The Legend of Lone Pine

Sit back and let me tell you a story…


One lone Pine tree found itself rooted in the middle of a vast desert.  As a sapling, he knew he’d been dropped into this desolate place; imagining a great bird carrying him while going somewhere far more interesting.   Lone Pine had no real family, and only knew nourishment from the torrential rains of the Spring and the scorching sun of the Summer.  He stood back a ways from a little traveled country highway.  The gusts blown through his needles from the rare vehicle passing by, seemed like a friendly breeze.  He prayed a flat tire would bring him a few moments of company now and then.
 

Lone Pine struggled with loneliness and feelings of isolation, wondering if at his very core he was unable to offer much to the world around him.  He did know there was shelter and shade under his branches, but that only mattered if there was someone that wanted or needed what he had to offer.  He imagined he had been created for greater things, but didn’t know what.  The isolated tree stood a bit taller when the occasional bird lit in his branches for a rest.  Once in a while he enjoyed visits from a lizard that lived under a nearby rock; both so thirsty in such a dry land.  The only more frequent companions were the passing tumbleweeds, a very nomadic group.  They mostly drifted, not stopping long enough to put down roots of their own.  Days and years passed, with the only constant companion being the wind.  The storms blowing through the desert pushed against Lone Pine, making him bend.  Wind twisted his branches, even breaking some off through the more violent gusts.  His bark checked and knots formed where new growth tried unsuccessfully to branch.  With time, his trunk became gnarled and misshapen, but the outside did not define what was at his core.  His heart remained strong and resilient, and the dream of belonging refused to fade.

One day a car pulled off the highway not far from Lone Pine.  He listened as the crunch of rocks under feet grew closer and closer.  He watched as someone walked all around his area of the desert, measuring and eventually even sizing the tree up.  It wasn’t long before trucks were interrupting the desert silence, and hammers echoed off the distant rock formations.  Lone Pine felt his roots grow deeper and his needles dance a bit, as he watched a home built right next to him.  Soon a family moved in, and children ran and rode bikes through his desert, and it didn’t seem desolate anymore.  Eventually the children brought boards, nails and rope and Lone Pine held his branches high as the kids built a fort.  He took seriously this new purpose and loved when people played among his branches.  His prayers answered and dreams fulfilled, he lived on for years providing inspiration for those that wanted to climb to their own potential.

“We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed.  We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.  We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God.  We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed.  Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.”  2 Corinthians 4:8-10

Thank you God for giving me your strength, and for resiliency!  Help me keep bending in the wind, allowing you to transform me into who you want me to be.   Grow me in patience, faith, and love, Lord and keep my roots deeply planted.  Amen

The Grandma on the Couch, the strength of a weakness!

 Published first 2009, Hopekeepers Magazine

A left turn off the highway, then one mile to the red barn!  Just as the barn came into view, my stomach cart-wheeled as Dad launched our car off the top of hill.  That last roller coaster ride meant we were within a few feet of the tree-lined drive that lead us to the best place on earth.  A visit to Uncle Putt and Aunt Lois’s place always meant fun.  I spent hours playing in the creek, fishing for crawdads, catching frogs, and hiking to the meadow at the top of the forty acres.  It was a glorious place where getting dirty was a God-given right, and chocolate was a major food group.  Sadly, I grew up. Catching frogs gave way to teenage self-absorption and I would be married with my own family before I could see what lessons the farm had really held.  By then Uncle Putt had gone ahead to play pinochle with Uncle Wendell in heaven, and Aunt Lois was much shorter and grayer than I remembered.  I realized that the farm I had grown to love, was really no bigger than a person.

The forty acres were still beautiful and peaceful, but what set it apart from other places was the person who waited to greet me.  Now the tree-lined drive wasn’t the end of the journey, it was the beginning of special times with the only person I’ve ever known that I could call a soul mate.  Aunt Lois taught me that everyone is family once inside the door…and the door is always open.  A cup of tea is the beginning of great conversation and a shared walk after a big meal is for more than just digestion.  Now instead of playing in the creek, I sipped tea and watched a Portland Trailblazer game with Lois while she lay on a little sofa in the corner of her kitchen.

Once a back porch, later converted to extend the kitchen, Lois’s nook became the reception center of the forty acres it sat in.  The little sofa became the receptionist’s desk. Parkinson’s Disease eventually made time measured not in hours, but in how long Lois could be away from her “desk.“ The little sofa had been made in the 60’s and was no bigger than a loveseat.   Time and abuse had made it a bit threadbare and blankets softened the rough upholstery.  It folded down on both ends, clicking into whatever position you chose.  Most of the time one end was up, to be leaned upon, and the other end down to rest the legs on, and despite it’s very lived in look, it was inviting.  Beside it sat a small table with all the essentials - phone, phone book, pen, paper, magazines, TV remote, and most important - electronic poker and Wheel of Fortune games.

When Lois left us, she was remembered as “the grandma on the couch” by one of her great-grandsons, and I thought it was so fitting.  To some, that may have seemed a depressing way to be remembered, but to me it meant stability.  I always knew when I came through the door that Aunt Lois would be waiting for me.  That corner of the kitchen was never a place of sorrow, but of warmth and love.  Lois was always glad to see my face - even when it came in tear-stained.  There were many times I showed up tired or broken-hearted, and without notice.  A smile greeted me, followed by “sit down girl.“  She was a soul mate, a friend, a confident…and a great yard sale companion in her more mobile years.

Several years before Lois left us, I began struggling with my own physical difficulties.  Many times while visiting the farm, Lois and I would meet in the kitchen in the middle of the night.  My chronic pain and sleeplessness didn’t seem so isolating when I saw a light on under the door at 2 AM.  Those late night moments with her at her “desk” are the most precious memories I have.  While our ailments were not the same, they were still unifying.  The relationship that our physical struggles brought us, is something that I will never know again here on earth.  My heart aches for those who may never experience the comfort brought by the “light under the door.  However, while not everyone has a “Grandma on the couch,” we all have a Father up in heaven!  

I am so grateful for a God who cherishes me every moment of every day, knows every hair on my head, and every new wrinkle on my face.  I am even more thankful for my Comforter who knows every pain and weakness I experience. The special people in our lives can leave or disappoint us, but God is our constant.  He is the smile at the end of the journey, no matter how weary or brokenhearted we may be.  It is so comforting to know that we are all special and loved unconditionally simply because of “whose” we are!

There is something I don’t have to miss about Aunt Lois…her little sofa.  The symbol of comfort and security that cradled the one that went before me, is sitting upstairs in my family room.   A few years ago I was allowed to give the “desk” a new home, and now warm, red fabric disguises it‘s true age and identity.  Someday I plan to be the “grandma on the couch” and no matter what frailties may cause me to spend time there, I pray that Aunt Lois’s qualities rub off on me.  I’m going to do my best to face that stage of life with a smile, show unconditional love to anyone that takes the time to visit me, and be an example of grace and hope.  At the end of my life, when I turn onto God’s tree-lined drive, I imagine Lois waving from a special nook in His Kingdom.  I can already hear her say, “Sit down girl, I’ve been waiting for you.”

From left to right: Aunt Doris, my Mom, and Aunt Lois - at her desk

• Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.” Ephesians 3:20  NLT

Sauce with a side of Me!

There is something odd about finding yourself covered with spaghetti sauce.  One does not wake up in the morning and think to themselves, “I do believe I would like to have Italian sauces with a side of Mary.”  Well,  perhaps that is my husband’s secret dream…but certainly not mine!  My motives were honest and even heroic - I decided to cook dinner!  It started simply, all I needed to do was boil noodles, brown some ground beef, and open a jar of Ragu.  It was the latter that started all the trouble.

I do not possess much strength in my hands, therefore giving me an extra reason to keep the man in my life around.   Dale was home from work and happen to walk through the kitchen as I began to boil water and  knowing my difficulties with opening jars, he asked if I would like him to open the Ragu.  Apparently I replied yes, but in very male form…didn’t even listen to myself talk!  Dale loosened the cap and went back to watching television.   Now I have a sure-fire method of opening jars when I need to be self-reliant; I smack the edge of the lid on the counter top once or twice until I hear the seal pop.   As the meat finished cooking, I picked up the jar of Ragu, forgetting Dale ever came into the kitchen, and brought in down hard.  I didn’t hear a pop, just a sploosh and a splat, and then me yelling at the top of my lungs!  I have been known to be a bit “saucy,” but this was ridiculous!

Dinner was salvaged by scraping spaghetti sauce off the counter and into the skillet with the meat.  It wasn’t like I was serving it to company, and Dale wouldn’t care - he’s the guy that tried to make French toast with moldy bread!  After the shock of being ‘sauced’ had passed, we had a good laugh and a good meal.  I learned a valuable lesson about not only accepting help, but remembering that help had been delivered, and I should take notice!  I wonder how often we all make the same kind of mistake?  We want help, often times need it desperately, and reach out to ask for it.  At times help is even offered without solicitation, and we say, “yes please!”  Help comes, and we answer it with just a nod or a absent minded “thanks,” and then go about our business as if the assistance never came.  Then we try to take over, handle whatever the issue was ourselves and make a huge mess of things.

I read an illustration years ago about a man plodding down the road.  He was struggling under the weight of a load of wood he carried on his back.  A wagon drew alongside the man, and the driver, seeing the pain and exhaustion on the traveler’s face, offered him a ride.  The man accepted, climbed onto the back of the wagon and they continued on.  Miles later the driver looked back, fully expecting to see his passenger resting, and his load laying off to one side.  Instead he was shocked to find the pack of wood still on the traveler’s back.  The man was either unwilling to accept the complete relief his rescuer offered, or he was so accustomed to the burden he bore, that he forgot he could remove it.  Oh, how often do we do this with God’s help - accept the ride, but don’t lay down the burdens that brought us to the place where a ride was needed?

I wonder how many ’jars’ God has come along and opened for me (or doors for that matter)?  I probably have nodded a bit, in acknowledgment of His help, and then said, “I got this Lord.”  In the end I end up with a mess, whether it’s a damaged relationship, a weary heart or a face full of sauce!  I hope you not only accept His help today, but are grateful for it, and take notice in what He is doing in your life.  Let’s lay down our loads and enjoy the ride!

“We put our hope in the Lord, He is our help and our shield.”  Psalm 33:20 

Weak Trees!

You’ve probably heard the phrase, “weak in the knees,”  but what we have here is - weak in the trees!  This is the third tree we’ve lost in three years, but the first that has done any real damage.  Our neighbor lost two last night and have damage to their house and trailer.  These are a type of Juniper, which bank the entire row of houses on this street, and they are falling down!  They have had too much water and wind, and apparently don’t have enough roots to hold themselves up.  The more that fall, the weaker the entire grouping become.  Trees have root systems and some are shallow and don’t do well spaced too far apart.  They can rot and be weakened by insects as well.  Even a mighty tree can be easily fallen by wind, accumulating snow and ice storms.

There is one type of tree that this doesn’t happen to very often: the Redwood.  I took a trip to the Trees of Mystery when my kids were young, and these magnificent giants impressed me.  Even though some reach over 300 feet in height, Redwoods have fairly shallow root systems.  One of the reasons they stand for so many years is because each tree’s roots intertwine with the next and this helps hold each other up during storms.  While a Redwood can grow just about anywhere, it can never reach its true potential with out the temperatures and conditions found in certain places like the Northern California coastline.  They do best where there are heavy fogs because they can absorb moisture through their needles at their tops, where the circulation system can’t pump.  In other words, Redwood trees have great survival tactics!

The bark of these giants can be as thick as a foot and when exposed to fire, they simply char, rather than burn.  The charring turns the bark into a heat shield of sorts.  The chemical composition of the tree is distasteful and sometimes even poisonous to normal tree pests like termites and ants.  Redwoods can even withstand battery acid!  It is also very resistant to water rot…unlike my weak trees in the back yard!  I have read that the rising soil levels brought about by flood deposits, typically smother other tree root systems - killing them.  Not the Redwood.  They can even survive long periods of time under water.  All this is impressive, but my favorite thing about this unique tree is what happens when they do fall down.  When a Redwood gets knocked over, it will attempt to keep growing via its limbs.  If left undisturbed, the limbs pointing skyward will turn into trees in their own right!  Over eighty percent of the trees now growing were produced in one of these ‘cloning’ processes and the other twenty percent sprang from seeds.   Some of the trees out there are the same tree reproducing itself over and over again.  Truly ever-living.

I wonder, if we people folk, should take a lesson or two from the Redwoods?  Can we reach our full potential without the right conditions?   We will experience some rot to our lives if we don’t continue to grow…and in order to grow we need each other.  The conditions that best produce growth are: love, encouragement, accountability, and trust.  Don’t forget to fertilize with prayer and Bible study for truly mature results!  In Hebrews 10:25 it says to “not forsake the assembling together,” because we need to be able to draw nourishment by surrounding each other with Christ’s love.  This also helps keep sin or “pests” away from having negative influence on us.

We can also take survival strategies from the Redwoods!  By reading our Bibles and having active prayer lives we develop intimate relationships with Christ, and each other.  This creates the protective heat shields for when the fires of life attack.  When the storms come, our roots are so intertwined that nothing can push us down!  When the flood levels rise and we feel we will certainly be smothered, it is then our roots are encouraged to grow and find new direction.  “We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going.” (2 Cor. 4:9b)  If we are true, living people and in a true living church, we will continue to reproduce ourselves, even if we get knocked over by circumstances and sin.  Our branches should keep pointing up and reach for the Light.

How strong is your bark; are your roots intertwined with others?   Are you ready for the next storm?

The Correct Thing

1902 a publishing company put into print, The Correct Thing In Good Society, by Florence Howe Hall.  A copy of this book has had a place in my home for at least 10 years now, and I have referred to it many times.  Now before you go off getting a very inaccurate picture of who I am, let me explain.  I keep this book and refer to it, not because I wish to fit in with high society type folk.  I’m not sure I even care about what Florence’s idea of the correct thing is.  No, I just find the book terribly interesting, very humorous and at times, even sad.  I refer to it in order to find material for devotions when I’ve been asked to speak and to give a point of reference - an ‘aren’t  you glad you didn’t live then’ type of talk for bridal showers.  I’ve never met Florence Howe Hall, but by reading her ‘rules’ for good society, I have perhaps formed a not so inaccurate picture of who she was.

There are 26 chapters in this tiny, green book, all tucked away in 361 pages, in a 5x7 sized binding.  The cover print - in gold, of course.  Here is a paragraph that seems to act almost as an apology to the book… “Brevity is the soul of wit; but a soul cannot do without a body in our mortal world.  If therefore, in this brief treatise matters are so condensed that he who runs (or rides) may read, it must evidently be with the understanding that the reader shall give the body of his own intelligence to the soul of these short sentences.  Condensation is often important for convenience in carrying with us material for future expansion.  In the little work here offered, it has been attempted on this ground.  The result sought will not be attained unless those who may take the book in hand shall themselves supply the expanding force of sympathy and intelligent apprehension, reading between the lines, and even across the page, since neither the positive nor the negative statements are complete in themselves, each needing the complement of its opposite.”  Oh my!  My intelligence doesn’t work well enough to understand everything it’s trying to tell me!  I’m lost already.

There are chapters in “The Correct Thing” about business, church, mourning, at college, at the table, when making calls - and the list goes on and on.
“It is the correct thing - for a lady…
To take a gentleman’s arm in the evening unless her hands should be fully occupied with her muff, or in holding up her dress. “
To bow first to a gentleman.
Where two ladies are under the escort of one gentleman, for one of them only to take his arm, the other lady walk by her side.
“It is NOT the correct thing - for a lady…
To wear a breastpin on a coat or other outside garment.
To take a gentleman’s arm in the daytime, unless it be in a crowded thoroughfare, on a slippery pavement, or under any other circumstances where it may be necessary for protection or support.
For one lady to take the arms of two gentlemen, unless she be learning to skate.”
While reading, my overall sense is that I am so thankful I did not live in 1902!  I do believe I would have been horsewhipped, stoned, thrown in shackles and possibly beheaded.  I seem to rarely do “the correct thing” even for today‘s standards.  I don’t say the right thing, eat the right way, act lady-like, or wear the right clothes.  Heavens…I’m a preacher’s wife with a tattoo!  I should turn myself in right now for a good lashing!

I know many people that try to live their lives being perfect…doing the correct thing.  They have formed lists in their heads of the rules or standards by which all should adhere to.   Rules can be good, we all need them and we should certainly follow the laws of the land, so as not to be thrown into those shackles I mentioned earlier.  The type of lists I get concerned about are the unreasonable expectations that we place on ourselves and others - the kind that make us become judgmental, critical, and snooty.  We church folk far too easily and often, are the worst offenders of this.  We somehow, take the Bible - a love letter from God, and twist the meaning of His intentions for it, and decide to practically do a re-write for Him!  There were laws for the people of the Old Testament…lots and lots of laws and rules.  Again, I am so thankful I did not live back then.  While I am grateful for the lessons of the Old Testament, the rich history and foretelling of Christ, I am more appreciative of living under the New Testament covenant - I live under the covering of Grace!

The New Testament helps us learn about Jesus’ birth, life, death and resurrection…which is the story of true love, forgiveness and grace!  I only need one ’standard’ or ruler to live my life by.  I don’t have to worry about what Florence Howe Hall thought, or whether I have my hands free to hold an arm, muff or my dress up!   I am about to leave for church this morning - which is a very correct thing to do, but I’m not wearing a dress!  Fortunately, my jeans, tattoo and dangly earrings will not get me shunned or flogged at our church. 

Hebrews 4:16
“So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.”

Be Strange and Wonderful!

Have you ever heard something described as “strange and wonderful?“  For years this has turned into a joke of sorts, describing marriage, “our marriage is strange and wonderful, he’s strange and I’m wonderful.“  I’ve seen it engraved on wooden signs, written in greeting cards, and I’ve heard it stated in our own home.  Dale and I try to share equally in who gets to be the strange and who the wonderful, but most days he is both.  I can say with all honestly, my husband is not like any other I know!  The wonderful: he cleans the house, does all our yard work and even cooks dinner many nights.  He is the kindest person I know and loves me, even when I act unlovely.  Ironically, those same wonderful things about Dale, are also what make him very strange!  This type of behavior is not typical, so I’ve been told, of men in other marriages.  I get asked often by other women, if they can borrow him, to which I always reply, “absolutely not!”

While Dale has the wonderful category pretty well wrapped up, and that makes him somewhat strange…there are times to me, he is just plain strange!  He has taken up a hobby in recent years, that I find odd.  Not only do I find him odd for wanting to do it, but I find the hobby itself odd.  I am mature enough to realize that odd to me, just means I don’t ’get it,’ it’s not anything I care to learn or engage in.  It’s not wrong to do it, not unhealthy and it’s not hurting anyone, apparently…but I still think it’s strange.  You see, he buys woodsy type plants and shrubs, cuts their roots off short, plants them in a very shallow container and trims their limbs back.  All this is done specifically to keep the plant from growing very much.  This is called, “Bonsai.”

What is Bonsai?  Quote: “A bonsai is a tree or other plants, or a group of trees or plants, cultivated in a container. The meaning of the word is ‘plant in a pot’.”  Someone in China, long ago, started this strange practice, and for thousands of years it has been perfected in Japan and become an art form.  You have to choose the right plant, which has potential to become a great bonsai.  It takes practice to turn this into a skill, and when done right, you end up with a plant becoming an exact replica of nature in miniature!  Strange (and a bit ironic don’t you think?)!  So thousands of years ago, someone decided it wasn’t enough to have nature to look at, and had to figure out how to make tiny examples of nature to look at.  Any who…we now have a bank of huge Juniper trees in our backyard, and Oaks out by the street, and then one miniature “Acer” somethingerother  (I can’t spell the rest), that sits in a shallow pot on the edge of our patio.  It really is a pretty little tree, and Dale has done a good job perfecting a bit of nature in its shallow pot.  This art form takes a great deal of patience, a steady hand and a keen eye…which is why I don’t understand it, and could never do it myself!

As I sit looking at the Acer somethingerother this morning, I realize even humans can be Bonsai!  This practice can be seen as strange and/or wonderful as well.  Thousands of years ago God created man…a little replica of himself here on earth - Wonderful!  He planted Adam in the Garden of Eden, but that is as far as the similarities with Bonsai should go.  Adam was expected to grow and  put down roots!  For thousands of years we humans have practiced some Bonsai techniques on ourselves. Strangely enough, we have become, “small in size, but have the appearance of being seasoned, matured and in certain cases aged.”  We look adult-like and mature in age, yet underneath, our root systems have been kept shallow and stunted.  I wonder just how often we purposely plant ourselves where we won‘t have to grow?  Strange, since the Bible speaks so often about growth and maturity in Christ.  Let me just end with that challenge…Ephesians 3:17...”Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong.”

Be strange and wonderful to the world around you today…be loving and kind and make people wonder what makes you strange!

All quotes are from An Introduction to Bonsai, by the Bonsai Kai of the Japan Society 

I Choose You!

November was National Adoption Month, and I didn’t get this written in time to post it.  I’d like to share our personal story - or at least part of it, and encourage others; we may not all be able to adopt, but with God, we are all adoptable.
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The chairs were cold and hard, and I was ready to leave them.  We sat in the gym listening to song after song, as the program seemed to run long.  Finally, someone teased us about closing the ceremony, but then dashed our hopes with “just one more number.”  I suppressed a huge sigh - as adults are suppose to be above such displays.  My selfishness diminished as I watched a tiny, blond imp walk forward and face the crowd.  She shyly smiled and began to sing “Jesus Loves Me”.  As she walked back to her seat, a brief, how cute, flitted through my mind and just as quickly I forgot all about her as we were finally dismissed.

If you believe that life is filled with random coincidences we just happen to experience, then you may not understand the rest of this story.  I hope you will read on, despite some doubt, and learn how much God cares - not just about our needs, but our hopes and dreams as well.  I personally believe in divine intervention, prayer and faith, but even I forget just how big God is.  Little did I know, sitting on those cold, hard chairs, that God had not only heard my prayer, but had just placed the answer right in front of me. 

I had an ache in my heart, a hole of sorts, that no surgeon could repair.  While I already had two wonderful sons by birth, I longed to adopt a daughter.  This, for me, was a need, for my husband, not so much.  Seven years passed since the topic was first discussed, and I prayed first for his heart to change and when that didn’t get results, I prayed that my heart would.  I asked God to take the desire from me, so it wouldn’t hurt anymore, or cause bitterness.  God was not satisfied with those limitations, and with his typical wisdom and no lack of a sense of humor, He opted for the shock and awe approach.  The next time the subject was brought up, it was my husband that said, “I think we should look into adopting!“  I almost passed out, but recovered quickly so I could get the ball rolling before he could change his mind! 

I called several adoption agencies and was satisfied knowing packets of information would arrive within a few weeks.  Then, being a long standing member in the, ‘it never hurts to ask’ club, I put in one more call, this time more local.  We were friends with a couple that managed a Christian children's ranch.  The kids placed with them were temporary wards, while parents were in jail, or couldn’t care for them for other reasons.  It was rare that any of the kids were adoptable and I didn’t get my hopes up as I dialed.   My inquiry was answered with one question  “how old?“  I explained very logically, how we felt that a 2 or 3 year old would be best, giving us time with them before they started school.  That was met with, “oh, that’s too bad.“  I was then told that there was a five year old girl that would be put up for adoption right after Christmas.  I heard my voice say, oh, that is too bad, that is older than we were thinking, and with that I hung up.

You can hang up a telephone easily, but it’s much harder to disconnect your heart!  That night and I didn’t sleep a wink…I laid there thinking about a five year old girl that would soon be displaced in life.  It broke my heart.  I vaguely remembered a young girl with huge dimples, that one of our friends was caring for at the Ranch.  She met us at the door one night, full of energy, talking non-stop and proceeded to use Dale as a jungle gym.  Could they be talking about her?  How old was she?  Was I remembering right - was her hair blond?  The never-ending questions jammed my mind and imagination all through the night. By early morning I noticed Dale was awake too, and asked what he thought about a five year old.  Without hesitation he said, “I think you should call them back!“

She did have blond hair, blue eyes and dimples! Not only was she the girl God placed on my mind that night, she was also the same impish child who sang for us that uncomfortable day in the gym!  She would become our daughter that winter.  She ended up with two older brothers to torture gleefully, and parents who knew beyond all doubt that she was a gift from God.  God made sure our lives were woven with threads of common friends.  It has been nearly 20 years since we first heard her sing, and she uses her voice still, every Sunday, as she leads worship for our church now. 

Romans 8:15
…”so that he could adopt us as his very own children.”

Basket Case

In the corner of my office sits a basket.  It is filled with skeins and balls of yarn, of many colors.  Some are remnants of my own past projects, others are cast-offs of someone else.  I find bags of yarn at Goodwill, some leftovers are given to me, and once in a great while, I actually buy brand new!  There are times when the basket is all but empty, and keeping with human nature - this is when I desire to crochet the most.  Right now the basket is overflowing, and I have very little motivation to help it empty.  As I was hunting for something in my file box this morning, I stared at the basket of yarn and realized that my life resembles it.  It is just sitting there, waiting to be made into something more than it is!

When I buy a new skein, it’s because I love the color, or the texture, and I already have something I want to make out of it.  I don’t know how to do much with yarn - I do not knit, weave or create string art.  I don’t even know how to read a pattern!  What I do know how to do - and not that well, is crochet.  A friend taught me the basics several years ago, and I’ve enjoyed making scarves and beanie hats ever since.  I’ve even made a few purses and bags, all from just an idea in my head.  They can not be repeated or copied well, and I certainly couldn’t tell anyone how I did it.  I just start at the beginning and when I’m at the end, I stop.

New skeins can be quite ornery, unless the manufacturer makes it easy to work with right from the beginning.  It should start smoothly…but it rarely does.  While it may look innocent enough in it’s original form, it most likely will need much work in order to be truly useful.  I just love finding a skein of yarn that has been formed to work from the center out…seeing that little end of the string poking out from the very middle of itself.  I know then, that it’s going to cooperate and will be easily turned into something more than it is.  When this isn’t the case, it will just get tangled up in itself, and it will need some undoing, and turned into a ball before I can even work with it.

Left to itself, my basket of yarn is nothing more.  It can not change what it is, or it’s shape, unless someone is willing to help it out.  It could be a great many things, but rest assured, whatever it becomes, it will keep someone warm.  It takes time for it to become something, so patience should be practiced, and it takes skill to shape it.  There is however, a limit to what you can do with it.  You can not, and really should not, eat it, make a boat, or build a house with it.

What I have learned from my basket of yarn?  It should not just be set in a corner, left unused.  I should not allow myself to just sit either.  Like my own creations with the yarn, I can not be repeated or copied and I’m sure God started at the beginning and when He’s done with me, He’ll stop.  I look innocent enough, but can be very ornery and am not always easy to work with.  I do know how to cooperate most days, but don’t always choose to.  I get tangled up, and just as easily unraveled.  I need others to help me become something more than I am, and I need God to turn my heart into a thing of beauty.  God’s will definitely shapes me, and I pray that I will be warm.  It’s going to take practice and a great deal of patience, but I could be a great many things!

“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.  Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!  Your workmanship is marvelous - how well I know it.”
Psalm 139:13-14

The Parable of the Cookie Cutter

A young bride unwrapped the gift as she moved into their first home. It was not much, just a box set of tin cookie cutters.  It was the heart of the Depression, so even the smallest of gifts seemed like a luxury.  Baking cookies for the first time…what shape would she use for this first of many firsts in her marriage? The star seemed too Christmas-like for such a warm summer day and she certainly wanted to wait to use the heart for Valentines Day so it would be special. Her hand traveled over the set and finally paused as it came to a perfect circle - that would be just right.  It reminded her of the ring her husband placed on her finger just last week.  With that decided, she opened the notebook of recipes her grandmother had given her - the one that held all the favorites of the generations, and she got to work. Grandma’s sugar cookies would melt in her husband’s mouth that very evening.

Flour soon covered the table and the house grew too warm from the fire in the cook stove. This would cause the new bride to decide that baking in the summer heat would need done early in the morning before the sun came up. As she picked up the cookie cutter for the first time, the moisture on her hands made it slip and it dropped to the floor and rolled under the table. She cried out in frustration at herself, fearing that she had already ruined one of her wedding gifts. She crawled on the floor until she found the circle and ran her fingers all around the surface to see if it was still perfectly round. There was one slight dent on the side, but it was not very noticeable. Relieved, she stood and wiped it clean and began cutting out cookie after cookie. As the years passed and their family grew, many a child baked their first cookie as they heard the story of the wayward circle. Having an imperfection didn’t take away the usefulness of the cutter, she would tell each of them, it would actually make it even more special. Each of us are dented in some way, and God uses our dents to help us be the individuals that he created us to be.

Years later, the box of cookie cutters was passed on to another in the family - another new bride. She too knew the story and felt honored to bake circle-shaped cookies for her family as it grew. After a day of baking, the cutter was left out on the counter waiting to be washed. A child reached for a glass in the cupboard above and it slipped - crashing to the counter below. He felt heartsick, what he held in his hand was no longer a circle at all. The tiny imperfection was now a deep gash on one edge.  The first instinct of the child was to hide the cookie cutter, through eyes of fear and shame, the dent made the cutter look ugly and misshapen. Suddenly the mother appeared in the doorway, having heard the commotion. As she looked down into the small hand, she felt a bit of loss and grief. She was sad and blamed herself for not being more careful with what had been given her.  She should have stopped using the cookie cutters long ago and put them away on a shelf where they could be safe. However, in the moment, it was more important to find something positive to say; it was just an accident after all. As she gained new perspective by holding the cutter up, she smiled. She held it up in front of her child’s eyes and said, “Look.” Together they dried their tears as they noticed that the once perfect circle now looked more like a heart. It wasn’t exactly perfect, but that big dent had transformed the piece of tin. With eyes of love, the dent just made it more lovable and have much more character. It was another teachable moment for the mother and she didn’t waste it. See, even when things crash down on us, God can use those trials to shape us if we will just let Him.

More years passed and the cookie cutter traveled many miles and lived in different houses. Some, who were the recipients of the funny little heart, didn’t see much value in using it. Some never even took it out of the box. After enough moves and the box being thrown around too much, the heart shape wasn’t quite so obvious. The cutter became a bit more damaged and there didn’t seem to be very many folk that wanted to make cookies with shapes they couldn’t recognize. Even then, it didn’t seem quite right to throw it away, so it just moved from kitchen to kitchen with castoffs from other generations.

A weary mother opened more boxes as her four children played in their new yard. Her life has not been easy and grief has become her only faithful companion. She often reminds herself that generations ago, the women in her family had much less, and she should be thankful for what these few boxes hold. She pulls the tape from the last package and begins finding a place for everything. Her hand reaches in for the last item and emerges with what appears to be a crumpled piece of newspaper. Inside she finds a misshapen piece of metal that resembles what was once a cookie cutter. She remembers seeing something similar in an antique store years ago.  The young woman doesn’t have any cookie cutters, but she does have an old recipe book. The story went that a grandmother had written down all her favorite recipes and put them in this notebook. It was given to the first granddaughter to get married and had been passed down for generations. Now it was the only known piece of her family left and she treasured it. It was so fragile now, pages yellowed and falling out easily. She rarely opened the notebook anymore, fearing what would happen to it. She had already found a special place for it, high on a kitchen shelf. She wondered if this poor little cookie cutter had lived a similar hard life - it had certainly seen better days. She felt privileged to have it, no matter its shape or where it had come from.

Later that day the children poured into the kitchen. Their cheeks rosy from running in the yard didn’t hide the sadness in their eyes. Their mother wanted so much for this house, this yard to be different. What could she do to make a fresh start, a new memory for them? Cookies! Baking cookies would be fun and would fill the house with new smells and memories. Why not let the past show us a way to a new future, she thought, and with that, she reached for the old notebook of recipes. She carefully thumbed through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She actually had all the ingredients for the sugar cookie recipe, but what would she use for cutting shapes? Her face brightened as she pulled the messy piece of tin from the drawer. With a few taps of a hammer and a bit more bending - if the cookie cutter could take just a bit more…perhaps it could work.

Soon the kitchen was filled with laughter and flour was everywhere. The mother bent to pull another sheet of warm cookies from the oven while the children spread thick frosting over the cooled ones. The shape resembled a flower with five funny petals. The mother explained as she bent the metal, “each of us is a petal, with our own shape.” “God put us together, to form this flower called a family. Others might look at our flower and just see something bent and broken, but because we let Him constantly tend to us and feed us, He can use us to make something beautiful.”

Moral of the story:
Sometimes we get bent. We get hurt emotionally, we experience loss and grief, we are faced with chronic or life threatening illness and we never want to come out of our drawer again. We can approach our “dents” with different attitudes. We can feel defeated and give up, not allowing God to use whatever shape we‘re in. We can also grieve and then say, “Okay God, now what? “  We are people, with all our flaws and dents and we are each loved by a God that never throws us away.    
Originally written, April 2006

Using the Words God Gave Me!

I have put off posting this glimpse of the past, for it is not so much past and a reminder of what the future will bring again.  However, it is a significant moment in my life - just a few shorts years ago, and I believe worthy of posting.  I want to clarify before I begin: my Dad is doing well now and is back at home, and through a lot of physical rehab, prayer and kind care-workers, he made a huge recovery.  I don't want to forget the times during this trial that taught me valuable lessons though.  So post this, I must!

It was a beautiful evening and the setting sun urged me to go for a walk.   In a four week time period, I had spent more time at my parent's home, than my own.  Dad had been diagnosed with Parkinsons, and also had back surgery.  Our existence clung to the end of a yoyo that spiraled between home, the hospital and a care facility.  For now, Dad was back at home, but we didn't know for how long.  The question of "how long" seemed to end many of our sentences back then.  At that particular moment, Mom had finished up what she needed and could be Dad's caregiver for the next little while. I headed out the door for some quiet. It didn't take long before I realized quiet would not come, because all the noise was in my head and I had brought it all with me. Quiet and Noise are bitter enemies and can not take walks together...I always end up leaving one at home.

There are convention grounds near my parent's home, with a creek meandering through and trees that have observed many walks and private cries through the years. I breathed deeply and at times even walked with my eyes closed, making sure I was not near the creek, (in case you were worried)!  I finally got the noise in my head tucked in for the night and quiet drew alongside me. With quiet came loneliness and isolation.  Noise at least, is distracting company. Now with quiet as my companion, silence was the loud intruder and I cried out, "God, please send someone my way - I need to know someone cares." I held my cell phone for a moment, as if willing it to ring...hoping God would nudge one of my friends or family members and they would just know to call at that moment.  Apparently God hasn't gotten with the times yet and still only uses a land line!

No one called, and I continued the loop, feeling sorry for myself, and headed back to my home away from home. As I stepped onto the street leading to my parent's house, I noticed a police car out on the highway.  My parent's live in a very small Oregon town and in a Christian retirement area...so the police are very good about doing drive-bys, making sure all is well.  I think to myself, "great, my hair isn't white, or gray and I probably don't really look like I belong here." Sure enough, the police car turned around and headed toward me. I can see headlines in the local papers, "Pastor's wife arrested for trespassing." As the car came up behind me, I stepped to the side and stopped. The policeman stopped next to me and I didn't wait for an accusation, immediately blurting out, "I probably don't look like I belong here!" I waited for the known response..."you're right!"  Instead all I heard was an apology!

The voice from the car only said, "actually I was going to say I was sorry for interrupting your peaceful walk."  I sadly responded, "I need to get back to help take care of my Dad anyway." I will never forget what happened next. The officer turned off the patrol car's engine, took off his seatbelt, shifted to get comfortable, and then said, "sounds like your Dad isn't doing too well." The next 30 minutes turned a lonely evening into a huge "God Moment" and I smiled - almost chuckled, my way back to the house.

I realized that I had done exactly what Lamentations says in chapter 2, verse 11..."Cry aloud before the Lord!" I raised my kids telling them to "use their words," and not just whine...and I had forgotten to do it myself. I used my words that night, on that walk and "cried aloud" and God answered.  He didn't use a cell phone because He doesn't need one.  He used a land line - that human touch...the reason He created His children and put them on earth with one another!  I needed a friend and God knew it - but He also knew that I didn't need to know them personally.  The kindness of strangers is sometimes the most powerful of all!

To Struggle or Unstruggle

The battle began as any other , the circumstances perhaps different, yet the outcome much the same.  I put out one arm for covering and used the other for the offensive attack.  My body contorted as need be to help in this quest, yet no matter my efforts, outside help had to intervene.  A hand reached out and pulled my coat on for my behalf!  I should know, if I can not even get my coat on without a struggle, life in general is certainly not going to be a cake-walk.  I have been thinking upon the word “struggle,” the past few days, and wondering if life really has to be this hard - this much of a conflict?  Am I living in such a way, as to encourage the scrambling and fighting that seems to come to many of my days?

The definition of struggling does indicate some positives to doing it…”make great efforts with the body, try hard; work hard against difficulties.”  These things are listed first in the dictionary and bring to mind that working hard brings a positive end many times.   If you are coaching an athlete, you’d definitely want them to “make a great effort” in their sport.  We certainly don’t want anyone to give up or be a quitter!  At the bottom of the list we get more into the definitions that come to mind when we are in a struggle…”fighting, conflict, strive, labor, toil, cope.” These shed a more negative light on the effort we’re suppose to make.  I have a website that I use for finding rhymes, synonyms, and antonyms, called rhymezone.com.  In an attempt to find the opposite of struggling, I went to Rhymezone, and alas - there is none.  I was hoping for at least an “un” on the beginning…so I could unstruggle.

The month of December is a time of struggling for me, and we are about to disembark again.  Sometimes the conflict within our lives is not physical, not tangible - it may just be a little piece of shrapnel left in our hearts.  There are struggles from the past that have left us wounded, but to the naked eye, these wounds are not detectable.  We may not notice them ourselves, much like an old war wound that only aches when the weather changes.  The storm coming, that makes me ache some, is called Christmas.  I realize this is rather transparent of me, so I hope you don’t mind if “my eight layers are showing.”  (Mini-wheat commercial)
Many years ago my family lived through a terrible storm that left us wounded.  We struggled,  “made great effort, worked hard against difficulties” and came out the other side.   We did not come out unscathed, unhurt, or even fully in one piece.  Whether  that storm was a hurricane, tornado,  or just a good rain, doesn’t really matter.  We came through it, our wounds healed over and we have rebuilt.  The fact that it hit during the Christmas season however, has left a scar that weeps a bit every year.  Many of you may have lost a loved one around a holiday, or birthday, or other significant moments.  You know the mixed emotions those marked occasions bring.  In the midst of the joy and smiles, there is a twinge of pain as well.

Easter, Mother’s Day, the 4th of July and Thanksgiving, pass by without a twinge.  Then it happens, I hear Christmas music!  It is the barometer which reads my life’s weather pattern and I begin to ache.  I went from “unstruggling” to struggling in less than a second and have been blue ever since.  Now I realize that logically this makes no sense whatsoever, and I should just buck-up, get over it, move on, and just STOP IT!  I can’t seem to get my logical mind, to override my fickle heart.  Obviously, a little piece of shrapnel is left from that battle long ago.  It healed over, but Christmas is here once again and my war wound is letting me know it.

If you are human, like me, and need a good surgeon for the shrapnel in your own life, I can refer you!  His name is Jesus.  He is the Great Healer!  His love and God’s word tend to my wounds as no one else can.  We should not attempt to treat ourselves for such struggles, as that would most likely lead to infection and possible loss of life.  Most prescriptions are hard to decipher - the doctor’s hand writing atrocious! I am thankful that the Great Healer’s writing is so legible! “This is why we work hard and continue to struggle for our hope is in the living God, who is the Savior of all people and particularly of all believers.”
1 Timothy 4:10 NLT

Hope

I'm cheating just a bit today, as I recover from our week of vacation.  In my weariness, and getting a late start to my Monday - I want to just share a poem I wrote a while back.  It was written for a friend, during a difficult time and I believe it's valid every day, for every person.  I pray it brings you some peace and  hope today.  

God is not the God of chaos
He is the Prince of Peace;
He’s always just a prayer away,
In His arms, our fears can cease.

Fears do not just float away,
Or magically disappear;
They must consciously be given up,
Placed on an alter, and forever left there.

If we let go and give our fears to God,
Flowing upward on a wing and prayer;
He takes them all, and with a smile,
Turns them to blessings for all to share.

Through our willing transparency,
God turns our sharing into strength;
How precious true friends become,
In good or bad, circumstance or length.

With God in the lead, nothing is wasted,
Whether tears, frustration or celebration;
When shared with others here on earth,
The tears and smiles build a strong foundation.

If I could tell you just one thing,
To help you sleep,  and forever be grateful;
I would remind you of a promised hope,
     “For He who promised is faithful!”

Hebrews 10:23...
”Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.”

Can you hear me now?

I can remember driving from point A to point B in the Northwest, and not having a signal on my cell phone.  My car would have more supplies than I needed - ‘just in case,’ because I might have a flat, or some other emergency in a spot where the cell phone wouldn’t help me out.  I also remember when we had no cell phones - but can not for the life of me, remember how I survived!  I go no where without mine, and even check my email with it!  My laptop computer also rarely leaves my side, and when I end up somewhere that doesn’t have a wireless signal, I am completely bummed out!  I am ‘connected’ almost 24/7, not because I have to - but because I really, really, want to!

I’m still in Washington as I type this.  I’m writing from the upstairs bedroom at a family member’s home, and this house is a rare spot!  There is no computer and no wireless router!  For years I didn’t even bring my computer in from the car when visiting, because I wouldn’t be able to connect.  A year ago, I was visiting and used my computer to watch a movie one night…and made a huge - epic level, discovery!  Someone nearby had left their wireless signal “unsecured”!  I nearly laughed the evil laugh - bwaa ha ha…as I hit “connect to this anyway,” when my computer was trying to warn me of such things.  I had a signal - was connected, and it was wonderful!  Okay - that’s the dramatic version, but really, it was pretty cool.

Being connected has its pros and its cons of course.  I love being able to check my email when I’m away from home, and knowing that my Mom and other family members can reach me with the cell phone at any time.  I really enjoy getting on Facebook and feeling connected to my friends and family; seeing what’s happening in their worlds and looking at all the pictures.  The downside to being this connected, in some cases, are the same as the pros to it.  I am never not connected, and in spite of this, I feel lonely a good deal of the time!  The computer and phone can not give me hugs, or hold my hand, or have lunch with me! They should not-can not take the place of being connected in a real, physical way! It is entirely in my control to not be connected through technology - all I have to do is disconnect, hang up, power down, and unplug!  There are times when I do this, and while it’s weird and eerily quiet, it’s also pretty nice!

I am wondering - even while I am connected while writing this blog, if all this technology is healthy for my soul?  Of course too much of anything, they say, is never good…so of course we have to keep our wireless, cell phone driven lives in check!  In the middle of all this glorious connectedness, how well are we connected to God?  Do our cell phones and computers and other toy gadgets get in the way of how much time we’ve spent talking to Him?  I can honestly say, yes - I am guilty of this!   This week of vacation I have spent far more time on the phone, watching movies, eating out and playing games with family (all great things of course), but very little time praying or letting God’s word speak into my life.

The very technology that gives me hours of fun and the ability to stay connected to people…can also suck the life right out of me at times!  Not all phone calls or emails are positive, not everyone is calling or writing to say “I love you,“ and not all movies leave me with a warm, fuzzy feeling!  I guess the lesson of the day is - hang up once in a while, and connect to something truly life-giving instead of life-sucking!  It’s okay to enjoy the new gadgets, and incredibly important to stay connected to each other, but just don’t let it take the place of staying in touch with who gave you life.  Balance, as in all things - but this scale should tip toward God’s favor I think.

Philippians 2:16,  “Hold firm to the word of life, then, on the day of Christ’s return, I will be proud that I did not run the race in vain and that my work was not useless.”  nlt

Beacon, with Bacon Please!

I am sitting in a hotel in downtown Seattle, in the midst of the worst artic storm they’ve seen in years.  Dale and I left the Portland area yesterday at 9am, stopped to visit a friend in the SeaTac area for a few hours, and then at 8pm last night, we had only made it to the downtown Seattle area.  I had need of a bathroom for those last 3 hours in the car, we hadn’t eaten much all day, and we had only gone maybe 10 miles in almost 4 hours!  It was miserable, terrifying and most agonizing!  Dale of course was calm, and patient - but the fact that I was struggling so much made him feel miserable too.  I finally reached my breaking point after inching our way through a long tunnel, packed in there with hundreds of other cars and huge semi trucks….because I am claustrophobic.  It’s not something that comes up all that often, but when it does - I’m done, call the paddy wagon!

Dale took the only exit we could and I prayed the whole way, as everything in Seattle is on a hill, and the ice and snow could make this a fast sleigh ride down to the Sound.   I started praying that God would lead us to a place to eat and a hotel close by and definitely not down the hill.  We turned one corner and went a few blocks and there, just to our left, was a beacon of hope!  Strange that it was in the form of a Subway sandwich shop, but there it was anyway and who was I to question God’s reasoning.  It was a beacon of hope for me, a potty stop and food all in one place - and I could have bacon with it!  The men making our sandwiches seems like warriors to me, braving the elements to stay open just to rescue us.  I wanted to kiss them - but the bathroom was more of a rescuer at that moment, so I left the poor men alone.

As we stood in line, letting these men build our sandwiches, I noticed the music playing in the background…a Christian radio station!  This indeed was a beacon of hope.  There were several others that had gathered here, eating and just getting in out of the storm; one gal had been riding her bike and was waiting for a ride.  We asked about a hotel and were told to just go one block, and it wasn’t downhill!  God is good - all the time!  It didn’t take us long to wolf down our sandwiches and get that car going in the direction of a warm hotel room.  It was a Marriott, with valet parking ONLY, and we didn’t care.  Now my husband usually balks at spending money we don’t have to, but he didn’t even blink.  We checked in, grabbed our bags and gave that young man our keys.  Relief comes for many women in the form of tears - and I was on the verge of them for an hour, even after getting to our room.  It had been a very long day.

It is only in the midst of a storm, that a beacon of hope is truly noticed.  Many years ago, as we drove through Northern Idaho in pitch black of night, we kept noticing a light shining over the hills in front of us.  It shone as a lighthouse over the ocean, hill after hill and it seemed that we would never actually arrive to find out the source.  Finally we rounded one more curve, and found that all that light was coming from a tiny little town in the valley.  I am quite positive, that had we been driving in the daylight, we would never have noticed it.  Light always cuts straight through darkness, and a beacon shines it’s brightest when needed.  This is probably why we cry out to Jesus in tough times, but don’t talk to Him a whole lot when things are going okay.  This shouldn’t be!  I’m going to work harder at making Jesus more of the constant companion He really is, than just my roadside rescuer.

Check-out isn’t until 12:00, so we are going to enjoy our Beacon for a bit longer this morning, and it even fed us for free, although Dale says breakfast cost $147!  We’re waiting for the roads to get a little less icy, and then we’ll continue to our destination…which by the way - we are only about 20 miles from!  Oh, and breakfast didn’t come with bacon, but there was plenty of sausage to eat!

Praise Be!

I grew up hearing the ‘older folk’ say “Praise-be!”  It was usually preceded by “Well” and never followed up by what they were praise-being about.  I was confused by this and usually looked up and all around trying to figure out what we were praise-being for!  Sometimes it was said shortly after answering the front door and finding some random loved one on the other side of it.  Other times it was muttered as a cake was being pulled from the oven.  ‘Praise-be’s’ seemed to be thrown “willy nilly” all over the place!

I am about to leave for a week of vacation, and since I’m not sure I’ll get much writing done - I’d like to leave my Thanksgiving thoughts for you now.  I’ll start off by saying, Praise-be for vacations!  It isn’t often that my husband and I get away for a whole week, and even if it wasn’t the week of Thanksgiving, I would be giving much thanks!  It’s easy to be thankful when we get to do something fun, or things are going well.  How many of us know how to have a thankful heart when times are tough, or we are required to scrub the toilet?  I can honestly say, I do not have a good handle on the latter scenario.  Never have I said, “praise-be” with my head anywhere near the bathroom floor!

Even the Godliest of folk seem to struggle finding the good in the midst of the bad and the ugly.  How in the world are those of us that are not even close to being perfect, do this?  I have gone to church since I was eight days old, and I still have a hard time remembering to give thanks when I just don’t feel like it.  So what do we do when we read scriptures like Psalm 118:24?  “This is the day the Lord has made.  We will rejoice and be glad in it.”  There have been times when hearing that would have just irritated me!  You want me to do what?  Rejoice when my child has been disobedient?  Sing hallelujah while I have piles of laundry to do?  Dance a jig and be glad when I have just lost a loved one?

Several years ago I was reading one of Luci Swindoll’s books, and finally experienced one of the best explanations about this Psalm.  A loose quote would be, “the rejoicing is not in the circumstances of the day, the rejoicing is in who made the day!”   It was my “ah-ha” moment!  “This is the day that the Lord has made!”  I will praise Him and thank Him, not because of the circumstances of the day, but because He made the day!  “I will rejoice and be glad in it.”  I will sing that hallelujah and dance that jig, in spite of what the day brings, because God is faithful and will never leave me!  Praise-Be indeed!

This Thanksgiving I hope you have a warm roof over your heads, family to be with, and great food to share in.  But more than that - I pray that you have a “Praise-be” moment with God, giving thanks and rejoicing in what He has done, and who He is.  If you find yourself without family, or much food to share in - I pray you give thanks for exactly the same reasons!  What He did for us - giving His son to die for our sins, is still true even when we have a “bad day.”  Who He is - our Savior, Redeemer, Counselor, Comforter, and Creator - is still true…even when we have to clean a toilet.  So Praise-Be and pass the pumpkin pie!  

Working Out!

I am about to embark on my tri-weekly adventure to Curves.  I typically work out there on Monday, Wednesday and Friday every week - or try to.  I began this journey, of thinking at age 52, I could be fit and slim again.  While it is helping and I am definitely leaner and much more toned than when I started last March, I have a long, long - long, ways to go!  I have set small goals for myself - knowing well enough that I am not able to commit more…and 10 pounds at a time eventually will get me to where I want to be.  Although, I’m not sure exactly where that is; what is the end result I’m working-out for?

When I was 25, had been married for 6 years already, and gone through 2 pregnancies, I was determined to shed the extra pounds.  I ran, did aerobics, walked, and ate barely anything.  I also took diet pills - yes, the ones we now know are horrible for us!  I was like a hamster on a wheel - on speed!  I was indeed thin…in fact some people said, too thin!  But dang - I looked good, and was “all that” and wore clothes that would not fit on one thigh of mine today.  Eventually I crashed, health wise and diet wise and today running would only be necessary - or even possible, if a large Grizzly bear were chasing me!  I do believe I would just lay down and play dead, and in the end - if eaten, would figure at least I was meaty and fatty enough to carry the bear through hibernation.

I am 52 now, and proud of it…I have earned every wrinkle, gray hair, and extra pound I have on me.  I am no longer out working because of health issues, but I am working-out, and feeling good because of it.  I do not take diet pills, yet my bathroom counter is filled with pill bottles.  I am still restricted by diet, but now gluten, dairy and sugar free - if I’m behaving myself.  No more Diet Coke in my hand 24/7 - now a water bottle.  What has this world come to?  Well, it’s come to this - I am sick and tired of being sick and tired!  I’m not doing 30 minutes in a circle, on funny looking machines, with a dozen other women…just to lose weight.  I’m not even doing it so I can look in the mirror again and say, “dang, I look good!”  I simply want to feel good, be as healthy as I can, and be able to maybe, put a bit more distance between that Grizzly - if need be.

I need to be reminded of a different end result in my life too.  I am setting these goals with my weight and health, but still terrible at setting spiritual ones!  I keep forgetting that part of my daily workout should be picking up my Bible, and spending some quality time getting that part of my life toned.  I should be sick and tired of feeling sick and tired when it comes to my spiritual life!  I want to stand before God someday and have Him say “dang, you look good girl!” So - what is my end result…simply what I named this blog: being the best me I can be!  That’s it - whether it’s my weight, health issues or the health of my spiritual life.  It’s a goal I think we can all work toward.  Now, excuse me - Curves is calling!

Of Worth!

What makes something a ‘treasure’ or gives worth to the things around us?  I have a house full of treasures, and antiques - some beautiful, some maybe not so much.  To me, they are all of worth.  Most have been passed down for several generations and while they may be a bit raggedy, I love them!  Perhaps some folks would look on these things and not see any worth - that it’s all junk.  Others with more knowledge of the value of antiques, would just see dollar signs.  The value of these treasures for me, is simply felt in my heart.  There is one particular treasure that means a lot to me.  I know it’s nothing special to look at, and certainly would not fetch much money at auction; I know the reality of what I’m holding.  Yet, to me, it is a treasure of irreplaceable worth.  It is a ring.  In it’s glory days it held quite a few opals, it’s gold was shiny and the delicateness of it, made it gorgeous.  I have never worn this ring, as it is too fragile since coming into my possession.  It sits on a small decorative shelf amongst other tiny trinkets that I adore.  I rarely even bring it out to show to people that visit - as I know it would mean nothing to most., but I know it’s there and it brings me comfort none the less.

This ring belonged to my grandmother, but was handed down to me by my aunt after Grandma passed away.  My grandmother gave me a ring - a different ring, when I was in high school.  It was a beautiful pearl ring in a square setting with tiny diamonds on either side.  It was also gold, but was not new even when my grandfather gave it to grandma for their anniversary.  I didn’t want the ring really - it wasn’t exactly what a 17 year old would think was stylish…but no one ever told grandma ‘no’!  I planned to put the ring away as a keepsake, but grandma insisted that I wear it - “pearls are only beautiful when worn.”  For a couple of years the ring stayed safe on my hand, or my nightstand.  When I graduated high school, a friend, my parents and I did a mini-caravan in 3 vehicles to Boise, Idaho.  About 2 hours into our journey we did a pit stop at a rest area somewhere between Medford and Bend.  We weren’t there long - as we had many more hours to go, and soon we were back in the cars on our way.  I believe it was hours later, between Bend and Burns, that my right hand felt naked.  I looked down and instantly felt sick to my stomach - grandma’s ring was gone!  It was too far to turn back, and I knew the ring wouldn’t be there anyway…I had taken it off to wash my hands and forgotten to put it back on.

I wasn’t worried about replacement value, or how old the ring was, or even that I no longer had a ring to wear!  I wasn’t looking forward to my Mom chewing me out, but that wasn’t the cause for the sickness in my stomach either.  I could not live with the thought of disappointing my grandma!  I knew she would still love me, and knew she would not hold it against me…but disappointing her - I wanted to throw up!  I settled in Boise, started my college years and independence and started years of praying that grandma would never ask me about the ring, and she never did.  I never told her I lost it and carried that weight well into adulthood.  Until one day at my aunt’s house; I confessed!  Grandma was gone now, and I knew my aunt would understand - she always did.  Onto her shaky, elderly legs she stood and told me to follow.  We entered what was my grandmother’s room in her later years, and my aunt opened the top drawer of the dresser.  She placed a ring box in my hands and said, “Grandma would want you to have this.”  Inside was this tiny opal ring - not worth wearing, much too small for any of my fingers, and the most precious treasure I’ve ever laid my eyes on!  My heart felt healed, and knew what I held was not just a ring, it was Grace!

The treasures in our lives are worth exactly what worth or value we place on them.  No one else can tell us that worth, there is no appraisal needed done.  This is true whether we’re talking about an old ring - or ourselves!  I let a lost ring decide my worth and whether forgiveness was within reach!  I knew it was, because I knew my grandma well enough, but I did not accept what I knew.  As with any gift, it is our choice to accept or reject.  How many Christmas or birthday gifts have you turned away without opening?  Probably none!  So why do we do that when it comes to what God has given us?  I guess we figure we know better than the One that made us, what our worth is.  The lesson of the ring in my life has stayed with me; I am forgiven, loved unconditionally, and am treasured.  I hope that you accept that you are a treasure also.

“God saved you by His grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God.” Ephesians 2:8
“For the Lord is good. His unfailing love continues forever, and his faithfulness continues to each generation.”
Psalm 100:5

Waterfalls

In our backyard we created our very own, peaceful oasis to enjoy.  It has taken 8 years, lots of planning and even more money, but it is coming along quite nicely.  It has taken even more of my husband’s muscle strength and sweat to get it to where it is.  It’s not done yet, as we seem to think of more and more to do back there, but it’s finally to the point where we can sit back there and really enjoy it.  We have a brick patio area, a rock path leading the other side of the yard and in between them is a large pond and waterfall.  There are koi to throw food to, lots of plants, a bench swing, fire pit and sitting area, and a Japanese sand raking garden also!  We have discovered one major flaw to all this however.  With all our planning and work to create this - we have created work in just keeping it maintained!  Ugh!

We have created a nemesis - so to speak…right in our own backyard!  It’s name is: Waterfall!  The name speaks for itself - water fall…the water is suppose to fall!  Today, as I sit here in my recliner next to the living room windows, the water is trickling, again.  We did our research, bought the best system we found, and have a pump that moves 1400 gallons of water an hour!  That is a pretty powerful pump, but a pump is only as good as the filter it’s attacked to apparently.  The pump draws the pond water up and through a filter basket first, then pushes it on through a huge filtration system, before it is suppose to ‘fall’ down the rocks and back into the pond!  That filter basket apparently doesn’t know that it’s job is to keep the pump from getting clogged, and even though we clean out the basket constantly, some things still get into the pump.  This is the battle that ensues every week - Dale has to disconnect the pump, carry it to the shop and clean it out, then reattach it and prime it - then the water ‘falls’ and doesn’t trickle once again.

Why do we not just get a back hoe and fill the pond in and call it quits?  Simple - we love the sound of water - trickling, falling or otherwise.  Dale doesn’t mind the work (most days) that it takes to keep our oasis maintained, and I don’t, at all, mind watching him do it!  This process has made me stop and think some today, about the work it takes to keep the water flowing strongly.  How often in my life does my filter get clogged up or the pump God placed in me - my heart, stop working the way it should.  All because I choose not to do the maintenance I need to, in order to keep things working right in my life.  Ugh!

If I don’t read my Bible, stay open to God working on my heart, and let the Holy Spirit flow out of me - I feel pretty clogged up!  I may be clogged enough with selfishness, laziness, and apathy that there is only room for the Holy Spirit and God’s love to “trickle” out of me.  Given enough time, as with our waterfall, it eventually gets too bottled up with crud, and it stops flowing all together!  The amount of work it takes to get things flowing right again is tons harder…heart wise, or pond wise.  So wouldn’t it be easier to just do the maintenance consistently?  I think so.

Proverbs 4:23... “Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.”

Disabled!

In today's technology the word "disabled" is used frequently.  We can disable our car alarms, the home security systems, and I disable my touchpad on this laptop of mine.  Those are all necessary and perfectly acceptable things to have disabled.  When a person becomes disabled, that is a whole different ballgame.  

I have lived with chronic pain and illness issues for over 15 years now and did continue to work, raise my family, and helped my husband in full-time ministry.  Seven years ago I stopped working because my health and pain levels would not cooperate any longer, but I was not disabled.  I have had to give up countless hobbies and ministries because I could no longer do them - but was not disabled.  I have spent quite a bit of time in the ER, and doctor's offices, but was not disabled.  Apparently, only the government can decide whether you are disabled or not.

It's official now...I am disabled!  After being denied three times, getting a lawyer and finally being allowed a hearing - I am disabled!  I actually was told that I was allowed to have, what was mine to begin with - my Social Security.  Funny how that works.  I wanted to have a party, celebrate, and scream it from the rooftops!  Something that has such a negative affect on most folks, was cause for huge smiles at my house.  I walked out to get the mail one day, and there in my hand was a big envelope from the SS administration.  This was it - "the envelope please" moment!  I stood in the street, ripped it open and said one more prayer, and then opened my eyes to the verdict.  The judge's decision...I was disabled!  Wahooooooooo!


Here's the rub though...I don't look disabled.  I still know how to put on my makeup, and dress well, and smile.  I get told often, "you look great" or "you don't look disabled" and I am thankful for that.  I have a "disabled parking permit" and I use it...but you should see some of the looks I get!  Because I don't look disabled, I get judged.  The truth is however, I am in pain every day, all day, and I don't know what it's like to not be.  No one pushed a button or entered a code into the keypad and "disabled" me.  God did not zap me and decide to punish me for some wretched sin I committed.  I have Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Synd., arthritis, disc degeneration and bone spurs in my spine.  And that folks, is just that...it is what it is, and while it is not fun - it is also not the end of the world.


I use to pray this way, "God, please take away my pain, remove it from me."  Nothing happened.  I prayed, and prayed - for years.  Then one day I realized I was going about things all wrong and my prayers changed.  I was told by someone that I inspired them, that they were so encouraged by my attitude and strength - that they decided they could do more.  I started praying, "Lord, please take my pain and use it."  And He has!  I don't know how many times I hear, "If Mary can do it, so can I."  Some days I have to remind myself that "Mary can do it," and there are days that Mary can't.  Even when I can't get out and do everything I wished I could for God, or my family - or just for fun, I can still mentor and encourage people through email or Facebook!  


When I have to lay down another hobby or ministry, I look around to see what I can pick up and do next.  God is not done with me yet, and I don't just want to be used by Him - I want to be used up completely!  No one can put a label on my heart and "disable" it!  2 Corinthians 12:10 is my battle cry through life..."So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me!"

Always bring the flowers!

There was wailing, and screaming, tears and sometimes even biting!  All this and it wasn't even 10am yet!  It was going to be a very long day.  I had dared to venture into the realm of running a daycare center in my home!  At least there was 'quiet time' in the near future...which was simply turning on Sesame Street and fixing a snack.  It was LAW...you would sit and watch, and eat your snack!  It was the only time I could go potty myself - without witnesses!  Now most days did not start out quite this crazy...most were routine and fun, and I enjoyed what I did.  This was not one of those days!


At the time, our own children were evenly distributed in grade school, Junior High and High School...one in each.  Around 3pm each day they would start back in our door and again, 'most days' that would be a huge help to me!  They would do their homework, get something to eat, and pick up a baby or toddler and join in the fun.  This was not one of those days either!  This day, my own kids were fighting and life had gone terribly wrong at school, and I "did not understand"!  For my part, the day was a total loss: there was no chocolate in the house!

In an attempt to keep my sanity throughout 'that day', I called my husband for some adult conversation.  By late afternoon I just looked forward to him walking through the door and to me having back-up!  When he arrived, I happened to be in the bathroom with a couple of little people in training, hands full and an insane look on my face (I imagine).  Now at this point you probably think that Dale arrived in full stride, hands on hips, with a cape flowing behind him.  Perhaps you think I swooned at the sight of him and fell into his arms and we passionately kissed.  You would be very, very wrong!

My loving, kind and thoughtful husband quietly stood before me, and said... "I was going to buy you flowers on my way home, but I figured if you had that bad of a day they wouldn't help - and if you didn't, you wouldn't need them."  Ladies...this is not an exaggeration and Men...this is not a suggestion.  I'm not sure how long I stared at him in that moment, but all I could think to say was, "thanks, I guess."

We have laughed about that moment for years now!  He did explain himself later that night; he felt he should come straight home and not stop for flowers, since he knew I'd had a bad day.  There will be 'those days', and nothing can substitute for a kind spoken word, or a gentle touch when we're going through them.  But guys...always bring the flowers!  I still pick up the phone during 'those days' and talk to my husband, or a friend, or other family members.  I'm most thankful though, that I don't even need a cell phone to talk to God.  He is always available, totally interested in what kind of day I'm having, and ready with flowers - whether I need them or not!

Twirling!

I'm cheating a bit this morning, because I'm about ready to leave for the week-end...so I'm posting something I've already written.  I love 'copy and paste'!  Hope it speaks to someone out there today!

    I magically twirled around the attic pretending once again to be a beautiful bride. The veil on my head draped delicately down my back, was matched in beauty by the cupcake shaped, puffy skirt.  It made a wonderful swishing sound as the skirt rustled back and forth like a bell in full gong!  I was maybe six or seven years old at the time and the veil was a satin half-slip held in place on my head by the elastic waistband.  The gonging skirt was in reality another half-slip, full-length with three tiers of puffy lace.  To me, they were a beautiful ensemble, just perfect for an imaginative wedding.  Grandma’s attic held anything needed for transforming a girl into what she dreamed of being.  A shawl became a cape, and a mighty superhero was born!  Several layers of satin slips became a ball gown for a princess.  There were hats and gloves for afternoon tea with the queen and high-heeled shoes for looking way older than your Daddy would want you to!  Hours later reality would knock on the door, and a voice would interrupt, saying, “time for dinner.”  This is a window to my childhood.
    My grandparents ran a second-hand shop and Grandma Newton kept an eye open for things she knew I would love.  I couldn’t wait to get up to the attic to discover what the latest fashion statement would be.  An added side-effect of all this fun…I knew I was loved.  I knew that the silly, talkative, ask too many questions, at times annoying, little ole ME, was unconditionally loved!  I truly grew up believing that I was special, gifted, totally lovable, and that surely everyone adored me (except my brother of course)!    
    When I was a preschooler my grandma babysat me off and on and those were great days!  I had my own little wooden, red chair and it fit just right at the glass-topped coffee table in my grandparent’s living room.  The glass top wasn’t there to protect the wooden table - it was there to protect the photos underneath.  It was a showcase of all the grand and great-grandkids and I could sit and study each face while I had my lunch.  There were tea parties prepared in a tiny tin pot that grandpa had found at yet another yard sale, and grandma filled it with some pale tea water and a lot of sugar and milk!  There were always Fig Newton’s and homemade sugar cookies - and my personal favorite…a jar of dill pickles.
    I remember Grandma hosting the church quilting bee in her living room and while the church ladies poked their needles in and out…I was underneath pretending it was my secret fort!  I also remember the TV coming on and it was Roller Derby time!  The yelling, the taunting - and that was just grandma urging her favorite teams to hit harder!  I sat and wondered what secret life my grandma could have had and pictured her sneaking out late at night to go rough people up!  That was a very funny thought since she was barely over five feet tall!
    I wasn’t able to see Grandma very often after getting married and moving away, occasional letters and phone calls were all that let her know what she meant to me.  I don’t have very many regrets in life, but that is a big one.  I should have practiced more of the intentional loving I had seen in her.  Some of my last memories of her were of a frail, arthritis-ravaged little body - with a mind sharp as ever.  My last smile from her was because I told her that she would probably wait to die until I got all the way home, just to spite me. Thus making me drive 500 miles back to Oregon for her funeral.  Some of her last words to me let me know I was right and she would do her part to be ornery.  The morning after I returned home from that trip to Oregon, my mother called to tell me, “Grandma passed away last night.”  Instead of tears, a smile appeared on my face.  Grandma got the last word again.
    I miss my grandma.  I said my last “I love you” many years ago, yet there are still times that I see or hear something funny and want to pick up the phone so I can tell her about it!  I miss her mischievous smile and her wink - letting me know that her and I share the secret of why something is funny.  I miss hearing her tell me “you’re going to be okay” and I really miss being able to believe it!  When Grandma said it…it just had to be so!  I was always sure she had a direct line to God and that He listened, cause He knew better not to!  I miss being loved just as I am, treasured for just being me…big mouth and all.  Oh, and I miss twirling!  When I have one of those days, I stop and remember something wonderful: God loves me unconditionally!
    God treasures me and with a smile and wink - He gets me!  Even in my 50’s, I can stand before Him and twirl, and feel beautiful in His sight.  A little bit of Grandma lives within me, and I thank God that He made me that way.  I have my own home to invite others to now, and make them tea…and I’ll take mine still, with too much sugar.  Hopefully I remember to say, “you’re going to be okay” to those that need to hear it, and share an unconditional love to all I meet.  I will still be a bit ornery, and silly - will probably talk too much, and I still love dill pickles.  I hope and pray that God continues to bring people into my life that love me just the way I am too!  Now excuse me…I have some twirling to do and a few sugar cookies to bake!
  

Drink it all in!

Years ago our family spent several days in the Diamond Lake area of Oregon.  We rented a cabin and enjoyed some fishing, boating and also hiked around quite a few waterfalls.  The last day, as we headed South to visit family, we stopped off at Crater Lake.  Being a full-fledged Oregonian, I have been to Crater Lake many times - but have never been 'on' the lake.  We hiked down a very long steep path, to the lake's dock and took a boat tour.  It was over an hour long tour and was very informative, beautiful, fun and HOT!  We arrived back at the dock in the heat of the day, and realized we had not planned well for this adventure.  We were hungry and thirsty and still had to hike back up to the parking lot.  The people that run this wonderful adventure are not stupid...right at the dock there sits a little snack shack filled with candy, sodas and bottled water.  I was thirsty and had to have water - at any cost!  I believe I saw a few tears in my husband's eye as he paid around $5.00 for that bottle of water!  We all had a drink and started up the steep path to our car.  Our teenage sons ran to the top.  My kind, loving husband stayed behind with our daughter and I, as we walked, gasped, and whined our way to the top.  Had we not had that water, I would not have made it!

I have been on other journeys in my life, that I didn't plan for.  I've felt lost in a desert, with no water and no one there to guide me. Imagine with me such a time...lost in a desert, wandering for days, nothing in sight but barren land, and no water to drink.  Then think what it would be like to turn a corner and find yourself standing at the edge of waterfall, a roaring, awesome, misting, waterfall!  Wouldn't that be a powerful moment?  Wouldn't you just jump in, drink in that water, and feel alive, refreshed and saved?  I have felt that at times when I've wandered in a desert of  my own making and then work my way back to God!

Psalm 63:1-3 teaches me about this kind of glory and power -
O God, you are my God; I earnestly search for you.
My soul thirsts for you; my whole body longs for you.
In this parched and weary land; where there is no water.
I have seen you in your sanctuary and gazed upon your power and glory.
Your unfailing love is better than life itself.

Even when it's my own choices to be in the desert, perhaps haven't planned well, and even wounded and whine a lot...God's unfailing love is there.  I may have to make the journey through the choices I make, do the work and search, but His power and glory are waiting for me - always!  There is a line from the movie Last Holiday, "it's not how we start that matters, it's how we finish."  This is so true, whether it's our life as a whole we're talking about, or whatever journey we find ourselves on in the middle of that life.  The finish line, the top of the steep path, the edge of the lake..."Behold your power and glory."  Feel the mist on your face, hear the roar, see the power of it!  Set your gaze on it.  Drink it all in!