, always protected you, always wanted you near me. You are my child. Of course, I immediately began to cry. I've been both, I thought? And you loved me anyway? The feelings of love and acceptance that flowed through my heart at that moment brought me to my knees. He loves me no matter what. No matter what I do, think, or act. God loves me. And he wants me back.

I thought of my own children then. I will tell you this--there isn't anything they could ever do that would or could make me love them any less. My love for them is unconditional. Period. I love my kids; I would give my life for them. And I would always welcome them back — just happy that they are home and safe. Yes, I would throw them a huge party. And even if the other kids were a little bit jealous, I would say to them--I love all of you. I always will. There is nothing that will ever change that fact.

After having this very special moment with God--for that is about all the time it took, a moment--I felt a peace and a rest overtake my heart. I thought of those whom I deeply love and care for, friends and family who have walked away from God, and I knew then — he will always love them, he will always go after them, he will always protect them. For he is God, he is their father, and he loves them unconditionally. They are safe; he will take care of them. I relaxed into the very arms of my father, and I knew--he loves them. And in that moment, I had hope again. 

I wonder if this is what hope truly looks like?

Changes

It still makes me look twice. You see, we rearranged the master bedroom and repainted over the weekend. While I love the new look, I'm still a little shocked every time I round the corner. It looks completely different, and all we did was paint one wall, move some furniture, and buy 2 new lampshades. And yet--it's all very different. Don't get me wrong, I love the new look, it's just taking me a while to get used to it.

You'd think I'd adapt much quicker, what with my track record of moving. I moved almost every year as a child and have moved numerous times as an adult, and yet, change of any kind is somewhat hard on me. Good or bad change — it really doesn't matter; it's still a bit unnerving. I realize now that that aspect of my personality will most likely never change (no pun intended)--not at my age, anyway. Change will always be hard on me. I wonder if it's that way for everyone? Or am I in the minority?

The insecurities that I wrestle with come about, I am sure, with my many moves. Never really settling in, always knowing that soon, I would be jerked up and replanted. As a kid, there was nothing I could do about it, as an adult--well, there's not much I could do about that either when I think about it. That stinks. I would have thought by now I would have some control over my own life. But no. No control. Just change--scary change. I don't like it. Or do I?

However, I have this little problem. It's called being positive — always seeing the silver lining in every cloud. I believe that God made me that way — to cope with life. And so with every move, I ferret out the good things about said move and throw out the bad and scary stuff. And I've learned to adapt. Because I am an optimist. My husband doesn't realize what an enormous gift this is. Or does he?

Is that why I need to change every so often?  I crave it. Even if it's something as simple as painting a wall. Moving a chair. Buying a lampshade. I need the change for self- preservation. Yes, I think that's it. For my mental well-being, every once in a while I need a little change in my life — maybe to remember that I am alive and that change is OK, good even. Change is good, fun, stretching, and life.

Yes, this little change over the weekend has made me feel good. I needed something. And this fit the bill — as they say. This made all the difference in the world to my mental state. It was fun, challenging (you've never had to paint a room with a paint hater, have you?), and exciting. It made me happy.

I think I'll sit in there now and read for a while.  It's so pretty and different and changed...and it didn't hurt a bit.

Challenge Accepted

A couple of weeks ago, I read a quote by Francis Chan that went something like this--
"Simon says, pat your head, and we all pat our heads.
Jesus says, go out and make disciples of men and we memorize that verse."

I haven't been able to get that quote out of my head. I find myself dwelling on it day and night. And I believe that God is challenging me with that very quote, He's asking me--do you make disciples of men? I honestly didn't know. Do I? I've asked myself that question multiple times over the past several weeks. Do I? I did the only thing I knew to do: I prayed.  I asked God to show me what that looks like — making disciples. Just what does it look like? How would I even begin to know if I am doing what Christ is asking of me? As I prayed, God began to show me some things I'd like to share.

I've discovered that other believers' gifts sharpen my own skills and giftings. I drew this conclusion the other evening while sitting in our couples' Bible study. As we were all discussing our latest book, sharing our opinions and looking up scripture, it dawned on me — iron sharpening iron — that I was watching it take place right before my eyes. As one spoke--we were all challenged in our thoughts, as another shared--our spirits were lifted, and as even another talked--we were convicted by the Holy Spirit. I sat there amazed as I watched God at work.  At one point, it brought tears to my eyes, for God was speaking to my heart, and He said--This is how you make disciples of men.  I watched as some around the room looked at me, most likely wondering--why is she crying again? However, when I hear God speak, I cry, I just do. He touches my heart like no other can.

It was hard for me; I couldn't articulate what I was experiencing right then and there.  I am a slow processor — meaning I had to go home and spend some time in prayer about this whole concept. I now realize that as we share with each other things that we are discovering about our relationship with Christ, we are making disciples of men. We are causing each other to dig through our Bibles for scripture; we are saying to ourselves — wow, do I do that, or I didn't know that, or should I be thinking that way too? And that's a good thing. No, not in the sense that we feel condemned; however, yes, in the sense that we allow the Holy Spirit to convict us. We give Him rule and reign over our hearts. I am always asking God — show me your ways. And I find that one way He does this is by showing me the gifts of the people around me. I am very challenged and humbled by this.

True confession here--I sometimes feel that I am a little too dogmatic when it comes to sharing my faith.  I walk away from conversations feeling that I have been too overpowering, too excited, too in-your-face — especially when it comes to the topic of prayer. For I am an intercessor. A pray-er. Here is a definition--

Intercession

Intercession is the act of interceding (intervening or mediating) between two parties. In Christian religious usage, it is a prayer to God on behalf of others.

In Western forms of Christian worship, intercession forms a distinct form of prayer, alongside Adoration, Confession, and Thanksgiving. In public worship, intercession is offered as prayer for the world beyond the immediate vicinity.

That isn't all there is to living as a Christian, though--there are so many other facets. And maybe that's the key. Maybe our challenge from God is to spread those gifts, share them with others, teach others, that whole iron sharpening iron concept. I push prayer, someone else pushes hospitality, another digs into the Bible, etc. All these gifts are shared among believers, challenging them to grow and become true disciples of Christ. I think I'm on to something. I think God has just challenged me. To learn, to grow, to become a true disciple, and to make disciples of men. Challenge accepted.  

I will follow you, oh Lord. I will learn and teach, grow and share, and I will serve you with my whole heart, all the days of my life.

Things I Miss About California

I was born and raised in California. I didn't move away until the ripe old age of 46. I moved to the Midwest, which might as well have been outer Mongolia. The culture shock was truly that — a surprise. It took me years to adapt. However, now that I am nicely settled in, I'm doing pretty well. There are lots of things to love about the Midwest. Seasons, for example, I do love the change of seasons.

There are some things, though, that I truly miss about California--aside from my friends and family, of course.  I have decided to share a few of those things with you. Just because I want to--I'm in the mood. So here they are, not in any particular order--just random thoughts of things I miss.

Mexican food--that's probably the #1 thing I miss most, and it's also the most perplexing, aggravating, easily fixable item on my list. Here in Chicagoland, we have tons of Mexicans. My question is this — why aren't you opening restaurants? Yes, there are many Mexican restaurants here, but I have yet to find one with that authentic California flair. That's just my opinion, though.

The ocean--Lake Michigan is not the ocean. Enough said.

Mexican food

Lake Tahoe--I want feet of snow, not inches, and blue water, oh so blue

Mexican food

Chinese food — please refer to the rant on Mexican food. Same thing.

Thai food--same as above

The PCH--if you don't know what this is, you are not from California

Mexican food

My favorite fast food joints--In & Out, Jimboys, Rubios

Pine trees--all types

Mexican food

Real people--by that I mean that you can't tell rich from poor by the way people dress

California casual--the best dress code anywhere, bar none!

Mexican food

Year-round flowers

Flip flops and hoodies--all the time

Mexican food

My swimming pool--floating, tanning, relaxing, daydreaming

San Francisco--especially Chinatown

Mexican food

Camping in the redwoods--shut up, I camped!

Sierra Nevada Mountain range

Driving Highway 1

Free highways--big pet peeve of mine, here we have tollways

I really do miss Mexican food

Beach towns and trinket shops

Camping on the ocean--yes, I said I used to camp!

Napa--I love driving through the vineyards, especially during the fall

Apple Hill--where you can get all things apple

Foothills--aka, the gold country, beautiful dogwoods

Orchards--mile after mile of trees and blossoms

Fruit stands--stopping and buying bags of whatever, super cheap!

Flea Markets and Thrift Shops

Ethnic Restaurants--every type you can imagine

Yes, there are so many things I miss about my home state of California. And while people here poke fun at her, I will always defend her. For she is beautiful, from the mountains to the valley, she will forever be my real home.

Now, I must go in search of Mexican food--I've made myself pretty hungry!

Not Too Heavy

"I don't want to make this too heavy for you," she said as she packed up my groceries. I had one of those huge reusable bags that I brought from home. I went in thinking I'd just pick up a few things, but you know how that goes. I ended up with a cart full. And that's OK, I am now stocked up.
I really didn't think too much about what she said, though, until I got home.  I opened up my trunk and began to lift the groceries out, and that's when God softly spoke to my heart. "I don't want to make this too heavy for you," He said. I knew right then what He was talking about. Funny how that goes. I knew. As I carried in the rest of my goodies, my mind was on what God had just said. He was taking care of me, of that I am sure. Not too heavy a load--and I truly thank Him for that.

I hadn't planned on sharing the story of my load on my blog. In fact, I hadn't planned on sharing it with anyone. My husband knew, of course, but no one else. It was (per my request) our secret. I really didn't think it was necessary to worry anyone when, in my opinion, there wasn't anything yet to worry about.  I think that he, on the other hand, wanted to ask others to pray. I didn't. And I told him so. Please, I said. Tell no one.

For the past few weeks, I have been carrying a burden. It's unusual for me to think about or pray for myself. I'm not saying that I don't, I'm just saying it isn't all that often. I like praying for other people. It's just more fun. However, these past few weeks were a little different for me. I had gone in for a routine doctor's visit, and something showed up on a test. Which then turned into more tests. And more tests. I do have to say that throughout this testing time, I felt a peace from God — that He would sustain me, no matter the outcome. There were times, though, when I would find myself drifting off into what-if land.  I hate what if land. It reminds me too much of I have no faith land. And that's a land that I will not dwell in, and so I prayed.

I felt all along that God would lift this heavy burden, and that I would be OK. And thank God, the word benign--was the word on my doctor's report. I was so relieved. I felt myself melt right into the very arms of God and thank Him for that simple little word. Benign. And life went on. Things resumed. Life went back to normal until this morning. He reminded me once again, through the words of that cashier, that He, my father, my God, my healer, didn't want to make this load too heavy for me. Wow, what a mighty God I serve!

For that reason, I have decided to share this simple little story. You see, my life rests in His hands. His load is light. Even if I had seen a different word written on that medical report, I believe with my whole heart that He would have softly whispered that simple little phrase into my ear--I don't want to make this too heavy for you. And He never has, He's always been there, and He always will be. To carry me when I need carrying. To hold me when I need holding — He's my father.

He Knows My Name

I keep hearing that song, over and over again, in my head. I love the way MercyMe sings it.  It makes me cry. Just to think about the God of the universe knowing me that well, it just makes me want to fall on my knees before Him and worship. So I do.

I hadn't thought about that song in a very long time, but a friend brought it up the other night in our small group. And now--well, now, it's running through my brain almost nonstop. He's always known me before I was born, and after I came into this world, and He knows me now. That brings such peace to my heart. It's almost unexplainable. I need that peace right now. Knowing that He knows me, that He knows my name, that He knows my thoughts before I even think them. There is no hiding from Him. He knows everything. He is God.

We talked some that evening about the contrast between the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New.  They are one and the same, and yet, because of Christ, different. I had to spend some time grappling with this. Finally, after praying for a couple of weeks, I have drawn a conclusion. Hopefully, it will make as much sense to you as it does to me. Maybe (probably) God has simplified it for me; He's done that many times before. Thankfully.

I serve a just God--He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, that's what the Bible says, and I believe what the Bible says, I believe it to be the absolute truth.  I read about the God of the Old Testament and see instances of swift judgment.  In many cases, they might appear to be unjust. And yet, I know that isn't true. One example shared the other night was of God striking dead the man who reached for the ark of the covenant to keep it from falling. No one was to touch that arc. Plain and simple. Those were God's instructions.  So justice had to be handed out. For He demands obedience.

Now let's look at the God of the New Testament.  He has now sent His son Jesus to save us from our sins. When God looks at us, He looks at Christ covering us. He sees Jesus.  He is still a just God, though, because He does not change; He is the same God.  He is a just God. I believe that He knew the condition of that man's heart--as he reached for the ark, he was unworthy and disobedient, so God took his life. He does not change, He is still a just God. However, once we accept Christ into our hearts, we change. Our desire--the desires of our hearts is to serve an almighty God. And that's what God sees as he looks at us. Deep down into our hearts--He sees that change. That longing to serve Him, worship Him, live for Him. I do not believe that He saw that in that particular man mentioned in the Old Testament.

Because of Christ giving up His life for mine, God now sees Jesus when He looks into my heart. Yes, He is a just God. He knows my name, He knows my heart. And that gives me comfort while also challenging me. Why does this challenge me? Because I am so very human, so selfish, so fleshly. I want so badly to serve God with all my heart, and yet many times I fail Him.  Why He forgives me each and every time, why He still loves me and teaches me through these times, why He has so much patience with me is a mystery. However, I have to remember — He knows my heart, He called me by name, He loves me, and He always will.

Humble, thankful, grateful...I will always praise Him with my whole heart. For my God is a just God. And He knows my name.

Jar of Coins

This little jar of coins sitting on my counter has once again caught my eye.  I keep looking at it and wondering — why? Funny that I feel the need, no maybe the desire to talk about this little jar. This jar is so insignificant, so simple, so not important, and yet each time I walk by it, I feel a pull. I've written other blogs about my experiences at Triennial. It was a woman's conference that I attended last summer in San Diego. A lot happened to me while I was there — emotionally and spiritually. I learned much about myself, about who God wants me to be, and about what God wants me to do. Which brings me to another short little side story. It really isn't anything very notable yet, but maybe someday it will be — maybe someday.

I came home from that very special retreat with the funniest request from God. While in prayer, I felt that He was asking me to start saving coins. So I immediately went to a local discount store and bought myself a little coin-counting jar. Altogether, it will end up holding about $100. Once full, I plan to take the jar of coins to my bank and exchange them for paper money.  I will then lay the crisp $100 bill at the bottom of my coin jar and start collecting coins once again.

God does, and always has, lay different things on my heart — some big, some not so big —but I found this desire to become a coin collector very interesting. I wanted to know just why I was saving these coins. Was it for me? A friend? Someone whom I've yet to meet? My understanding is that it's to go towards the next Triennial in 3 years. To pay the way for someone. Maybe even me, who knows. I don't know where I will be in 3 years. With my track record of moving about with my husband--I could end up anywhere! I might need the money from this little jar to get me to the next retreat. Or, I might be saving it for someone who needs a little extra help getting there. Whichever God chooses, it is important for me to be obedient — I just know I need to save my coins — that's how strong this desire has become.

And so, I've been saving. Even my husband had gotten into the game. All spare change goes into my coin jar. I'm almost up to the $100 mark. And then I'm off to the bank. I can hardly wait. Every time I get some change, it goes into the jar. You know what's funny, though?  I find myself praying over that little jar. Who is this for, Lord, who is this for? It's exciting. It's like God, and I have a special little secret. And you know what's even funnier? I'm doing a Bible study about secrets! Sacred secrets. Ha! What are the odds? I just love how God works. I love how He teaches me through the simplest of lessons.

A very small task, a small jar of coins, simple obedience for a great big God.

40 Years With You

You can love just one person your entire life. And for me, that one person is you. It always has been from the moment I met you.

I've been thinking a lot about these past 40 years with you. And looking back, nothing in our lives has ever been normal. Not us, not ever. I guess I shouldn't have expected it to be. Maybe I should think of us as a little abnormal. Because we are--in a sense. Abnormal. However, I like it that way — for the most part. Some portions I could have done without, but only some. Most have been an adventure. Most have our own stamp on them, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. Although sometimes I do want it to change, I really do. And then other times I think, nah, I like it this way. It's exciting. I change and grow, and so do you. Fortunately, we've grown together rather than apart. I think we always will. I can say that now--after all, it's been 40 years. We've got a good track record. Don't you think?

The two of us, all those many years ago--we sure were in love. Everyone could see it; we were meant to be. Made for each other. We didn't fight a lot because we were friends. And out of that friendship grew a deep respect. We talked so much back then and still do. I love that about us--our ability to dissect just about any topic, anytime, anywhere. Face it, we still love to talk. And we are still very much in love.

Anyway, getting back to how different we were/are. Even our wedding was a little bit unlike any others we had attended. My father didn't walk me down the aisle — you did. I wasn't a thing or an object to be given away to anyone. We vowed to be mutually submissive to each other, always friends, always faithful, always in service to our God. Things weren't always easy, though, and sometimes they still aren't, but I'm OK with that, are you? I believe that through those hard times, we've learned a lot about each other and about ourselves. And through that, we've grown. I like that. And I want to continue to grow and change with you.

When our first baby came, I thought, " Hey, maybe we'll be normal now. We owned a home, had a baby, and had settled in — but just for a very short time. But then we were on the move again. It's crazy if you think about it — we've now owned 8 homes. How many more will we buy? Who knows? God. He knows. We trust Him.  As He moves us around from city to city, state to state, church to church--we trust Him.  Now we do after many long trials. Now we do. That took time, too. Learning to trust Him.  Going through trials. Learning to lean on God and each other, helping one another, praying for one another, and giving one another that extra grace now and then. And I'm OK with that, are you?

No, normal we are not. But we are happy. 40 years. It's been fun, exciting, frustrating, scary, adventurous, maddening, exhilarating, and every other positive and/or negative adjective I can think of. I wouldn't change a thing. Even though many of my friends have led conventional lives — same house, city, church, etc. I wouldn't change a thing. I have no regrets. I love our not-so-normal life — most of the time, anyway. Don't you?

I look back over the last 40 years and think wow! We made it. We've raised 3 children and have 6 grandchildren. We still love each other; we're still friends; we even like each other; and we want to be together. And I can't help but wonder--how many couples can say that? I hope that those who've known us these past 4 decades have seen the sacrifices made, the willingness to press on, the determination to serve others, and the willingness to give to each other and to those around us. I hope and pray that our children have seen these attributes in our lives as well.  I hope we've lived our lives in such a way that they want to emulate us. I truly want for them what we have--yes, it's been that awesome of a life. Normal? No. Fantastic? Yes.

Do you know what I want now? I want another 40 years. Seriously. I want that--40 more years of our kooky, weird, abnormal life. I'd go anywhere with you--you know that, right?

So, here's to 40 more years! And thank you from the bottom of my heart for the last 40. No regrets. Just pure thankfulness. All those many years ago, I asked God for a man like you--and I got the answer to my prayer--a husband who makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the room, a husband who makes my heart skip a beat, a husband who makes me laugh, a husband who I could never ever thank enough for loving me.

Happy 40th anniversary. I love you with my whole heart. And I always will.

The Trinity

I shared a story the other night at our couples' Bible study. We are going through a book on the Holy Spirit, and during a deep discussion, I was reminded of something God showed me when I was approximately 8 years old. I had only come to know about Him at the age of 6, so I was all ears when it came to learning about my new father--my father in Heaven. I shared a little of my story that evening and feel compelled to share it in a little more detail.

I was sitting in the kitchen of my maternal grandmother's house. We were there for a weekend visit, and my mom and grandmother were talking. Knowing me, I was probably sitting at her kitchen table coloring and singing--2 of my favorite 8-year-old things to do. Since learning a lot of new songs in Sunday School over the past couple of years, you couldn't keep me from singing them. I'm still like that--I love to sing worship songs, and really, I don't have an interest in other types of music.

However, I digress. As I was saying, I was sitting there minding my own business when I had an epiphany. It was simple, pure, basic, and easy to understand. I must have been thinking or singing about Jesus. That's what I remember anyway. I looked up at my mom, and it hit me. She's my mom, she's my grandmother's daughter, and she's my dad's wife. 3 people all in one, just like God. He's God the Father (my father) and God the Son (my brother) and God the Holy Spirit (my comforter and best friend)--easy peasy.  At least for an 8-year-old.

From that moment to this day, I have not had a problem understanding the concept of the Trinity. The Godhead 3 in 1. I wonder sometimes why it is so easy for me to accept these simple truths from the Bible while others struggle with theology, while here I am accepting it on blind faith. And then I realized--that's exactly what it is--it's faith, blind faith. A faith that says, if it's in the Bible, it's true. I don't need to spend valuable time asking questions about its authenticity; I do, however, ask God to expound on certain topics for me. I sometimes need understanding, but I also realize that my ways are not his ways, and I am not to lean on my own understanding.  I am to take what God says by faith, and I am just simple-minded enough to do that.  Is it because I came to know Christ at such a young age? Or is it because I have seen him do so many miraculous things in my life? I'm honestly not sure, I just know that I believe what the Bible teaches. And while the word Trinity does not appear in the Bible, we are taught about the Godhead.  That the Father, Son, and holy spirit are one.  Easy for an 8-year-old to believe. Easy for me, 50 years later, to believe.  For I have no doubt, not a single one.

A few months ago, I wrote a blog on faith. I am going to quote myself (can I do that?) and repost a portion of that blog. Maybe then you will understand why the concept of the Trinity is so very easy for me to grasp.

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

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

Low Carb Lasagna--Cauliflower Noodles

I am always looking for that one-in-a-million recipe for my low-carb lifestyle. And while consistently perusing the internet, every once in a while, I stumble upon one that intrigues me. Such was the case of the cauliflower noodle concept. You see, one of my favorite ethnic foods is Italian. And what has more carbs than almost any other food? Italian. So, it stands to reason that I've been more than a little depressed over my lack of Italian goodness. Until I discovered cauliflower and all of its many uses. Noodles are one of them.

This is my own rendition of Lasagna using cauliflower. We loved it, and hopefully you will too!

For the cauliflower noodle, yes, I said noodle, not noodles.

I head cauliflower--finely chopped
2 cups shredded Mozzarella cheese
2 eggs
1 T oregano
2 cloves of chopped garlic

Steam the cauliflower in a large microwave-safe bowl for about 10 min. If need be, use a potato masher to make the pieces really small.  I use a food processor before cooking, so I don't have to do this. Mix in the remaining ingredients; I just use my hands. Lay a sheet of parchment paper over a jelly roll pan. Press down the cauliflower dough to make a big, giant rectangle. Don't worry about it being perfect, just press it all out into a big, thin-looking crust.  Bake in a 350 oven for 45 minutes. When done, take it out and let it cool for a few minutes. Then remove it from the pan and cut it in half.

For the layers--

1 large jar low-carb meat spaghetti sauce
16 oz ricotta cheese
2 to 3 cups of mozzarella cheese
3 cups fresh baby spinach

Take a 9 x 13-inch baking pan, and pour about 1/4 of the sauce over the bottom of the pan, smooth it all out. Then take that great big cauliflower noodle, cut it in half, and gently place it in the 9 x 13-inch pan.  Layer with the cheeses, spinach, and another 1/4 of the sauce. Put the other half of the noodle on top and layer again with the remaining ingredients. Easy peasy.

Bake in a 350-degree oven for 30 minutes. Enjoy. Trust me, it's so good.

Put Down The Glass

I've been praying about this for a while now. Asking God for direction. Do I or don't I? Confront or not to confront. It was so much more than a prayer for me. My heart was heavy. I thought about my situation for days on end. I even found myself dreaming about it. Nightmares almost. That's how much this has been weighing on my heart.

My feelings have been hurt. Words have a way of doing that to me. They hurt me. Especially when they tend to be the attacking type of words. Hurting, biting, mean, coming out of nowhere, and ending up cutting me deep down in my heart.

And so, I prayed and prayed, and this morning I got my answer. I really do love how God works. He has a way of talking to me at my level. Easy, plain, basic. I don't need much more than that. Just tell me, God--what do I do? And when I hear Him, His voice, so pure and true--I know. I know it's Him.

I read a little story on Facebook this morning, and through that simple little illustration, God spoke to my heart.

A psychologist walked around a room while teaching stress management to an audience. As she raised a glass of water, everyone expected they'd be asked the "half empty or half full" question. Instead, with a smile on her face, she inquired: "How heavy is this glass of water?"  Answers called out ranged from 8oz to 20oz. She replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, my arm will feel numb and paralyzed. In each case, the weight of the glass doesn't change, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."
She continued, "The stresses and worries in life are like that glass of water. Think about them for a while, and nothing happens. Think about them a bit longer, and they begin to hurt. And if you think about them all day long, you will feel paralyzed--incapable of doing anything."  
Remember to put the glass down. 

After reading that story, I knew that there was something I had to do. I had to pray and ask God to forgive me and to teach me how to put the glass down. And so I did. I prayed, He forgave, and hopefully, I've learned (once again) a valuable life lesson.

I wonder sometimes--how heavy do I make life for myself, just by holding onto something and not setting the glass down, how heavy?

Desperate

Praying
Seeking
Hurting
Needy
Humble
Afraid
Sacred
Calling
Hearing
Speak
Listen
Search me
Heal me
Love me
Protect me
Teach me
Mold me

And always know that I am so very desperate for you--always.

Just A Thread

I've been crocheting like a crazy lady lately. From throws and baby blankets to scarves and hats--yep, I've been crocheting my little heart out. Mostly just to keep busy in the evenings while watching TV with my husband. I also tend to eat a little less when my hands are busy--at least I'd like to think so. I've also been experimenting with some new yarns and patterns, and I even took a private lesson the other day. I've been having fun with yarn. I've been making things. I've had a feeling of contentment while crocheting in the cold and snow.  It's been nice.

So why a blog about crocheting? Well, something a little weird happened in the wee hours of the morning. And I feel strongly that God wants me to share it. I woke up at 2:30 am with tears streaming from my eyes. I lay there praying and asking God--what are you saying to me, Lord? I didn't hear anything from Him for a while, so I just prayed. I prayed for my friend who was just diagnosed with cancer, I prayed for my family, and I prayed for my friends. I prayed and asked God to use me, to purify my heart before Him. I asked Him to continue to teach me and to always remind me that I serve Him, not the other way around. I must have prayed for about half an hour when He then began to speak to my heart. I aim to convey in this short piece what I saw, felt, and learned from Him this morning. It made sense to me, so I'll share it here. Maybe it'll resonate with you, too, maybe not. But I'll let God sort that out.

This is what I saw — he showed me a single thread of yarn. And told me that it was me. Just a thread. I was just a thread. A simple single thread. There I was just lying there doing a whole lot of nothing--until--until a crochet hook came along.   Once that hook took hold of that thread, big things began to change, began to happen, began to take shape. With that hook, that little simple piece of thread came to life.

As God began to crochet with my simple piece of thread, I began to see a pattern. He took that yarn (which represented my life) and made something from it. Each time He wove a piece of my yarn over His hook, things happened. Life took shape. Growth, change, life, everything began to fall into place--as long as I let him do the work. As long as I let Him do the weaving--in and out He went, using the thread of my life, and things worked smoothly. He made things with me. He used me. However, the minute I tried to take hold of that hook, things began to unravel. Quickly.

There I was in the middle of the night, lying in my bed, with tears rolling down my face, asking God to please help me--help me not to try and take that hook and make it do what I want it to do.  Help me relax and realize that I'm just the thread. Help me step back and look at the intricate pattern of my life that He, and He alone, has created. Help me to surrender, to trust, to accept each time that hook wraps my yarn around it--help me to let go.

I fell asleep with that prayer in my heart--thanking God for everything I could think of.  Worshipping Him and praising Him for each and every circumstance in my life. And asking Him to give me strength and for His Holy Spirit to comfort me. I fell asleep in the arms of my God.

When I woke up this morning, I was surprised at how vivid and fresh last night's experience was. I had my morning coffee, and my prayer time, and then heard Him gently tell me to share it. So, whoever is reading this now or in the future, whoever this is for--know this--God has a reason for every single thing He does. Nothing is out of His control. He is the master weaver. And us? Well, we are just a thread.

Chili--Low Carb Style

I have never been a lover of chili. Mainly because I don't particularly care for the 2 chief ingredients.
Neither hamburger nor beans is on my list of favorites. However, living here in Chicagoland, it gets quite cold. So, I've been cooking a lot this Winter and experimenting with recipes — low-carb, of course.  One day I happened upon a low carb chili recipe and after some tweaking came up with my own version. I can't tell you how many carbs are in each bowl. I can tell you, however, how many bowls I want to eat! I truly walk away from the dinner table, rubbing my stomach. It's that good. I am now a chili lover--of my own chili that is. I hope you like it too!

This recipe makes a big Dutch oven full, eat it for 2 nights (you will want to) or freeze some for another night. Or halve the recipe, or, in my case, double it if you'd like. It's really up to you.

2 lbs of lean ground beef
4 to 5 cups of water
1 onion--chopped
2 cloves garlic--chopped
2 cups fresh mushrooms--chopped
1 cup red bell pepper--chopped
1 t cinnamon
1 t cumin
1 t Worcestershire sauce
2 t salt
1 t pepper
1 t chili powder (or to taste)
dash or 2 of red pepper flakes
1/2 t allspice
1 (6 oz) can tomato paste
1 can (16 oz) chopped tomatoes
2 bay leaves

Brown the ground beef in the Dutch oven, and drain off the fat. Add everything to the pot and simmer for about 3 hours. The smell is awesome! You can top off your bowl with sour cream and cheddar cheese if you'd like — we do!

-16*

Reportedly, Chicagoland hit an all-time low yesterday at -16*. Yes, that is not a typo, I just said -16.* And let me tell you--baby, it was cold outside. There were warnings issued, schools closed, flights canceled, and accidents galore. Pretty much everyone stayed in. Garbage collection was suspended, some stores stayed closed, and others opened later than usual. Here's the kicker, though--even I stayed home. I took the dog out for her morning potty time and could not believe how incredibly cold it was. The word bitter " is not even close to describing the cold that hit me full force. So, I stayed home yesterday. Even though I needed to make a run to the post office and grocery store, I elected to stay home. And to keep warm, I cleaned. Boring. I know. But now my house is clean. I feel better.

However, I did venture out today. You see, it warmed up to -2* by noon, so I thought — What the heck.  I'll go run my errands today and get them over with. And along the way, I learned a few things. I thought I'd share them with you, as I discovered them.

1. Snow tires are God's gift to the Midwest.
2.  -2 doesn't feel all that different from -16.
3. However, 0 feels warmer--go figure.
4. Black ice isn't always black.
5. Nose hairs do freeze, so does dog pee.
6. The people who came up with snow boots and down everything are geniuses.
7. Don't leave Coke cans in the garage; they will freeze and burst.  Trust me on this.
8. I crochet to keep my hands warm.
9. There are lots of crafters in the Midwest--I didn't say we were good, I just said we craft.
10. It's kind of fun to watch other cars slide--just don't laugh at them.
11. It's not fun to be in a sliding car, especially with a truck coming at you.
12. Target is full of a lot of junk. And I want it.
13. If you start to fall on the ice--try to roll on your back without putting your hands out.
14. Don't worry about how you look; everyone is doing it.
15. Give in to hibernation, it's God's way for Midwesterners.
16. Buy some gym equipment, even if you don't use it.
17. Tell people that you use it.
18. Listen to music and dance. Close your blinds if you need to.
19. Read. You'll appear to be smarter than you really are.
20. While out shopping, take pictures of books you'd like to read and then download them onto your Kindle when you get home.
21. Internet shopping--it's almost as fun as the mall.
22. Buy lots of scarves and gloves--don't worry, you'll use them.
23. Dust off your recipes--cook and bake. It's cold outside, and it'll heat up your house.
24. Forget about your hair during the Winter. It's called hat hair, and we all have it. Get over it.
25. Don't let others ruin your Winter. If you love it, own it. If not, shut up about it. Stop your whining! Spring will be here shortly. Enjoy the snow, the beauty, and your fireplace. Wear warm clothing, eat a lot, and sing out loud.

The End.

Again--A Word

It's that time of year again. The new year has begun, and our pastor has brought up the "word for the year" concept. I'm tired after the past few weeks. With Thanksgiving and Christmas, New Year's and family--I'm kind of pooped. So thinking about a new word for this next year wasn't at the forefront of my mind. I actually didn't even want to pray about it. After all, I was still too tired from last year's work.  Why would I want a new word? Seriously, that's exactly what I thought.

However, as our pastor was teaching yesterday morning, I felt God stirring my heart. I tried for a bit to just ignore those stirrings, but I couldn't. How can one ignore the voice of God? I can't. As I sat there, I began to pray and ask Him — OK, Lord, what is my word for this year? Just what word do you have for me that is going to "motivate" me in the year 2014? I wasn't very enthusiastic, but I was curious. And as the morning wore on, I became increasingly intrigued.

The minute He whispered the word into my heart, I knew it was mine. I knew that it was my "word for the year". When I heard it, I chuckled. It was a funny word to me, one that didn't seem to make a lot of sense in those first few seconds. I immediately took out my iPhone and looked it up. I needed a correct definition, I mean, what if I hadn't heard it correctly? I needed to know what this word meant, or what it could mean to me, before I claimed it as mine, right?

Even the definition spoke to my heart. Yes, this was my word, alright. My word for the year. The word is--exude. Yes, exude. It means to discharge slowly and steadily. That's going to prove interesting this year. And I'm wondering--how is God going to use this particular word in my life? I'm going to enjoy watching this play out. I don't think I'll be bored, that's for sure. I'm not sure how exciting it will be, but I do think God is going to teach me a lot, maybe about being slow and steady. It sort of sounds that way to me; however, I've been wrong before.

So as this year plays out, I'm sure I'll be posting blog posts about this word and how God is using it in my life — teaching me, guiding me, and using me. And I'm ready. I'm ready to exude — especially my love for Him.

Christmas Paths

I was happy, very content, and surrounded by places and people that I loved. I had an awesome old Tudor home, lived 6 hours from my daughter, and within minutes of my sons. I had grandkids, friends, and neighbors close by. I went to a great church and Bible study. I was involved in a couple of non-profits, and led a very fulfilling life. Life was good, very good.

And then in the middle of it all, my husband came home and told me that his entire division at work was being moved overseas, and so was his job. He needed to find a new position within the company — fast. As he searched for jobs, I prayed. I did not want to move. I was happy just where I was. Everything was perfect. I keep reminding God of that little fact — everything is just how I want it. God,  please don't change anything! Please!

When the news came that we were moving to Chicago, I fell apart. Not outwardly, but on the inside. I cried and pleaded with God to change it back. I wanted Him to intervene. I can specifically remember one day — I was sitting in my brown leather rocker, down in the basement, the fire going, worship music playing, me praying. I was right in the middle of letting God know just how upset I was when I felt it. This is a bit hard to explain, but I'll do my best.I've always done obedience training with my dogs. I've taken them to classes, and I've always relied on a good choke chain. Whether you agree with the choke chain method of training or not isn't my point here. It's what I used while training, and it's what got the message to said dog — you will listen and obey, or get a quick jerk. It worked most of the time, once the early stages of training were underway. And that's what happened to me that day.

God jerked that choke chain around my neck and got my attention. I felt (in my heart) that sharp pull straight up. And then I heard Him speak to me. Not gently as He usually does, but a little more sternly this time. He said, "You have no idea what I have in store for you, what path I have for you to walk on. You have no idea."  I have a plan for your life. Now stop. Look forward. I have a plan.
I sat stunned. He has a plan? Oh. And believe it or not, my attitude turned around (or began to anyway) that very day. I was able to go through the process of selling my beloved home of 11 years. I was able to say goodbye to great friends. And I was able to hug my children and grandchildren goodbye, and with many tears, we packed up and moved.

That was 3 1/2 years ago. Everything in my life has changed. Everything. I live in a neighborhood where I know all of my neighbors. I attend an awesome church, Bible study, and small group (couples' Bible study), and I am involved in lots of ministries.  I love Chicagoland. I noticed something else, too — I am having the time of my life, and I am getting to know my husband all over again. Since we've moved and are basically kidless, we have been acting like newlyweds. We are a true couple again--laughing, exploring, enjoying life, and having fun.

Yes, things are quite different now. But in a good way, a very good way. And God had a plan. Has a plan. He always does. I want Him to keep me accountable, obedient, teachable, and thankful. Always.  When and if my life changes again, I want to be ready. Hopefully, I have learned through this process exactly what it means to listen and obey. To give up my will for His. Yes, that's it--my will for His will.

I think about all of this sometimes. On those days. Those days when I miss the past. The days when I am sad, or lonely, or when my heart is breaking from missing my kids so much. On those days, I ask my Father to hold me close and remind me of His awesome love for me, of how He protects my heart, of how He always holds my best interests deeply in His heart. You see, I do still, every once in a while, have those days. On those days, the hard days, I have to spend an extra long time in prayer.  I have to rely on God so heavily to help me, to remind me, to trust Him--however, then, oh, and then, I get together with a group of friends and laugh so hard that my face hurts the next day.  I go to church, look across the room, and am reminded of how dear these new friends are to me. I go on a walk in the quiet of the snow through my little neighborhood and marvel at all that God has done in my heart over these past few years. And I think to myself--it truly is well with my soul.

This year, all of our children and grandchildren will be with us. 8 adults, 6 grandkids, 4 bedrooms, lots of food, fun, and presents. And again, I am reminded of just how blessed I am.
Merry Christmas, everyone.

His Love Never Fails

I might regret writing this. I've been told many times over that I share too much. However, I've also been told that my sharing, my honesty, and my exposing my heart have helped others.  So why not tell you what happened this past Sunday? Why not share from my heart and expose the enemy? For that is what he is--he is my greatest enemy.

I woke up feeling more discouraged than I had in a very long time. I can't remember the last time I felt so down, so depressed, so undone--for it is not my nature to have these types of feelings. Usually, I am up and raring to go--after coffee, of course, always after coffee. I am up and ready for what the day may bring — I like to keep busy, I like to have fun, and I like to go, go, go except for Sunday. The last thing I wanted to do was go to church, that is.

It felt as if a blanket of depression was almost smothering me. I told my husband that I just wasn't in the mood to go to church, and then I explained why. In a nutshell, it was my attitude. It stunk. Really, it did. I wasn't in the mood for traditions and hymns, rituals and Advent, communion and all the other stuff that was going to happen in church that day.  I just was not in the mood. You see — I am the most non-traditional traditional person I know. Anything that seems ritualistic bothers me unless it is a ritual that I like. I don't know why. Maybe we are all that way to some extent. I've spent a fair amount of time analyzing this weird hang-up of mine and have not come to a conclusion. But can you see the quandary I was in? In my mind, it was all about what I liked and didn't like. And these preferences were being used against me that morning. Satan was whispering in my ear--stay home. You'll have more fun decorating for Christmas, going out to lunch, and shopping. You need a break anyway. You are at church way too much. You are too involved. Take a sabbatical. Disengage--just a bit. Yes, he said that and more. And I listened.

I shared all this with my husband, and he said that he thought we should go anyway. Because if Satan was so adamant about keeping me from going to church that morning, there must be a pretty good reason why. Wow, my husband is so smart. So I relented, and I went and got ready.  I did not put on a bright, cheery face, though.  I did not smile. I pouted. All the way there. And I made my husband promise to take me to lunch afterward. I'm a big baby that way; I wanted a prize for going to church that morning. I am so spoiled — so very immature at times. OK, all the time.

Funny--it happened just the way I thought it would, though--at first anyway. Yep, we started singing an old hymn I had never ever heard in my life —not my type of song at all. But then, the next song was better, and the next--even better.  And by the time our pastor began to preach, the cloud had lifted off my heart, and I was able to listen, take notes, learn, and enjoy the service.  Afterward, we ended the morning with an awesome song. I felt God there that morning. That last song touched my heart. In fact, it melted my heart. It turned my discouragement into pure joy. I realized that I wasn't there for me, but I was there for God. To worship and praise Him.  To sing to Him.  To be there because He told me that I needed to be there. It wasn't about me at all--it was all about Him.  Not me. Not me.

I know that God has brought us to our little church for a reason. The people are awesome. We have great friends there. We love that sweet church with all our hearts. And guess who doesn't like that one little bit? Yeah, him. The one who is my greatest enemy. And I almost listened to him. I almost gave in--to the enemy, to my flesh, to my selfishness. I almost caved. And it dawned on me--even the most positive, optimistic people fall prey and get attacked. He's out to get me and you. He's out to win this battle for our hearts and souls. However, I have a father who watches over me. Who protects my heart and guards me. Who will never leave me or forsake me. All I have to do is call out to Him, and He will hear me.

Thank you, God, for being patient with me. For listening to me, for letting me "get it all out", for letting me throw a tantrum and still loving me. Thank you for this life of mine, for being faithful, and, most of all, for loving me even when I am unlovable.   Kindness, mercy, grace, love, patience, understanding--I could go on forever. My love for my God is endless. His love never fails.