Small Stuff

"His master said to him, 'Well done, good and faithful slave. You were faithful with a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.' Matthew 25:23

I can't quite decide if I am a detail-oriented person or not. I think probably not.
I refuse to make any recipe with steps. When my mom drags me off textile hunting, I nearly have a panic attack just watching her compare swatches. I think I may have told her to get a move on at one time or another. I'm a fast talker and get frustrated with people who need me to slow down and explain myself. I have scrap-booked and it was very satisfying and yet the thought of doing it a second time fills me with dread. When I'm listening to report at work I want to scream "Just get to the point!"
So I guess I'm not detail-oriented.
Lately though, I've been noticing that God is making my faith a little more detailed than it used to be. He's challenging me to be faithful in small things that my big-picture brain would naturally walk on by. Things that seem insignificant, invisible even. Things that no one will see and that don't have any spiritual significance, at least until recently.
It all started several months ago as I was getting into my truck after work. There on the ground was a half full bottle of water. I thought to myself, "Geez people are pigs." and then got in and shut the door. Then there's this nudge in my heart; "So why don't you pick it up Piglet?" I couldn't think of any reason that I shouldn't other than it didn't occur to me until that moment. So I opened up my door and picked up that cruddy water bottle.
And I swear to you I felt God smile.
After that there were more opportunities to attend to insignificant matters. Walking down the hall at work all alone I noticed a piece of paper on the floor. I walked on past it and then doubled back to pick it up. Just then someone came around the corner and said, "How great that you stopped to pick that up. Good for you."
And God smiled again.
Scrap papers on the ground. Water bottles. I continue to be held responsible for tiny things that for some reason, God is noticing all of a sudden.
I don't know what the big picture lesson is in all of this, but I'm really liking God smiling at me. I'm looking for details to tend to for Him. Nonspiritual stuff that is somehow stretching my heart.
Just last Sunday at church I went to the ladies' room and walked in to a stall to find, you guess it; unflushed stuff. I turned around to walk into a different stall. Closed the new stall door. Then returned to the poo poo stall. And flushed.
And God smiled. Just because I flushed some poop.
He's easily pleased with me I think.
He sets my bar really low, which is apparently where my baseline is.
So I'm working on the small stuff. No, I'm not going to Jo Ann's with you mom. And I'm not making any multi-step recipes either. That jello pretzel thing at Thanksgiving nearly did me in.
And that crummy water bottle from months ago? Still in the cup holder on my car door. I'm working on this detail thing. Plus if ever the Mr. takes a swig from it; that will totally crack me up.

Grooving On A Tuesday Afternoon

As threatened yesterday, I am again writing off the cuff as I have nothing saved.
It's beautiful here today, 74 degrees according to my truck thermometer! I even removed my gloves for the drive home! Makes me want to do something like spring cleaning. This impulse is sure to pass by my next day off; it always does.
We had a mock JCHAO inspection today. JCHAO is the agency that accredits health-care organizations and we have to pass yearly inspections. I was glad we were having a dry run of sorts since it's my first year as charge nurse. When my manager debriefed us as to areas of concern; I thought "Well hot dog! We did purty good!" while her reaction was not as impressed.
You wanna know something, we did do well. Only about three identified areas to work on and those are already in the process of improving. I was happy with the results. These inspections don't terrify me. I figure I'm honestly doing my best and I honestly always need to improve. It's OK to identify the stuff that needs work.
Hey! I just realized there is a life lesson in there!
It's ok to not be perfect as long as we're willing to take the lessons and be continuously striving toward the goal of pleasing God. I know it's because of God I can be peaceful in what was a stressful environment for others.
As long as I'm seeking him, it's gonna be ok.
Giant breasticles, as yet unnamed; not withstanding. But that's another story.

Romans 8:1
...therefore this is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus...

to get your groove on metrostyle; click HERE!

Is Hooter's Hiring?

I worked all weekend so I have no new and inspiring posts for you. More alarming, this leaves me with daily thoughts that I feel the need to share as opposed to carefully written and edited ideas. Unedited, you'll be experiencing things like the following story.
I've gained so much weight that I'm utterly disgusted with myself. I had been trying to quietly get back into control and telling myself it wasn't all that bad. Surely I could turn it around. Well, after dinner at Chilli's I went to the bathroom and apparently it's worse than I realized.
I misjudged how much bustier my bust is and smacked my breasticles right into the divider on the booth as I rounded the corner on the way to the restroom.
Breasts so large you can't round a corner without self injury?
Here's your sign.

And here's your verse. I'm not sure what it means exactly but I think it means that Jesus likes me fat.

Isaiah 10:27
In that day their burden will be lifted from your shoulders, their yoke from your neck; the yoke will be broken because you have grown so fat.

The Healing of Daniel Mullen

This Sunday afternoon the temperatures were pushing toward fifty and the sky had the clear and sunshininess that hints at spring. Daboyz headed home after church and the Mr. and I went together somewhere else.
We went to Nixon's Funeral Home.
Daniel Mullen is dead.
Some of you recall my requests for prayer for Daniel over the last few years. He started a battle with a rare form of cancer two years ago that ended on Thursday evening of last week. He was nineteen years old.
I'll spare you the details of Daniel's journey toward heaven. It will suffice to say he fought the good fight and kept the faith. He has received his reward from the Christ he loved.
We stood in a line of about a half dozen people at Daniel's casket. Many others milled around talking quietly or crying. His grandmother and aunts sat on a couch in front of Danny holding hands and whispering love to one another.
We stood in front of this young man, so changed by his illness from the pictures his parents had placed around the room. Changed and even ravaged by disease, he still looked like a little boy. Just a teenager with the typical goatee of his generation and gel in his hair. His suit was too big because the cancer had cost him so much physically. His face was both old and young.
We shook the hands of his mom and dad who seemed there and not there. Polite and preoccupied. I wondered how they remained upright.
Please remove Daniel from your prayer lists, he is healed and cancer-free. Remember his family as they learn how to live without their precious boy.
As for me, I wondered today what in the world I could ever complain about again. What could make me speak anything but gratitude for what my life is. How can I be occupied with anything but my Jesus, the only hope I have ever had.
Danny, rest with Jesus and please give my grampa a hug.
And Father, remind me of the lessons worth learning and the thoughts worth thinking.
Let me never complain about earthly matters.

2 Timothy 4:7
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

March 11, 2007

Psalm 55:11
Destructive forces are at work in the city; threats and lies never leave its streets.

This is the post I prepared for today being that I thought I was working. I set my clocks forward and lost an hour, got up at 5 a.m. Showered and was putting on my coat when work called and worked reduced me. So I didn't sleep in and can't fall back to sleep. I can have my Sunday off which is sweet. I still say that destructive forced are at work in the city. p.s. for those outa-staters, above is a real picture of the hospital where I work.
Happy Sabbath!

Working Through the Weekend

1. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
2. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
3. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
4. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
5. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
6. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
7. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
8. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
9. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.
10. All work & no play makes Sara a dull girl.

Good Morning

Psalm 30:4-6
Sing to the LORD, you saints of his; praise his holy name. For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.
When I felt secure, I said,"I will never be shaken."

It’s funny how the Holy Spirit brought this verse to my mind. I was thinking about my morning drive to work. I have a routine. I listen to the local Christian radio station which plays modern praise & worship during my drive in. It just made me think “joy comes in the morning.”
Then I thought, “weeping endures for a night but joy comes in the morning.”
Naturally this made me get on the computer to find the entire scripture and there it is. Is it rocking you like it rocks me?
So many times I’ve not just been ashamed of who I am right now but ashamed for who I used to be. I was a glorious mess back in the day. That isn’t what I’m really thinking about though. I’m thinking about the rejoicing of the morning. The morning of my heart when I finally awakened to the love and favor that was waiting for me. I had to grow into that understanding. I was the child of an angry God for a long, long time. Believing in Christ’s love for me and feeling it were two different things. On the former I had no issue, the latter eluded me.
I’m actually sitting here now trying to remember when I turned that proverbial corner into love’s embrace. I think it started when my marriage bottomed out. I say started because in the midst of that crisis I sure didn’t feel particularly loved or loveable. But what I did experience was true and utter desperation for a touch of God like I had never felt before. Not that I’d never needed anything or prayed before. But I really felt that if God didn’t save, literally save, my life; I wouldn’t walk away from this in one piece. Being driven to my knees in utter dejection I found in my humiliation a gentle God that I hadn’t seen before.
At twenty five years old and with a husband who openly hated me on a daily basis; I saw nothing in the mirror worth loving. My night of weeping was four years long. The four years grew progressively empty until I was praying not just in passing, but locked in my bedroom and on my face. That is where the gentle God reached me. I had emptied out my “I’m sorries.” along with my list of offenses and sins and failures and faults. I moved to my angers and bitternesses and fears. Once all that had been spoken there was just me drowning in my own tears with just the tiniest frail hope that maybe God would bother with me one last time. I saw no other relief but death. If this sounds ugly and harsh to you; let me assure you it was an ugly and harsh time. I wished for anything that would get me out of this crushing agony.
Do you wonder why this would be the place that I felt the love of God? If you’ve been there; you know exactly what I mean. The emptying out of the self is a painful process. The stripping away of pretense and preconceived notions of Christianity and God, for some of us at least; happens with such terror that we almost lack the courage to face it.
The church couldn’t help me.
My faith didn’t immunize me.
My intelligence couldn’t solve it.
My fortitude didn’t soothe the pain.
My family couldn’t save me.
I had to let go and let go and let go and it felt like I was melting from the inside. For four years I melted away until nothing was left except what was real. And what was real was love.
The layers of my own understanding peeled away leaving me soft and vulnerable to whatever God really was to me. To me, he was the joy after the long night of weeping.
If you are in that night, do not deny the tears or the process of the melting away.
Only the morning is real.
Awaken to love.

The Me I've Lost

I’m given to feeling disquieted even when there seems to be no reason for it.
As would be appropriate approaching one’s fortieth birthday, I’m doing even more examination of my life than I do normally. And normally I examine things obsessively; so you see my situation. It’s the feeling that the time for planning to do is a luxury I can no longer afford.
I have accomplished a good deal of that which I had set before myself. I have a wonderful marriage to a wonderful man, who; at the risk of hyperbole, I will state that I adore. I have thus far succeeded in raising my kids into young men of honor and stability. The truth of the matter is; from here it is their own steps that will predict their futures more so than my decisions on their behalf. I have lost the weight I needed to and continue in the battle against that addiction with which I presume I will always live. I have returned to school, finished and gotten a solid job.
I have found a church into which I am finally a “good fit.” I have settled into a ministry that I love and pray that God will continue to use me and to grant me more opportunities to teach. I have the most amazing circle of friends in the world.
And so, why am I at times disquieted?
I think as the tasks of life have been ticked off; done and done and done, I’m left with the next step. Introspection stands before me demanding my attention. I am learning to move from doing into being in my life. Honestly I find it just the littlest bit daunting.
I’ve spent quite some time now trying to figure out just what might be lacking in what seems to be a well-rounded if not spectacular life. I think I’ve put my finger on it. Certain things which I’ve sacrificed along the way to make my journey a bit more aerodynamic could now fit back into my life. Sounds rather vague doesn’t it?
There’s nothing dramatic on the list. It’s just that in the process of raising kids and going to school and juggling various stresses and challenges I ran out of energy or resources to enjoy some window dressings in my life. I feel I have become almost entirely made of functionality. I’m no martyr, believe me. I am not shearing my own lambs to make socks or anything quite so impressive. It’s just that there are little details to life that all of us enjoy. Food for the soul, one might say. Sometimes lately I look around and think that the only thing I’ve hung on to just because I love it is reading.
Now as the requirements to my life have changed I find myself hungry for those other things that simply filled my heart up. Some simple and some more complicated. A fresh coat of paint throughout my house is on that list. Actually quite a few home and hearth type things are quite lacking as I’ve pared my existence down over the years to accommodate little more than studying and adjusting to a new career and seeing daboyz through to graduation.
I’ve jettisoned some things that I just couldn’t seem to carry through being not so strong as I sometimes appear. Now I look back and I’m ready to restock my life with the stuff I threw overboard.
I want my house to be not just a roof over my head but a refuge. I need it to be a place that feeds my tired spirit at the end of the day. So I need to get to it and reclaim these “four walls and a lid” to quote my pastor.
I need to be a better keeper of this place because much of the mess is no one’s fault but my own.
I need to expect, nee demand, some help from these other three grown-ups who live here.
I need music instead of television in the background and flowers in my front yard and a picnic table in back for summer evening hot dogs on the grill.
I need drives into the country and by The Farm. I haven’t been there since 1976 being afraid of the emotions. Now I need to feel them and to sit in my car on the side of the road and cry if need be.
I need to do my laundry and groceries on week nights so my weekends are available for resting or movies or museums or whatever might fill up my empty spaces.
This is just a taste of the stuff that slipped quietly away from me and leaves me feeling disquieted for the lack of it. It is nothing monumental to be sure. All just little things that make up the me that has gotten caught in the business of doing and not being. Childhood treasures I could have again should I just make it a point to keep them in my hands.
I’m not sure any of this makes sense to you but it is very much what’s on my mind today.
In a month I’ll be forty, and I’d like to be completely me from here on in.

Psalm 20:3-5
May he remember all your sacrifices and accept your burnt offerings. Selah May he give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed. We will shout for joy when you are victorious
and will lift up our banners in the name of our God. May the LORD grant all your requests.

Developmentally Delayed

Life can be summed up prettily as a matter of perspective. I began seeing this a long time ago in the differing interpretations the Mr. and myself would find in any given situation. He was always assuming the other guy meant no harm and I always knew for sure that the other guy was a no good snake. While you’d think this would have struck a nice balance between us, it generally caused conversations to degenerate into me yelling and him looking self-righteously smug. And me fighting the urge to clock him.
Over time I’ve come to realize that God is everywhere, not just in the sermon of the preacher or the Daily Bread on my kitchen window sill. Oh, we all know this intellectually but it’s a great big leap for most of us to really internalize it into our spirits so it works like it’s supposed to.
I think of God as the ultimate teacher, forever finding new ways to catch the attention of me, his student. And I, like most students, get bored with the lessons. My mind wanders and I doze off during instruction. So, as any great teacher does, he finds a new route. On the issue of perspective he used Oprah.
I think Oprah is a humanistic egomaniac, but nonetheless, God used Oprah as an object lesson. He’s that good of a teacher.
So on this particular day a hundred years ago when I still watched Oprah, she said something spiritually significant. I’ve no idea what the particular theme of the day was but she was talking about having lost her keys whilst jogging and Stedman saying more or less the following to her...
“You lose your keys every time you go jogging. The question now is not where are your keys, but why do you keep losing them?” and Oprah’s realization that repeated problems must indicate that said problem has not been properly dealt with. And that it would keep resurfacing until dealt with.
And that my friends, was my lesson in perspective.
The Mr. is the master of non-confrontation. I mean, to epic proportions. Seriously, he can’t even see the confrontation. It’s pathological. It is no secret between us that I consider his refusal to look at problems as unhealthy.
I, on the other hand, will confront the crap out of life on a daily basis.
Who’s right? Oprah is right.
We all have different Achilles heels when it comes to spiritually growing up. We want to simplify it into the wrong or the right. It’s better to forgive! It’s better to deal with problems! What is really better is to say to God, “Hey, this is a repeating theme in my life. Is there a better way for ME to handle this?”
In childhood, there are developmental milestones that we look for. A kid who doesn’t roll over, doesn’t walk, can’t socialize; will stay in that particular stage of life until that milestone can be reached. And if it isn’t reached, there’s a problem called “developmental delay.” When it’s chronic, it’s a diagnosis that indicates some serious challenges in that kid’s life.
Spiritually, we can be developmentally delayed. We pretend that we can skip over this or that milestone and still keep maturing. Not so. You have to roll over, sit up, scoot, crawl, walk and then run. When baby doesn’t roll over, mom or dad started working with them on the skill. Helping them roll, guiding their little bodies, encouraging and applauding the efforts until the milestone is reached.
Likewise, God will keep taking us back to that lesson until we achieve the milestone. The problem is that we don’t even recognize that we’re being instructed. Especially if our perspective is skewed. And it is often a matter of relationships that find us with the wrong focus.
When I would find myself frustrated (ie enraged) with someone, I would have a list of their offenses to back up my reaction. And while Dean tried to argue the point he would do so defending the other guy. He didn’t mean it. I misunderstood. He was having a bad day... Blah Blah Blah! Have you ever had one of these conversations? Does it ever work? Do you ever say, “Oh, Irving was having a bad day and didn’t mean to flip me off? Well! All’s forgiven! I shall make him a cupcake to show my goodwill!”
Well, if this approach works for you, you are more mature than I.
How did I finally learn my lesson? I stopped looking at Irving and started examining my own responses. And I let God start reshaping them because the lesson I was missing was it wasn’t about what a jerk Irving is. The lesson was that it was time for me to grow up just a little. Time for the next milestone of life for my spirit. And until I learned to focus in on my own responses, I was put back in those potentially offensive situations over and over again. I thought I was the victim of a lengthy line of jerks. In truth, I was a student being forced to repeat lessons that I hadn't passed. God kept bringing Irving back into my path until I started changing my perspective and therefore, my responses.
We all have individual Irvings. Being confrontational is just one of mine. There are enough lessons to last me a lifetime. I just keep trying to see the next one and deal with it. I’m no dummy, I finally figured out that the sooner I changed my perspective, the sooner I’d be done with the issue. Being self-centered and not liking unpleasantness in my life, I’m now happy to reach the milestone and move past it.
The question of the day is this, does there seem to be a repeating them in your life? Especially relationally? Are there Irvings out there causing you grief over and over? If so, check your perspective.
The one in need of the lesson might be you.

Ephesians 4:23-25
...be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.

A Fab Of My Own!

In honor of my girl's birthday; here is a pop quiz of Tina and Sara Trivia...

1. She went with us to see Donny Osmond in Joseph & The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. What did Dean offer Donny as he hovered above us?

2. What famous pop song from Batman did we rewrite to suit our own needs? (this one's a gimme if you've been paying attention...)

3. What's the next line in this lyric..."if you're ashamed of me"_____

4. What item did I use youth funds for in order to decorate the youth room at Christmas?

5. Who said the following, "But you see in dealing with me, the relatives didn't know that they were dealing with a staunch character and I tell you if there's anything worse than dealing with a staunch woman... S-T-A-U-N-C-H. There's nothing worse, I'm telling you. They don't weaken, no matter what. "?

6. What was the name of our youth group?

7. Come on and_______this thing called Christianity.

8. Faith is like_______________ .

9. Dean once picked T~ up from where?

10. The pervert who wore daisy dukes drove what kind of vehicle?

Happy birthday to you, my sweet sister friend. I love you. And I remain glad you were born.

GO TO BED FOR GOD'S SAKE! thus sayeth the Lord.

Jonah 4:4
But the LORD replied, "Have you any right to be angry?"

“Maybe it’s just me.”
Have you ever thought that? It’s just the tiniest acknowledgment of responsibility. Maybe. I’m not sure but there is a slight possibility that this is in some small way potentially my fault perhaps.
The other night we were driving home from dinner, we four. As per usual the conversation was all over the place and 99% nonsensical and just trying to keep track of the discussion required a roadmap and a translator.
At some point the babbling turns to me, specifically my anger when daboyz stay up late.
Let me remind you that daboyz are seventeen and eighteen years old.
One more important bit of additional background that you need is that my parents have warped me in many ways, one of which was a strictly enforced 9:00 p.m. bedtime until I moved out to get married at age nineteen. This caused such developmental hazard that to this day I consider nine the witching hour and feel alarmed and afraid to find myself awake at such a time. I head for bed at 7:30 just to be sure I’m asleep lest the bogey man get me. I am now biologically incapable of being awake past nine because of my upbringing. You are about to see why this is vital information.
Daboyz stay up later than 9:00.
Every night I awaken around 2:00 a.m. At this point I invariably realize that my bladder is full and from here I proceed to pretend I can hold it until morning. At 3:00 a.m. I decide that my kidneys are going to explode and there’s nothing for it but the trek down the stairs to go to the bathroom.
It is during this sacred ritual that I will, on a regular basis, find one or more boyz wide awake watching television or on a laptop or just sitting around being awake. At three a.m.
It’s downright unGodly.
So as we’re driving home daboyz decide to bring up my sporadic rants at three in the morning when I “catch” them unasleep. In my own defense, I usually only sigh disapprovingly these days.
Daboyz feel my anger is unfounded as they do not stay up to the wee hours on school nights, are never tardy to class and have suffered no ill effects for their folly.
Why, they asked, do I get so angry about them being up late?
I had a few ideas flit across my brain before I had to admit the truth, “Maybe it’s just me.”
Maybe there’s no good reason to be mad. Maybe it’s just a stupid thing I do that I need to knock off.
Angry is kind of a serious thing to be. I have overused it myself.
And there’s lots of kinds of angry. Stupid angry that you just should knock off. Justified angry that you need to express appropriately. Angry that is justified that you need to not express and instead choose grace to cover over. Insert your own favorite flavor of angry here.
Regardless, angry is a serious thing to be.
I’m starting to think that “Maybe it’s just me” is probably a pretty good first reaction when angry starts asserting itself. Perhaps that would provide a moment, an hour or a day to consider the question that Jonah had to answer...
Have you any right to be angry?
And if so, so what?
I’m going to work on praying in response to anger before acting.
I suspect there are an awful lot of times I’m going to find out that it is, after all, just me.
But I still think daboyz should go to bed.

Sunday, March 4, 2007

You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.2 Corinthians 3:3

Favorite Books! (Some of 'em Anyway)

1. Little House Series
2. All Creatures Great & Small Series
3. Lovely Bones
4. Narnia Chronicles
5. Case for Christianity
6. Screwtape Letters
7. Stranger Beside Me
8. Sybill
9. Power Of A Praying Wife
10. El Biblio

Typical

Wonder what kind of brilliance I've been up to lately? Perhaps it's time for another installment of Sara's Random Acts of Crazy.
A Sunday or so ago I had a migraine and so reached into my purse to take a 600 mg Motrin. Popped it dry and about twenty minutes later I say to Jay, "Man, my mouth is really dry." Ten more minutes later and I say, "Wow, I'm tired."
Three days later at work I reach into my purse to pop yet another Motrin, pull out the bottle and realize, I had taken the belladonna based pill my son takes for his Celiac Disease reactions. We nurses don't worry much about specifics when taking pills. Meanwhile my few and far between bowel movements became fewer yet. (Yes, we have bonded that much.)
As you can see, things are pretty much status quo 'round here.
How're things on your end?
Matthew 15:17
"Don't you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out of the body?

Famous One

Habakkuk 3:2
LORD, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, O LORD. Renew them in our day, in our time make them known; in wrath remember mercy.

The other day I was listening to a preacher who described himself as a “second generation Christian.” Naturally I started counting backwards and realized I was a fourth generation Christian That’s based on not knowing for sure the faith of the generations before my great grandparents who immigrated from Hungary. All I know for certain is that my gramma’s mother accepted the Lord when her children were small and that’s where the spiritual lineage began in earnest.
I was chatting with a woman at work about two young people who had died in the snow after using crystal meth. They didn’t need to die; they wandered away from a vehicle with a half tank of gas and kept calling 911 from their cell phones but were too disorganized and stoned to tell the dispatchers where they were or to follow instructions that would have easily saved their lives. My co-worker asked if I worried about such a fate for my own kids. I don’t. Naturally this led to a discussion about my gratitude to God for his hand on daboyz lives, about their relationship with the Lord being their greatest protection against sad endings like the one described above. From there I shared that our faith has always been the foundation our family rested on. I talked about imperfect people parenting imperfect kids but God making up the difference in our lives. About the Mr. and myself meeting in high school and our own faith guiding us away from dangerous choices.
This wasn’t a long conversation being that it was happening in the middle of a work day while we multi-tasked and juggled our workloads. The impact on my friend may have been very nominal. But the affect on me was great.
I have nothing upon which to depend but my belief in my God. I have seen well-meaning Christians act foolishly, rashly and unkindly. I have been that well-meaning Christian more times than I can count. It is only God that is consistently right and good. So good in fact, that his righteousness covers over all the ineptitude that I bring to daily life.
I can see why those little gray haired ladies of my childhood would stand up to proclaim their amazement at God’s wonderfulness. You let enough years roll by and you can’t help but be amazed at how many mistakes he didn’t make you pay for. I used to pray with white knuckles but not so much any more. Now I rest a little more in God just being God today like he was yesterday and last year and in 1971 and four generations back.
This fourth generation Christian has heard of the fame of God and stands in awe despite the fact that I refuse to be a gray haired anything.
I pray that my fifth generation kids will recognize his deeds because they are just as real today as they were in the days of Habakkuk.
And I claim my sixth generation grandchildren for the God of my great grandmother.
Let us always make Him famous.

Beggar

It was so weird.
You guys know that Jay has Celiac and that Mac has been not all that healthy for several months. You know that Mac is being screened for Celiac and the tests have been inconclusive.
Last Wednesday I came home and Mac was on the couch being off on winter break from school. It was about 3:30 and he was in his pajamas. Not that unusual on a day off of school. But then my chest kind of tightened up. You know that feeling when your gut has recognized something before your head has caught up? He was sick...again.
Something in his complexion, the tone of his voice, his posture. The too familiar look of not feeling well.
"You sick?"
"Yeah."
"What's the matter?"
"I don't know. My throat. I'm stuffy."
No fever. Said he was drinking plenty of fluids. Had eaten.
And I went upstairs and put my head down on my desk and cried.
I thought about calling someone or e mailing someone but didn't really want to talk about it. I got into my bed in my work clothes and cried and cried and cried.
Why cry over a sore throat? Because I've lost track of the sore throats and upset stomachs over the last six months. And I honest to God could not deal with one more anything.
It's remarkable to me how fast the bottom fell out of my heart.
As I've said before, all tests are negative so far and he's gaining weight and eating. In fact, he's now up four pounds! I'm claiming him healed and whole.
But boy, for a little while there it was rough. About a half hour really of crying and praying and crying. Desperate is the way I'd describe myself. Despair. Not again God, no more!
Despair can sneak up on you, ya know?
Mac's fine.
It's me that had the problem.
When I saw him sick you want to know what I did between feeling his forehead and laying my head down to weep? I got on the computer and looked up symptoms, illnesses, diseases. I reread his lab results. I wracked my brain for the missing thing that would explain it all. I did some research on some very ugly diseases with a knot in my stomach.
After fifteen minutes of that with too many tears in my eyes to read the monitor any longer it was then I dragged myself to bed to cry and whisper my dread to God.
I didn't find anything on the computer except confirmation that my son has had all the flu and colds that we've all had all winter. And that he has an excess of snot, which is not fatal.
I learned something else, I am a beggar.
I am a beggar for mercy, grace and one more day.
I walked around thinking I'm bullet-proof but I'm not. I'm a beggar.
Please God, just pull me up and take care of this.
I was a beggar from the beginning. Just needed a reminder of my status.
Because only when the beggar reaches out her hand does she get the bread she needs.
Next time despair knocks you down, reach out your hand to God before you Google your other options.
I'm begging you.

Isaiah 14:3 And it shall come to pass in the day that the LORD shall give thee rest from thy sorrow, and from thy fear...

The Now & The Not Yet

The Now and the Not Yet lyrics by AMY GRANT

No longer what we were before, But not all that we will be.
Tomorrow, when we lock the door, On all our compromising,
When He appears, He'll draw us near,
And we'll be changed by His glory, Wrapped up in His glory....

We will be like Him ,For we shall see Him, As He is.
No longer what we saw before, But not all that we will see.
Tomorrow, when we lock the door, On all our disbelieving,
When He appears (holy, holy),Our view will clear,
And we'll be changed by His glory, Wrapped up in His glory....

But I'm caught in between The now and the not yet;
Sometimes it seems like Forever and ever, That I've been reaching to be All that I am,
But I'm only a few steps nearer, Yet I'm nearer....

No longer what we were before ,But not all that we will be.
Tomorrow, when we lock the door, On all our disbelieving,
And He appears (holy, holy),He'll draw us near,
And we'll be changed by His glory,
Wrapped up in His glory....When He appears (holy, holy),
He'll draw us near, And we'll be changed by His glory, Wrapped up in His glory....

Ok, ok, I realize that it is decidedly uncool to acknowledge Amy Grant in 2007. But cool is something I’ve never been so let’s put that on the list of the now and the not yet...
I’m just soaking in the glory of the future and embracing some pslams that are speaking to me today.
It’s so good to know that I’m not yet all I will be. Not yet.

February 25, 2007

Matthew 23:23
"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cummin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.

Spicey

1. Garlic
2. Onion powder
3. Pepper
4. Oregano
5. Crushed red pepper
6. Kosher salt
7. Basil
8. Dill
9. Parsley
10. Cilantro
11. Cumin
12. The Mr.

No Worries...

Isaiah 54:17 (King James Version)
No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and their righteousness is of me, saith the LORD.

I just printed this scripture up on my printer.
I was loading the dishwasher with half my mind on the Lord and the other half just wandering when this verse came to my mind. I didn’t know where it was located, I would’ve guessed somewhere in Ephesians among the spiritual warfare passages. How great is it to have internet search engines to solve these mysteries?
Despite my lack of specific location, I’ve known this verse for longer than I can remember. It’s an old-timey Sunday School verse, don’t you think? I’m sure I’d recited it for Sister Sherrel or Sister Allen and they’d write it in their little notepads, keeping a tally of those who learned their verses for a prize at the end of the quarter. Don’t tell anyone, but I’d usually learn it on the way to Sunday School in the car just well enough to spit it back out in class.
I’m also sure I’ve heard this scripture preached from pulpits for the last thirty five or so years. A promise for the Believers that they could be attacked but not defeated.
Today it was told to me again in my heart and to me it seemed beautiful and new in its oldness and familiarity. I was so thankful to have heard and learned this scripture so it could float back to me while I stood in my kitchen not looking for God and yet finding him.
I can’t think of much to say beyond the scripture itself. It seems so perfect to me today. It seems like all I need, all I might ever need. My belly feels full and my muscles feel strong under the weight of the words.
I’m going to put this scripture somewhere to remind me about my promise. In fact I’m going to print up a few more to place all around me. I’m going to live in the middle of this verse for a while.
In fact, I’m going to live in the middle of this verse forever.

Isaiah 54:17 (King James Version)
No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and their righteousness is of me, saith the LORD.

Sunday School

Did you go to Sunday School?
Did you have your very own Sunday School book to follow along and take your turn reading the story every week?
Did you sit in small chairs around a kidney-shaped table to color with crayons from a basket where you hunted for unbroken ones?
Did you get a quarter (or a nickel or a dime) from your dad that you clutched in your sweaty palm afraid you'd lose it before offering?
Did you see Jesus multiply the loaves and the fishes and Noah and his ark and Joseph's coat of many colors on the flannel graph? Did you ever get to smooth the figure of Moses on to the green flannel board for the teacher?
Did you have stiff and squeaky shoes and a special coat you wore only to Sunday School?
Did you learn to pray and raise your hand to share your prayer requests?
Did you bow your head to thank the Lord for animal crackers and weak Kool-Aid in dixie cups?
Did you rush with all the other kids up out of the basement and search for your mom and dad for morning worship and for just a moment feel afraid you couldn't find them?
Did you get hard hugs and smiling eyes from Brother_____or Sister_____?
Did you ever get a post card that said, "We missed you!" when you were sick?
Did you ever get a pencil with Jesus fishes on it on Promotion Sunday? Did you ever get the perfect attendance pin?
Did you ever dream that those were the days that laid your foundations?

Psalm 34:11
Come, my children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the LORD.

Good News & Stuff

Hey Guys!
Was running late this morning and had nothing to post that got my blood pumping so here's an off the cuff buncha stuff for ya.
Mac's biopsy results from Friday for Celiac Disease were negative, as were his initial labs. He is up two pounds although he still has no appetite to speak of, he is more aware to eat even if he's not hungry. The next step is another round of labs on Friday. If that is inconclusive, genetic testing. We're going to get Friday's bloodwork and continue to pray. I'm ready to call him healed. Please continue to pray for his health and our wisdom.
Tomorrow he and his Grandpa (my dad) are headed west to Albion College for a campus tour for football recruits. We thought that it was too late but the coach called and still wants him to come and take the tour and consider the college. Another thing to pray about!
On to an unrelated topic, on the way home I was listening to our local Christian radio station, which I never listen to on the way home because the guy irritates me. Anyway...the topic was churches that have heard angel's songs during moments of intense worship. I am neither convinced nor skeptical on the topic frankly. But they played two tapes. The first one was so powerful I almost had to pull over. As soon as the "angel's songs" started on the audio tape I was overwhelmed with such a feeling of worship I was crying and driving and trying to figure out what just hit me. The second tape did not have the same effect on me. Did anybody else hear this? Thoughts?
So I think that's all I have to say for now.
Oh, one more thing. I bought a giant box of Little Caesar's Crazy Bread with dipping sauces for a fundraiser from this weird guy at work and have no room in my freezer. I guess I'll have to eat it all tonight.
Hope you guys are all having a great day.
Love you and thanking you for your prayers on behalf of daboyz!

Grace,
xos

Encouraged

Psalm 34:2
My soul will boast in the LORD; let the afflicted hear and rejoice.


Let’s define the terms here. Let’s say the soul is internal, emotional, essential and eternal part of us.
Let’s say that boasting is the expression of that which we are proud.
I woke up this morning neither happy nor sad but just awake and figuring that was as good a start as any. Then I heard those Spring-heralding birds outside and there was a little lift at the corners of my mouth. I started thinking about tulips blooming and blue sunshiny skies and open windows and deep breaths in that didn’t freeze my lungs.
You might wonder why I would find so much pleasure in these little ideas when I’m a self-proclaimed winter lover?
Because sometimes when you’re not really looking for it God talks to you. We all have the experience of praying and intentionally trying to hear him, but like in any good relationship the other person will approach us when there’s something worth saying even when we aren’t asking for it. Today He did that. He told me something and I’d like to pass it on because I think it goes for you too.
BE ENCOURAGED!
That’s it. If you’re in a rush, you can leave now and take that with you.
I’m given to melancholy, depression, pessimism and doubt. I am wired for low self-esteem. There are a million things I could dwell on to pull me down. Not because my life is hard but because that’s how satan talks to me. And yes, sometimes people you don’t want to hear from butt in with their two cents too.
If you would’ve asked me a little while ago what I was boasting in this morning, I’d have probably cracked a joke and dodged the question. There are too many things I need to work on to be sitting around boasting.
But then God spoke to me. The glory of it is that I am not in a depressed state. I’ve been in that dark hole where I’m begging for a reason to get out of bed. I’m not there. I’m really quite content, reality of my various short-comings and burdens not withstanding. I was just feeling neutral and still, God noticed me! He wanted me to feel better than neutral! He wanted me to be encouraged, to know I was noticed even when I was neither doing great spiritual things nor in great desperate need. His eyes wandered the earth and fell on my in my ratty bathrobe with nothing particular happening and he stopped by to tell me to be encouraged.
Listen to the birds, notice the brightness of the sun turning the seasons back toward spring, remember the flowers pushing up last year and know that the hand of God will pushing them up through the earth this year. Realize the finest details do not escape Him.
You don’t have to be sad or happy to talk to the Father who loves you. In fact, he loves you so much he stops by to chat even when you’re about other business.
It reminds me of my Grampa Gerstein. Let me insert here that were my Grampa Gerstein alive he’d be thrilled at his multiple mentions in this blog and probably be printing them up. I assume in heaven he’s forcing Paul and Mother Theresa to read my blog.
Anyway, my Grampa was a dropper-inner. You never knew when he’d show up. Sometimes you’d look out into your back yard and there he’d be inspecting the trees or pulling weeds. Usually you’d see out your front window as his gray sedan pulled at a slightly too fast speed in front of the house and slammed to a stop blocking the approach to the driveway. Then in one motion this would happen; he’d slam the car into park causing it to rock a little, leap out and head up the walk. I’d rush to the front door to let him in. Generally he’d have a bag of cookies from the grocery store, specifically the maple shaped ones with maple frosting sandwiched in there. My favorites.
Sometimes he had an adventure in mind like heading toward the old Farm to check out antique shops or going out to lunch, probably at Dimitri’s or going to the apple orchard or finding a roadside stand to buy fresh green beans.
It didn’t require a celebration or a tragedy to inspire a Grampa drop by. He just wanted to see my face and give me some of my favorite cookies. There was encouragement in the air.
Today, if there’s nothing around you to find pride in and your soul is in neutral, God wants you to be encouraged. There’s a bird singing to you, there’s a flower that will bloom for you.
As for me, I think I just may go buy some maple cookies.

February 18, 2007

Psalm 116:7
Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.

Things That Relax Me

1. Silence.
2. Reading.
3. Aloneness.
4. Pajamas.
5. Eating (I know, so wrong yet so wonderful.)
6. Worship.
7. Home.
8. The Mr. holding my hand.
9. Laughing.
10.Jesus.

Beloved

The Mr. left this Sunday morning for church a few hours ago. I’ll go later with Daboyz and meet him there.
I always get up before he goes to chat for a moment or two and start my coffee. This day was no different. We chatted, giggled a little. He kissed me good bye.
I’d done a little writing this morning, a little scripture study, a little news-watching and had my coffee. I walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror for the first time that day.
I looked exactly like Phyllis Diller, only not that good.
And this man of mine never batted an eye, never looked twice. He acted like he does when I’m all dolled up and looking good. Never mind good, looking presentable! Or even not crazy!
It made me laugh out loud and realize that it’s a good kind of love that doesn’t take note of my unloveliness. Or at least loves me too much to point it out.
It’s exactly the way Jesus loves you. And me.
And Phyllis Diller.

Song of Solomon 2:16
My beloved is mine, and I am his...

Decision

Matthew 27:1
Early in the morning, all the chief priests and the elders of the people came to the decision to put Jesus to death.

Muddling through senior year decisions with Mac and watching the news coverage of the death of Anna Nicole Smith has me thinking about decisions.
I’m going to step outside of the range of political correctness and make a bold statement. I don’t think Anna Nicole Smith knew Jesus as her personal savior. We can do the Christian thing and say we hope her final breath called out to him, we don’t know the state of her heart. That’s all true. And I still say the evidence points toward a death away from Christ. I will wrap up this harsh train of thought by stating that if my suspicions are correct, she is now in hell.
Shocked? Don’t be. One day you will be able to confirm or dispute my theory.
As for decisions, I find it astounding that anyone can be so poor at decision-making as to deny the gift of the cross. Apparently, for some, this falls into the category of “too big of a decision.” Faith in Jesus will cost, what? Nothing. But nothing is too much to sacrifice?
Anna Nicole made decisions to pose nude, do legal and illegal drugs, have sex with multiple partners, put herself on display for public consumption and have two children. These decisions she was able to commit to. It was the Jesus decision that was too big to make.
If I sound ticked off, I am. Not at Anna Nicole. Well, maybe a little bit at Anna Nicole. I’m angry in that way you get angry when you watch someone you love do stupid things that hurt them. Did I love Anna Nicole? Frankly until she died, I never thought about it. I thought she was a ditzy, sleazy junkie. I watched her reality show and mocked her speech and imitated her the way she said her dog’s name (shh-pie). I thought she was tragic and beautiful and wasted and used up. I will admit I never said to myself, “I love her.”
When my son walked into the basement on Thursday as I was doing laundry and told me she was dead, suddenly my heart realized I had loved her and I was so sad for her.
Sad and angry that she waited too long to make a simple decision. That she stupidly made so many others that destroyed her. I don’t know if she committed suicide, overdosed unintentionally or died of natural causes. I do know she lived a sad and used-up life and died without dignity. And yes, probably without Jesus.
We make so many decisions. We are so bad at it. We pretend that not making a decision relieves us of responsibility. We don’t admit that not making a decision is a decision in itself. There is no escape.
The easiest and most important decision is the one that slips by too often.
Decide that the death of Jesus was enough.
Don’t be one of the ones that decide he should die for no reason. Even if you don’t think you have decided, you already have.

You Sexy Thang

True story.
We're sitting in front of Annapolis High School waiting for Mac to come out after taking his ACT. The Mr.'s cell phone rings, a friend of ours car has broken down. Wondering if we can suggest someone who can help him out.
What follows is a transcript of the exchange between the Mr. and myself...

Dean: "I wish I was mechanical."
Me: "Me too. I wish you were anything."
Dean: "I'm mostly just sexual."
Me: "Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Well, at least you're funny."

Consider yourself inspired and have a happy Valentine's Day!

Paths

Our younger son, Mac, is graduating this year. Jay graduated last year and it seems like I did a lot of posts about the matter and so I’m trying not to do the sequel this year and drag you guys along. Been there, done that, huh?
I know that there’s a prevailing attitude that “these kids today” really have it made. Do they? I think not. I think it’s hard, being a kid. Turning eighteen, graduating, decisions. When I hear an adult waxing eloquent about the ease of coming of age compared to the old days or the stresses of being whatever their own age is; I think one word...arrogant. Give me a break.
Mac is a really good kid, a fact for which I take no credit. It’s all him and God. Someday, with his permission, I’ll post his testimony. He wrote it a few years back and it says it all. He’s a young man who works diligently at finding the God-path and walking it. If you think that’s easy, you’re not on the path yourself.
There’s a weight of decision-making on the backs of teenagers. It tells them that one wrong move, one misstep and all is lost. There’s a voice whispering in their ears insisting that if they don’t have it all figured out and tied up before commencements, they are failures. I think that’s why so many of them give up before they reach senior year. And we, wanting to inspire success and greatness in our children add to that burden. It’s a barrage of pressure. I’m going to tell you right now, it’s a wrong message. I’m going to tell you what I have told my boys, there are three things that will change the course of your life in a way you can’t reverse...
1. Not serving God.
2. Getting married unwisely.
3. Having a baby before you should.
That’s it. Taking the wrong classes or changing your major or even, gasp, failing a class is not fatal. Mercy means wiggle-room in life. It means you can learn from mistakes or miscalculations. It’s OK. You can try and change your mind. You can try and fail. You can try and try again until you get it right. Just try.
Mac’s senior year hasn’t gone as perfectly as I hoped it would. There’s been no small amount of quietly handled difficulty over here. It’s his life so I’m careful to respect the way he wants to deal with it.
It’s Saturday morning, February 10 and Mac is taking his ACT right now. If you’re a parent, you are thinking to yourself, “it’s pretty late in the year to take his ACT!” You’re right. It’s past the deadline for a lot of schools. The problem is, this fall Mac was sick a lot. He missed a few weeks of school all together. We couldn’t seem to keep him healthy enough for two weeks in a row to take the test. In fact, he’s there and sick right now. We just couldn’t delay any longer. Back in September we kept thinking we had enough time. No time left.
In August the kid was planning on playing his third year as a varsity football player. That plan didn’t work out either. You know the story so I won’t delve back into it.
Six months ago he was wondering about football scholarships, living away at school, which school to choose. Six months later he has been too sick and thrown too off course to have all the options we would've liked. No, he wasn’t in a hospital bed. It’s just been one bout of sickness and doctor’s visits after another burning through several months. Some doors have closed.
In fact, we just got his senior pictures taken because frankly, he’s looked pretty crummy and I was waiting to get him looking healthy and strong! Well, Prestige Photo will have to touch up his dark circles and maybe people won’t notice his suit coat kind of hanging off his body because of the weight loss. He’s still cute.
So many things didn’t go as planned. So many small details we thought we had control of that slipped through our fingers. Life got in the way of the ideal senior year. It’s forcing us to change our plans. And it’s making us realize that all those little details weren’t all that important because God’s plans cannot be changed.
This morning Mac got out of bed to go take his ACT. Achy, dark circles, sore throat. Mouth so full of canker sores he can hardly speak clearly. Nervous because of the school he’s missed all year and this week and wondering if it’ll cause him to score low.
He’ll probably go to Henry Ford for a year or so (our local community college) instead of straight to a four year college. I think that’s ok. I think he does too. It just means some doors have closed. Realistically, he can’t pursue college football. His ACT is happening too late. His health is still unpredictable. His weight is down. He hasn’t played in a year.
I think God made these decisions because like I said, Mac and God are tight. So we look at these events with a mixture of relief and regret.
It’s ok though. It takes a man of great faith and substance to have his plans rewritten by God and to still serve Him.
Before he left this morning to sit through a five hour test when he should be laying in bed sipping tea Mac said this, “It’s probably good that I stay at home and go to Henry Ford. Now I can keep working with Fuel (junior high ministry) and Alive (youth ministry) as a leader. I’m gonna call Adam (youth pastor) and tell him I’ll be here next year.”
And so with dark circles and decreasing body weight, esophageal scope scheduled for next Friday and additional lab work this week Mac went to take his ACT too late to fulfill every possible dream. And with a swollen and sore mouth he put his life again into his Father’s hands.
I don’t think he’s lost a single opportunity.
Psalm 119:2-3
Blessed are they who keep his statutes and seek him with all their heart. They do nothing wrong; they walk in his ways.

Springing Up!

Ok all you winter-time-whiners; there’s good news for you. Spring officially arrives on March 21 this year but there’s a hint on the air if you listen closely.
You have to be an early morning riser to notice such things so you long-winter’s-nappers are reaping what you sow!
For the last few days when I get up early there is the tell-tale chirp of birds in the air that is distinctively absent in the depths of winter. Spring is coming. It’s the first sign every year.
Lift up your heads, get out of bed, take off that stocking cap you’re sleeping in and listen! God is waking up the earth!

Matthew 6:26
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

Mike's Lighthouse

We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won't need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don't fire cannons to call attention to their shining- they just shine.
Dwight L. Moody

(This lighthouse is a gift made by my friend, Mike, whom I've written about in a prior post. He is a living lighthouse.)

February 11, 2007

Psalm 91:4
He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

I can't find...

1. My gray turtle neck.
2. My beige trouser socks.
3. My three white bras.
4. My one black bra.
5. My long sleeved black t-shirt.
6. My diamond pendant.
7. My engagement ring (don't worry; I lost the diamond years go. It's just the setting)
8. The nursing module I was working on.
9. Daboyz vaccination records.
10.My mind.

Photo Finish, Courtesy of Ed & Shel

Paddle This

Please note that this photograph is of a paddle boat filled with paddle boating, life jacket wearing people. The paddle boat is the only thing that is accurate. The people do not in any way resemble those in this story.
We have these friends, Ed & Shellie. We've been friends for approximately 80 years. Ed and Shell have about the same luck we do and so any event that finds all of us together will invariably end in some ridiculous mishaps and great hilarity. Usually only the four of us find our adventures hilarious. Spectators have been known to be rather offended.
Ed and Shell have gone up north with us to my parents' cottage a few times during the summer when our church was having church camp a few towns over. We did this because Shellie and I refused to stay at the actual camp what with the dorms, lack of air conditioning and absence of cable television. These are the reasons I love Shellie.
During our cottage stays we play games, eat too much and laugh until we either blow pop out of our noses or pee our pants. Then we know it's time for bed. My mom and dad have this giant fish pillow at the cottage that cracks us up every time. We took the giant fish pillow, which we named "Big Fish" on some adventures and took its picture in various situations including driving the van and playing poker. I wish I could find those pictures, I'd post them. Ed & Shell, shoot me those if you have them.
One particular summer my parents, at the recommendation of the family at large, purchased a paddle boat to keep at the lake near the cottage. We would make great use of it we all exclaimed! What fun we would have!
So off Shellie, daboyz and myself went to take a spin on the paddle boat.
Shellie and I were paddling and daboyz were riding on the back. Being focused on good times and laughter I did not make them wear life jackets. I realize this is shameful but really quite typical behavior on my part as Ed and Shellie bring out the wacky in me even more than my baseline of wacky.
So we're giggling and paddling and it's really hard. REALLY hard work. We manage to get out into the middle of the lake and we are done. Can't get back. Floating in the middle of Moon Lake with two small boys who are not wearing life jackets. Of course, also laughing hysterically.
Eventually Dean and Eddie wandered down to the shore to see what had become of us and there we are, floating and paddling but the boat is clearly malfunctioning because it's going nowhere. After much gesticulation, arm-waving and shouting it's decided that Ed will hop into my dad's row boat and row out to us to save us. Ed is no longer laughing, however Shellie and I are now nearing pee pee pants mode. We don't understand why he's so irritated with us because it's the dumb boat that doesn't work. We're paddling for all we're worth!
He rows out to us and throws us a rope which we hang on to and he begins to drag us back to shore. The paddle boat, Shellie, daboyz and myself. Let me just insert here that it is no small tribute to the manliness of Ed Wyatt that he was able to drag us across the lake by power of his oar-skills alone. If you're wondering where the Mr. is in all this, I think he had wandered back into the cottage for a Brazier Dog.
So Ed's rowing for all he's worth and Shell and I are nearing manic laughter when the rope snaps. Ed has to then pull the rope in and throw it back to us, now shortened by half. So now he's dragging us and we're slamming up against the back of the row boat with every pull on the oars. We're still laughing and peeing. He was mumbling and I'm not sure exactly what the details were but there was a lot of "freakin'" in there.
Just as we're nearing shore I made a startling discovery! The paddle boat was not defective, daboyz were sitting on the back causing the back end to sink and the front end to lift up out of the water! The paddles were not even in the water! This is why our paddling was for naught! Ha ha! Funny! More laughing!
Ed said "freak" a few more times, we leaped from the boat and he informed us we would not be rescued the next time we ventured out in to open water.
Later that day Ed took the Big Fish out on the lake to do some fishing but we weren't invited.
The paddle boat remains in dry dock.
Matthew 14:24
but the boat was already a considerable distance from land...

Nacho Nacho Man

Another story that's hard to believe but sadly true.
Many years ago the Mr. would stay up much later at night than myself. This is much different from today when I go to bed much earlier than my husband.
Anyway; on this particular weekend night, the Mr. decided that he would enjoy some late night television while I slept. To make things more interesting he decided at midnight to go to the local Mexican joint for a little (lot) take-out.
Long story short; I awakened after midnight laying on my stomach to find the Mr. had spread out his Mexican buffet on my ample backside and was eating a lovely midnight snack watching television in bed while I slept.
His response when I stirred?
"Hey! Keep still! You're spilling my nachos!"
I share this story only because I figure if I have to live with the memory, so do you.

1 Corinthians 7:3
The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.

Big Boy Blues

One day many years ago when I was a small child and my sister, Amy, was smaller yet she committed an unspeakable act that I will speak of here today. For those who read the following account and doubt its validity; there are witnesses to the event although only one has historically been brave enough to step forward. That would be Kathy, whose blog you can link to at your right.
In the 1970s and in our collective experience, the pinnacle of fine dining was Big Boy's. Regionally this superior restaurant chain is also known as Bob's Big Boy and Elias Brothers. It is delicious.
I have always loved Big Boys. From their garlic and oil salad dressing to their soup and salad bar. From the Big Boy Com with fries to the breakfast buffet. All superior. This being the case it was a treat indeed to dine at Big Boys, whether the one in Southland Mall or the one up the road on Telegraph. And let us not forget the Big Boy by Sears in Lincoln Park.
My Grandma Trent was as much a fan of Big Boy as we were and we would invariably eat there on our frequent Saturday mall pilgrimages.
One day however, a dark cloud descended on the happy fat boy in the checkered overalls. And that dark cloud was named Amy.
For some reason I do not recall, Grandma Trent made arrangements with Amy to take her to Big Boy for lunch one Saturday. Kathy, my aunt, was four years older than myself. Kathy and I loved Big Boy.
So my grandma brings Kathy over and DROPS HER OFF for my mom to babysit while she takes Amy only to Big Boy! And here's the topper; as Kathy and I stand there with tears sparkling in our eyes, my grandma turns to Amy and leaves it to her to decide if Kathy and I can come to Big Boy.
You wanna guess Amy's answer?
And so Kathy and I sat on the stoop as my grandma and Amy pulled away to have lunch at the most delicious restaurant ever with place mats you can write on.
For those of you who admire Amy today; let this be a footnote to her reputation.

Jeremiah 3:7
I thought that after she had done all this she would return to me but she did not, and her unfaithful sister Judah saw it.

Argyle Socks

There is no lesson to the following account of true events.
I have a hiatal hernia which causes me on occassion to require a procedure involving the insertion of a scope into my esophagus to measure the damage or lack thereof.
Many years ago this condition was causing me some pain and so my doctor felt it was time for the semi-annual scoping which is done outpatient in a hospital under light sedation.
This particular time my mother accompanied me to the hospital because one is not allowed to drive home afterward. Onto the stretcher I went in hospital gown and argyle socks. Off to the outpatient surgical area I went leaving all my belongings and clothing with my mother.
At some point during my procedure my mother started experiencing some discomfort and figured, "Hey! I'm right here in the hospital! I'll just go to the emergency room!"
And so I came out of anesthesia in my argyle socks and hospital gown to find my ride had disappeared with my clothing.
And so I had to wander to the emergency department wearing this ensemble in search of my mother and my clothing.
Eventually I found her, got dressed and somehow got home.
This probably explains a lot about who I am today.

Psalm 27:10
Though my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will receive me.

February 4, 2007

Isaiah 22:18
He will roll you up tightly like a ball and throw you into a large country. There you will die and there your splendid chariots will remain— you disgrace to your master's house!

My Superbowl Promises

1. Not to have a wardrobe malfunction.
2. To have no idea what's going on.
3. To be unable to name the teams involved.
4. To be looking in the other direction when something exciting happens.
5. To talk continuously about unrelated topics while the Mr. tries to watch the game.
6. To at least pretend to be terribly hurt when the Mr. doesn't listen.
7. To eat too much.
8. To start whining about going home to get to bed because I have to work on Monday by 7:00 p.m.
9. Not to care.
10.Go Pistons!

I Like Winter

I like winter. I think I first learned to appreciate the experience of winter when in fourth grade Mrs. Weinlander read the “Little House” books by Laura Ingalls Wilder to us in class. Laura had a singular outlook on the pioneer experience and the hardships thereof. She taught me some lessons all those years ago that remain with me. One of those is, I like winter.
Laura talked about “The Long Winter” in a book originally entitled “The Hard Winter”. Her publishers didn’t think anything with the word “hard” was appropriate for children and so it was changed. No doubt that the Ingalls experienced more than one long and hard winter, but Laura saw some deeper truths about winter that leave me liking winter; long, hard and otherwise.
I like that winter limits my choices. Summertime leaves me no excuses from being on the run constantly. More hours of daylight keep me on fast forward from early morning until late evening. But in the winter it is dark by 5:30. Some pioneer part of my brain understands that this means I should be home if at all possible seeing that my family is fed and warm. I should be winding down and heading toward a “long winter’s nap”. Even if earlier in the day I’m making plans for running here and there in the evening, once home with the darkening sky and quiet cold air closing in I’m easily convinced to stay in. “I’m in for the night.” That’s my theme in winter.
I like that winter forces me to be prepared. I’m a creature of comfort and the daughter of a former boy scout. I require a pre-warmed car and boots that have been in front of a heat duct. I do not start my day without an extra big mug of strong black coffee. I plan ahead to ensure that those creature comforts are in place and so I’m better equipped for my days in winter. My coffee pot is ready the night before. Out come the flannel sheets and electric blankets for cozy sleep. My sweaters and long johns are freshly laundered and sweet smelling from the fabric softener that prevents static cling. My cupboards are stocked for blizzards as though in the suburbs where I live I couldn’t make it to Krogers in the snow. As soon as the weather man predicts snow I make a pot of homemade soup and check that my favorite herbal teas are ready and waiting. Then when the snow comes and I’m warm and ready; I feel safe and extra blessed.
I like that winter is quiet and still. It makes me quiet and still too. It is a singular experience to sit on my soft couch with the extra bright winter sun streaming in. Warmth juxtaposed against cold. The deep snow muffles my house and insulates it against the traffic and noise of my neighborhood and sound that usually rumbles through my living room takes on a faraway quality. Icicles hanging from my front porch are prisms casting rainbows against the gray blue sky. Wintertime rainbows reminding me of the God of promises. In a world so different than my childhood world, the click of the furnace is the same gently ushering back the warm winters of 30 years ago. Snow days and my mom making scrambled eggs for breakfast while my dad shoveled snow and we were all together. My Grampa Gerstein still alive in heavy boots stomping into the house after clearing their drive while my Gramma tucked homemade afghans around me and homemade soup simmered on the stove. My dad would pull back the hood from his snorkel coat and his “Trent” hair would stand on end while my mom poured him a cup of strong black coffee. Today my boys “Trent” hair stands on end and I sip my strong black coffee and wonder at the differentness and the sameness of life marching through almost 40 winters. Winter is the gift of still and quiet.
I like that winter is cold on the outside and warm on the inside. There is something miraculous to me about walking in from bone-aching wind to enveloping warmth. Since childhood it has seemed like magic. It is luxury to feel my hands and feet thaw. The sharp tingle as the sub-zero assault retreats from my body and my skin absorbs the heat after coming in from outside. I like the smell of heated air against the icy inhale of winter wind. And the scent of wet coats and scarfs as they dry against the heat ducts. It all means we are safe and warm and winter didn’t get us. It is a miracle, it is a blessing, it is God’s provision that we are warm and pink-cheeked while winds howl and icy snow pings against the windows.
I like that winter means the earth is resting to get ready for new life and harvest and then rest again. God teaches me that this is the way of life; to rest, to live and to reap from the work and love and laughter and tears of it all. To store up and to feast from the treasures of the earth and of the heart. There is enough gained in the summer time to live safe and well-fed in the winter time. In life too there is enough joy to store in the heart so that we can survive the winters of grief.
I like winter. I like the memories of my childhood when we’d visit my grandparents in the evenings after a blizzard and feel like we were pioneers in suburban living rooms. Nothing but each other to depend on. With pizza for dinner or homemade soup we’d sit together looking out through darkened windows with only our own reflections looking back and realize that the faces in the windows were really all we needed at that moment; and forever. I had two grampas and one great big dad all willing to drag me across snowy front lawns on saucer sleds and two grammas and a mom to warm me with hot chocolate and cookies when I couldn’t stand any more snow down my mittens.
I like the smell of my dad’s heavy winter coat...cologne and coffee and cold (which has it’s own scent) when I take it from him now because it’s the same as then. I like my mom’s scrambled eggs and my gramma’s soup for the same reason. I miss my grampas but their faces are clearer in my mind when I’m looking out over a snow covered yard. If I’m very still and quiet like I have learned to be in winter; if I listen closely to the neighbor’s snow blowers, if I breathe deeply the perfume of strong black coffee and listen for the click of the furnace; I can see them again. Caring for their families. Reminding me I have always been beautifully cared for. I have always been warm in winter.

I like winter.