Lesson From Lizzie

Lesson from Lizzie:  Treasure Within
     Devotional shared by friend and fellow writer, Ann Walker, living in Santiago, Chile, who also calls Osage, Iowa her home

It is natural for humans to want security, safety, general things so that "protection for the what-if's of life" are in place. We accumulate, build tornado shelters, take vitamins, collect household items--for convenience, beauty, and the ultimate "just in case." Our homes are stuffed to the gills with STUFF. Perhaps--art work, collections, objects, photos. That is all fine and good. Yet, when layer piles upon layer, we forget what we have and still seek to get more. It becomes a vicious cycle and results in an unending wheel of accumulation.

With the plenty which protects us, shields us, comforts us--perhaps even inspires us--our spirits may have the tendency to become immune to need. In fact, we may accumulate so much that we become over-saturated, and our senses dim.

This may also be true with our spiritual self. Our layers of activities, thoughts, motions all create layer- upon- layer; and the path to our soul becomes cluttered and confused. We are unable to recognize the treasures we possess within.

A friend shared a story about her little dog, Lizzie- -Lizzie LOVES her treats. Treats are her treasure, and she will do anything to get a special morsel---paw hello, find her toy, beg, roll over, sit in the passenger seat and more. The latest trick (for a treat, of course) is to ring the Santa Claus bells. Why? To communicate that  it's time to go outside.

As I listened, there was an "a-ha" moment, just for me.

Whenever Lizzie does get her treat, she does not eat it. Instead, she buries it, hides it. It could be in the yard, under the sofa, in a hidden corner in the kitchen, even under a cushion of a chair. She does not eat her treasure; she saves it. Keeps it for the future. Buries it because it is a treasure. Hides it so it won't get lost; no one else will find it nor use it. 

I reflected about how so often we humans are Lizzies. We receive treasures from our heavenly Father, yet we do not use them. We hide them! 

I had to laugh--thinking of all the treasures (physical, material, spiritual, musical, and more) I have buried, or hoarded, or hidden throughout my lifetime. 

Today, in this Advent season, a spiritual lesson was given to me. 

The messenger, a dog!

Now is the time: It is time to take heed of the message of  "Sleepers, awake."   No more burying my treasures. It is time to listen, embrace, use, and share. It is time to keep my ears and eyes and heart open. God is calling. He is speaking directly to me. "Stop hoarding. Stop  burying your treasures. I gave them to you so they may be used."

With God's grace, I can turn to Him once again and ask with confidence, each and every day: "Lead me, Lord."

Each one should use whatever gift he has received

 to serve others, 

faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. 

1 Peter 4:10

Another look at this stuff called dust...

Joni Mitchell sang, "We Are Stardust" and begins with the lyrics, I came upon a child of God....

Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and the man became a living being. Genesis 2:7

Dust and God's breath; what a combination! 

Dust is made up of a combination of dead skin cells, pollen, hair, textile fibers, paper fibers, soil minerals, and cosmic dust particles....

Cosmic means relating to the universe--especially as distinct from the earth....

Lift up your eyes on high and see who has created these stars.... He calls them all by name.... Not one of them is missing. Isaiah 40:26 ....Almost 99% of our bodies are made up of six elements: oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium and phosphorus. Stars are made of 73% hydrogen, 25% helium....

All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. Ecclesiastes 3:20

From dust to dust,...

Well, dear child of God, it seems that astrophysics and human biology are connected, and Joni Mitchell was on to something.

Before the mountains were born,

 before you gave birth to the earth and the world, 

from beginning to end,

you are God.

 Psalm 90....

Silence is Golden?

You may be familiar with the song, Silence is Golden, recorded by the Four Seasons, 1964. Although a song about failed love, the phrase has versions dating back to ancient Egypt. It is part of the proverb, speech is silver, but silence is golden.

Keeping silent in many instances is more difficult that expressing love, anger, happiness, or betrayal. On the other hand, there usually is one, sometimes, keeping silent is easier. No matter how one looks at it, remaining silent has its own energy source: it gets people thinking, releases tensions--or provokes them.

... Life isn't that simple. For example: *Silence is awkward. *Silence is isolating. *Silence expresses disbelief. *Silence shows ignorance.*Silence is nonproductive.

Nonverbal communication is perhaps the most powerful form of communication because it is the type we use the most. Okay, we're talking everything from sweet smiles to eye rolls, from caressing someone's hand to arched eyebrows.

Perhaps we can shed better light on all this if we look at the entire proverbial saying. Speech is silver, but silence is golden may mean that discretion can be more valuable than the most eloquent words.

God wants us to connect.
He wants us to be relational.
He wants us to communicate with Him and others for we are each a part of the Body of Christ.

Being still and knowing, realizing that God is near even when we don't feel it or believe it, asking that the words of our mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to our Creator God, viewing life as sacred-- helps us to know when to speak, what words to say, and when to say nothing at all.

You might find it interesting that God even hears our sighs.... Romans 8:26-27

His Name Was Larry

We sat side by side, strangers, picking at our phones and occasionally looking up to determine what the excitement was about on "Wheel of Fortune." Waiting for test results in a heart clinic would typically not be the high-light of anyone's day.

I'm not sure who spoke first but within minutes, we were animated and conversational. If you spend any amount of time with anyone, there will be a connection. Well, it just so happened that this man's golf partner and good friend had been married to a sister-in-law of mine. Years ago....

There was talk of the love of golf, a history of smoking, states we had lived in, a leg that wasn't working as it should due to improper blood flow, retirement, and family.

Larry was an adopted child, rejected (his term) by his biological mother but chosen (his term) by his adoptive parents and loved. Loved. In spite of this unconditional love, he longed for the family he never knew and wondered why they didn't want him. He had tried contact with discovered sisters and was shunned. Cousins welcomed him, but nothing ever felt right.

"Because of all this, I never married," he said quietly. We sat there, looked at others, and I wondered how this person just happened to sit next to me.

"Who do you suppose I'll be with someday?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper. I thought I knew what he meant, but wasn't sure.

"When it's all over and done, which family will I be with?" he asked. His dark brown eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles twinkled and then glassed over. ..this was not a question that had just occurred to him, I could tell.

"Both of them," I replied and smiled at his tender question. "You'll be surrounded by both families."

"You really think so?" he asked and apologized for the tears.

"Of course. You will be."

I was  called back for test results, but before I left, I asked him, "What's your name?"

"My name is Larry," he answered.

God has His finger on everything. Everything from quiet conversations to what happens eternally.

His name was Larry. He's a part of God's family... as are you, and you and you.

Need Someone to Talk to?

I am blessed with many friends.
I have had time to meet people, get to know others, and wonderfully a few genuine relationships fell into place.
My various friends provide different needs depending on personalities, perspective of life, the dynamics.
Some I laugh with; some I cry with; some tell me their intimate stories; some share their family history.

But, sometimes, because the timing is not right, the circumstances are new, the friend I need is not available; I may feel there is no one to talk to.
This is when I need to be reminded that Jesus is always there, He will always listen, and what I share remains safe with Him.
He's got the number of hairs on my head counted.
He tells me to cast all my cares upon Him.
He tells me not to be anxious.
He provides rest for me, peace for me, strength for me.
And, he knew me before I was born.
I need to talk to him whenever I feel I need to, whenever I'm happy, sad, or angry.
And, then THANK HIM.



He's there for me. He's there for you.
It's a missed opportunity if we don't take it and often.
It's called prayer, and it's not complicated.
Just open your heart; He's already there.

Productivity versus Serenity

Mom was a busy-body, never able to sit long, until in her 80's. When she visited us when the children were little, she would shadow me from room to room, filling me in on the latest news while helping me fold clothes, serve up a meal, etc. Although I appreciated her much-needed help, it was exhausting--the conversations mixed in with the work load. Dad was busy in a different way. He saw a job that needed to be done and started--didn't need to be with anyone else, but if someone was watching (like a grandchild), he'd pull them in and give them a task. Soon, they'd be working as a team.

They were both purposeful. Mom's having the appearance of busy productivity; Dad have the feeling of a more serene type of purposefulness. Like most of us, I took after both of my parents.

During those years of raising children, working, and keeping a household intact (whatever that meant during that particular period of time), I yearned for serenity. It seemed that if I could just have time to gather it, life could be more tranquil. I would be more at peace, settled. While I may have given the outward appearance of serenity, pandemonium sometimes reigned--my insides in turmoil. I wondered how some others could be laid-back, self-assured, or even unconcerned about things that mattered. However, I understood that my state of mind would take its toll.

I have always tried to find time to spend in God's Word.
It was never-wasted time but often it was rushed time.
Now, that I have a little more time on my hands, I don't have to have Bible study and devotions just in the morning after my breakfast. I can do it in the afternoon; I can open up the Good Book in the evening.

Time spent with Jesus is never purposeless.
It is always productive.
It's the best kind of team-work imaginable.
It will provide a serenity that is out-of-this-world.

Amen.

A Cup of Coffee

I left the house with a slice of apple pie on a paper plate and took the twenty steps or so to my neighbor's garage door. An August day, my armpits prickled from the heat, and the grass underfoot crackled and scratched my bare feet.

The garage was empty. He had sold his Pontiac after losing his license and shared that it was the worst thing that had happened to him after his wife died. Unable to get groceries on his own, unable to get to doctor's appointments independently, he often felt isolated and alone. I noted the few belongings left on dusty, warped shelves: partially filled paint cans, an oilcan, a clutter of tools, and a few rags. A 1975 faded calendar hung crookedly from a nail, stuck on March, the month and year his wife passed.

I knocked on the screen door. The "Price is Right" blared from the living room. I yelled out his name, "Lloyd, it's Kathy; I have apple pie for you."

The television chatter stopped; I heard a groan as he pulled himself out of his recliner. With a cane at his side, he hobbled up to me to take a closer look--his eyes clouded by cataracts.

"It's me, Kathy," I stated loudly, pushed my face towards his, and wondered when he had last taken a shower.

"Oh, yeah, please sit down." He motioned to a kitchen chair. "Have coffee with me."

I looked around. The kitchen counter was greasy, the floor needed sweeping. A cold tin pot stood on the stove top.

"Hmm, I really should get back home," I murmured.

"Have a chair," he insisted. "Won't take long." I placed the pie on the counter top and pulled out a vinyl-covered chair with wheels attached as he poured two cups of coffee. Seeing he needed help, I carried the cups back to the sticky table.

"The weather. What's it doin' outside?" he asked.

"Hot," I replied. "It's August you know, gotta expect it."

"Suppose so," he answered and took a sip.

"Need milk or sugar?" he asked.

"No. No thank you," I answered and thought about what I needed to fix for lunch at home. Starting to take a drink, I noticed white flakes floating in my cup. Realizing it was only lime chips, it still churned my stomach. I wasn't a coffee snob, but I couldn't drink this.

I pretended to sip as he rambled about missing his wife, the lack of visitors, and having no transportation.

Morning devotions had reminded me that, "We're at our best when we encourage others with our words, with our actions, with our presence." My intentions had been good. I thought the pie would do it. Lloyd had barely noted the pie; he wanted my attention.

I considered the people Jesus hung out with as I sat with my elderly neighbor. They were not the cleanest, most healthy, most with-it individuals. They were human beings, created in His image; however, each (as we are) with imperfections.

I relaxed, sat back on the squeaky vinyl chair, and looked out his kitchen window to the place his own eyes seem to take him. The leaves moved lazily on the trees--tired of summer--just like me.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"Change," he murmured . "Everything changes. Nothing stays the same...."

We sat for a while, sipping our coffee. Some times, words aren't needed.

Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up.
          Romans 15:2

An Impact Lasting An Eternity

And my God will fully satisfy every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:19

Those of us who believe in the power of prayer and others who find themselves on their knees because desperation of some kind has crept inside, ask or plead for a variety of things.

I'm sick; make me better; the sooner the better.
My child has crammed all night for this test; he needs an A, or at least a B.
The car is broken down, again....
Grandma's heart is failing her; we don't know how to pray.
I've been trying to lose weight for years and doing all the right things. What's wrong with me?
I thought this marriage would work, but I can't really do it any more....

WHAT IF, after giving our Creator/Redeemer King the glory, after confessing our own sins, after giving thanks for his on-going grace and unconditional love for us... that then we express our needs?

And, WHAT IF, when doing this,

 we pray that however he chooses to answer our supplications, 

we ask that it impacts eternity....

Sound too big?
Sound too much to ask for?

Ecclesiastes 3:11 reads  He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one an fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 

With an eternal perspective, we can view life quite differently.
Immediate gratification is out the window...
It's seeing beyond what is right in front of us.

Art Katz writes, We may"believe" in eternity, but to what extent have we actually agreed with the world that eternity is not relevant until after this life? Eternity is not merely a time frame that is endless; it is profoundly and foremost a qualitative thing that is available now. When we begin to see all our moments set in the context of eternity, we will bring to those moments a seriousness [perspective] that we would not otherwise have had. 


 It's quite possible that we can bring a little bit of heaven down to earth by living in the joy of being the hands and feet of Jesus, now, right here where we are. 
Just think: You may be impacting eternity! 

Mystery of the Tissues

There were tissues all over the place. Every coat Mom owned had numerous Kleenexes stuffed in each coat pocket. They came out of the dryer in particles having been tumbled about with her clothing. When cleaning her bedroom, I checked under the bed and counted over two dozen of them--some used, some partially used, some in waiting.

Why all the tissues? I wondered.

Mom died about ten years ago, and over my own passing years, I've solved the mystery.

Eureka!

THE RUNNY NOSE





Sounds disgusting, I know. I'm not sure if this is genetic or just something aging people put up with. When I googled the reasons for chronic runny nose, I learned that it can be caused by anything that irritates our nasal tissues. The common cold, allergies, and the bottom line is that some of us have a drippy nose for no apparent reason.

There are no tissues underneath my side of the bed; however, they can be found up my sleeve (okay, both sleeves), in my waistband, and in a pocket or two. Yes, they are in both coat pockets of any outerwear I pull out of the closet. There's a Kleenex box in most rooms and in our car.

Where am I going with this?
Give me time....

Okay, just got it. (It's amazing what the mind does when the fingers are flying across the keyboard.)
With time, we figure a lot of things out.
There are things that are not that difficult or impossible to understand, one just has to "be there" to get it. More often than not, this takes time.

Elizabeth Bowen wrote, No object is mysterious. The mystery is your eye.
In this instance, the mystery is your nose.
More on that at another time.

Psalm 139:14...I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. 

Steadfastness

Words like creme-rinse, smorgasbord, and thong are words from my growing-up years that are no longer used in the same way. Thongs used to be flip-flops. If I use it now, my children say Mom in a weird way. In school, we took Typing I and then Typing II. Now, it's Keyboarding and it is taught in elementary school. Hey, even "floppy disk" is out.

House dress, overshoes, and overalls were common words in our family household. Supper was the last meal of the day. We wore "chore clothes" after school and "church clothes" on Sunday.

Some words become obsolete and others stick.

One of the words from the Bible that I appreciate is steadfastness. We don't hear it much. Merriam-Webster defines it as faithful, loyal, constant, resolute to whatever one owes allegiance. 

A person can be steadfast in a belief, an effort, a plan or even a refusal--sometimes under dire circumstances.

And sometimes, steadfastness comes across as drudgery. Biblical examples of steadfastness include:


Moses' extreme patience with the Israelites
Daniel's courage in the lion's den
David's consistent dependence on God for guidance
Job's perseverance under the most dreadful circumstances
Paul, who my dad referred to as "the Moses of the New Testament"
And, of course, Jesus, our Sacrificial Lamb

Perhaps you want to think of a loving, positive way to apply the word "steadfast" to your day.
*Your family's schedule that prevents a time of peace
*The co-worker who tests your patience
*An illness that worries your body and soul

Second Thessalonians 3: reads May the Lord direct your hearts to the love of God and to the steadfastness of Christ.

No matter what your care, what a comfort to know that our hearts are directed to the love of God and Christ's steadfastness on our behalf.

Coincidences and Janet

Janet has been gone for six months.
I think of her often, especially when we go to Rochester for appointments.
This is where she lived; this is where she worked; this is where she died.
She was my friend since before our children arrived....when we were both young, naive, newly married, newly everything....

I hadn't heard from her for weeks which was not uncommon. We connected with each other by phone or texting every couple of months so not hearing from her didn't send up any red flags.

However, six months ago, when in Rochester for appointments and eating in the Mayo cafeteria, Janet arrives spontaneously at our table in her wheelchair, oxygen tank attached. What a surprise. The "how have you beens" were exchanged, but her answers were careful. We wished each other the best and were off to our individual appointments.

Two hours later, as my husband is waiting in the pulmonary unit, Gonda Building, floor 18, for his appointment, Janet is leaving from hers--same building, same floor. (If you're familiar with Rochester's medical facilities, you understand the hugeness of this.)

We both express surprise. Again, we meet!
However, she has tears. The news she received was not good.
Her doctors suggested she not go home; they suggested she go immediately to the hospital for care.
Janet went home.
She ended up in the hospital a few days later and never left.
We texted and face-timed almost daily during her time with Hospice care.
I met her loving sister; became re-connected to her beautiful daughter.
Coincidental timing in all this?
I think not.

Bernard D. Beitman, M.D. defines coincidences as "a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection." And further states, "Biblical coincidences can confirm belief in a personal God."

There are numerous "coincidences" in the Bible:
Joseph, Jonah, Moses, Ruth, Isaac finding a wife, Jesus being born in Bethlehem...

What appears as a random chance is in fact overseen by a sovereign God who knows the number of hairs on your head (Luke 12:7)

Humans explain that which is unexpected as "coincidental."
The closer you get to God, you'll understand that there are no coincidences.
As, "All things work together for the good who love God and are called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28)

Not some things, all things.
Guess who is in charge?
Should be a comfort to know that we are not.
Miss you, Janet.
And, I thank God that we had these last moments together.

Walking On Eggshells

The phrases skating on thin ice and walking on broken glass or walking on eggshells are “be-careful” expressions that indicate caution, vigilance, discretion needed. We know that eggshells are easily broken as is thin ice and that walking on broken glass gives thoughts of injuries we don’t want to imagine. The adjectives messy, freezing cold, and bloody, respectively, come to mind.

Such a person who walks or skates in this manner may be a risk-taker. [Beware.]

Or a girl could be walking or skating in such a manner because of the fear of breaking something (a heart, a relationship, work security) or ruining everything she thought or wanted-to-be true in her crazy journey she called her life. Again, note the adjectives...

Symptoms:

One is extra careful when speaking to someone in order not to make them angry…

One has to always cover all the bases, be overly cautious, always play it safe, consider everything she does or says before she does it, use kid gloves-- all while feeling like she’s on a tightrope…

She wishes she could feel free-er…

Got any of the above symptoms? 

You got eggshells underfoot, girl, or thin ice, or worse yet, broken glass.

I know that as a Christian and lover of God, My Savior, there is no fear in love. The above symptoms spell fear for me. How to get over this tiptoeing around? You may be saying: I can’t help it. It is the way it is; my heart won’t let me love as I should, live as I should.

1 John tells us that perfect love drives out fear. 1 John 3:20 reminds us that God is greater than our hearts. Yes, GOD IS GREATER THAN OUR HEARTS, FEELINGS, AND ALL THAT STUFF THAT GOT YOU TO WALKING ON EGGSHELLS IN THE BEGINNING.

Time to let it go.

Ram Dass, an inspiration writer, with intentions of delivering us back into our souls, wrote, “We’re all just walking each other home.”  It's going to be a more peaceful, joyful, loving walk without eggshells, thin ice, or broken glass underfoot.

Hallelujah. 

Take a hold of someone’s hand and enjoy the journey.

This Little Light of Mine....

Come along with me
Grow small and see
A world that used to be
Sunshine and birthday cakes
Dick, Jane, and Spot
Kitty cats in the barn
Sparky, a stray dog
Momma in the kitchen
Daddy in the old red barn
Rainstorms and mud between the toes
Warm nights on the porch
Apple pie from a tree
Sledding on the nearest hill
Santa and Jesus on Christmas Eve
Now I lay me down to sleep...
Going back
Growing small
Inside your head
Anything is possible....

Most of us have growing-up memories that we cherish. We felt warm, nurtured, secure in this place. And, yet, none of us wanted to stay little. We looked forward to turning ten, and then thirteen, and then eighteen.... It was like breaking out of a shell, feeling free, becoming independent. Along with that feeling, however, came responsibility, hard decisions to be made, and the general emotional roller-coaster of life.

Jesus does not want us to stand still.
We are called to live in spite of the struggles, hardships, challenges.
In fact, your purpose is bigger and bolder than you ever dreamed it could be.
WHY? Because God is still happening as long as you have breath.
And, if God is still happening within you, expect to be a new creature and still be the unique creature he created you to be.

Because we are His children, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts... this was all a part of His plan before the creation of the world.

Hard to wrap your head around all this?

You don't have to; it's already in your heart...

And was there when you were little

And is there now....

This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine...

A Personal History of Coffee and Me

Somewhat fascinated with the huge, blue-speckled pots on the church kitchen gas stove, I asked, "What's in that?" as I watched an egg being dropped in each. The earthy odor from the boiling pot lingered as the circle ladies, with aprons tied around their waists, made ham salad sandwiches and cut pieces of cake from donated pans.

It boiled in an old tin pot in our farm kitchen each morning (without the egg). Dad and Mom had it for breakfast, mid-morning with a sweet roll, and if any was left-over, it was sometimes served the following morning. (Waste not; want not.)

I'm sure I must have ventured a taste of it while growing up; however, my next memory occurs in college. I was now of age to drink the bitter drink. It went especially well with the sweet rolls served each morning in the cafeteria. It also was effective in keeping me awake when I needed to study for those dreaded exams.

When a teacher, the work room had a large pot with a spigot. Cups were hung above it with identifying names. I used the Styrofoam cup instead, filling it half full, not yet addicted to the caffeine.

I'm not sure when it became part of my routine to drink it each morning, and, without it, I was less like-able, less- productive, less- everything.

When I ran a Daycare out of our home, I would escape to the local Kum and Go very early in the morning to pay for a cup of High Octane and sip it on the way home along with a creme-filled donut.
Talked about an energy-boost.

After the kids left the nest, I met one of them at Star Bucks and let them order my Joe. It was a first and last experience, My jittery-ness lasted throughout the day; I had over-dosed.

When I acquired my one-cupper, I thought Java Heaven had arrived. Nothing like a fresh brew coursing through my veins to start the day.... just my cup of tea. The creme-filled donuts no longer appeal to me. A bowl of cereal, an egg and toast, or cottage cheese and fruit may be the morning fare. However, the cup of coffee still joins me for breakfast. It stays beside me as I read a daily devotional. Along with being thankful for morning birds chirping, a gentle breeze playing with the tree leaves, I thank God for a good cup of coffee.

The Cheese Stands Alone

The phrase comes from a children's song and game, "The Farmer in the Dell". A number of children stand in a circle with one child, who plays the farmer, in the center. The farmer chooses a wife, the wife chooses a child, the child choose a nurse, etc. as the children sing and walk in a circle. You get the point until the last person in the circle is "the cheese stands alone."

Although we played this on the school playground, usually supervised by a teacher, one can understand why it is no longer played. "The cheese stands alone" is a way of saying you don't fit in. You're by yourself. You're not one of us.

Even though we try to plan activities that are inclusive for all children and adults, we each have felt like the cheese. Rejection by someone or a group, isolated by a family member who no longer wants contacts, not getting an award that you felt entitled to, making our own stupid mistakes, ending up somewhere we realize that we don't belong for whatever reason, we know what it is like to be the cheese standing alone.

In the anthology, Summoned, each protagonist--Emilie Fischer or George Turner, James, Norma, Jacqueline, Adriel--found themselves in circumstances where "the cheese stands alone"--either because of life circumstances or because of their own misguided decisions.

Even Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, was abandoned by his own disciples. However, He knew His Father would never leave Him. Hebrews 13:5 reminds us, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." And, also, "The Lord is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?" Hebrews 13:5-6

Even though rejection at some level happens in our lives, we can know that Jesus wants us to keep moving forward in faith. We are each created in His image. Because of the message of the cross, we can be strengthened; we are not the cheese standing alone, in spite of what others do or think and even in spite of our own, sometimes, thoughtless or misguided decisions.

Give God the glory.

Check out the anthology, SUMMONED, on-line at amazon or barnes and noble sites to discover how these protagonists survived real-to-life experiences and understood that their lives were a part of a far-reaching narrative--possibly something bigger and beyond their imaginations. 

HIDE AND SEEK? You can't do both...

HIDE AND SEEK?... YOU CAN’T DO BOTH

You may have heard the phrase, “You are only as sick as your secrets.” What we choose to hide are usually weaknesses, or the things that are shameful. It is these feelings of shame and weakness that open us to Satan and more sin. Ugh!

If I want to be stronger in Christ, I need to seek, seek, seek.. seek his love, seek his guidance, seek his glory. How can I do this when hiding?

God created each of us to be free. Being free in Christ liberates us. It is not a binding feeling. It is a freedom that brings contentment, peace.

It is His will, His way. Go and get it! However, going and getting may mean giving up the place you like to hide, or what you want to hide.....So, going and getting may also mean leaving, giving something up, letting something go… This is where you are supposed to be. This is what you are supposed to be doing. You can’t do it alone. He doesn’t expect you to. Run from your hiding place to the safe place Christ provided and yell out “I am free in Christ because of the cross,"  and, then, and only then can we do what we are called to do....

O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.... Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139

Remembering Mom

It's interesting how certain smells, sounds, and sights can quickly take you back home. The smell of bleach, the clunking of pots and pans being removed from the cupboard early in the morning, a tire swing, an ironing board, and a lemon meringue pie only served on Father's Day and a wedding anniversary.

As the years have passed since Mom's death, I have tried to dig up memories of her when I was growing up. Most of them picture her in the kitchen preparing a meal for farmhands, or under an apple tree--her apron full of fruit, or rocking the latest baby brother in her arms after summer dinner time.

Mom working with her own dad before marriage.

When in college, Mom sent letters weekly. Roommates would be astonished at their length, 6-10 pages on both sides, with the routine details of her and Dad's lives. As I write this, it occurs to me where my need to put words on paper comes from.

When the youngest children were out from underfoot, she tackled the grove--picking up dry sticks and fallen limbs to make a pile for burning. The grove had never looked so cared for.

As I look back, older and wiser, I understand that her own work ethic provided one for me along with a sense of perseverance, stamina, and unconditional love for family. It's interesting the things that are passed down from parent to child--things that are not pounded into our heads, things that we just get because we were there, in the presence of someone special.

I miss her even more as time passes.
I'm not sure why. I didn't expect this.
Maybe, it's the understanding that underneath it all, there's something greater going on.
And, we each are a part of this.
Big mystery?

That their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love, to reach all the riches of full assurance of understanding and the knowledge of God's mystery, which is Christ. Colossians 1:26

Summoned to Trust....

Last week I took a copy of SUMMONED, my recently published anthology, to my friend at Apple Valley Assisted Living. Inside I had written, "Thanks for inspiring the short story, "'Ramona's Visitor.'"

When I arrived, Ramona was seated at a table with several others enjoying afternoon coffee and cookies. She asked about the book. I pulled it from my bag to show the cover. There were "oohs" and "aahs".

The lady next to me asked what the book was about.
I proceeded to tell her what had inspired the first story, the novelette, Summoned, telling her it was based on a long-ago event that happened near a little town in our state.

"And where might that be?" she asked.
When I told her, she paused, and said, "That's where I'm from."

I had never seen this lady before and here she sat beside me and knew something about the events in the novelette and even the names of some of the people involved.

Do you ever wonder why certain things happen when they do?
Do you ever wonder why certain people come into your life when they do?
Does it ever make you think that your life may be a part of something bigger going on....

It reminds me of the verse I use in the second chapter of Summoned from Isaiah, For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways saith the LORD.

At times, these experiences remind me that I need to spend less time asking or pleading with God for this or that and more time simply honoring Him, praising Him, acknowledging His goodness. Then, sit back and dwell in this.

As Jeremiah 29:11 tells us, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

It's about trusting.
Amen

SUMMONED

SUMMONED, an anthology, is now available on-line through amazon.com and barnes and noble links. It contains the novelette, Summoned, six shorter stories, and a poem--each inspired by real-life stories. 

The Anthology includes the following stories:

Summoned

Jacqueline's Story

Ramona's Visitor

Hope

Norma's Class Reunion

Once Upon a Time

Providence

Divine Plan

and...Discussion Questions

How I was SUMMONED by a news article from long ago....

There is a story behind every story: behind every one that is true; behind every one that is fictional. One just has to decide how far back to go....

I'm the chubby one on the left.... Bab nestled with sisters.

I met Bab when we were little girls. Our mothers were friends in high school, and they did their best with writing letters and planning a family gathering once a year, usually in the summer. Bab and I ended up at the same out-of-state college; and after graduation, like our mothers, exchanged a letter now and then, a Christmas note, a birthday card. 

Retirement brought opportunities for travel and when in Arizona, Bab and I reconnected. She shared a story from long ago and suggested that I put it in a book. Not wanting to tackle another book, I shrugged off her suggestion. However, soon after returning home, the news articles from this past story were in my mailbox. I read them and was hooked.

The book, SUMMONED, is an anthology which includes the novelette, "Summoned" and six other short stories--most inspired by real-life events.

The Prologue to "Summoned" follows:

Prologue

The phrase hit and run fled in muted tones up and down the halls, lingered by the lockers and restrooms, and scuttled at the end of the day onto the buses on a cold winter day. As a senior in high school, I couldn’t stop thinking, what a horrible way to die--out on a country road, staring up at the stars, unable to move, and wondering how God could allow this to happen. Strangers found eighteen-year-old Michael lying along the side of County Road B 20. Whoever ran over him must have known him, or so everyone said. Otherwise, his arms wouldn’t have been crossed over his chest lying so neatly by the roadside.

 I run my fingertips over the rough edges of his grave stone and consider how his death and the secrets behind it continue to plague his family and friends.

Curiosity over Michael’s circumstances provided an atmosphere of confusion for months although we stopped talking about it. One spring day in the school library, I pulled the book, “What’s In a Name?” from a dusty shelf and found Michael. Derived from the Hebrew designation, it belonged to one of the seven archangels—the one closest to God and responsible for carrying out God’s judgments. The name means, Who is like God? –a rhetorical question implying no one is like God. This new knowledge only scattered my perceptions, or should I say, misperceptions.

At the time of Michael’s misfortune, I did not know that my own life would also end tragically and unresolved.

Click on amazon.com or barnes and noble link above to get a better look...
A book signing event which includes a book talk and books for sale will be held soon.

Burdens to Bare? Or... Everyday Easter

I awoke at 4:30 on Easter morning with a smile. Not really needing to get out of bed yet, I spent time with Jesus. There were few requests... just me mainly praising Him for His grace, His love, the price He paid so that I might have life eternally.

--my morning thoughts on Good Friday were of a different nature: "Burdens to Bear." We all have them, and they're not fun. They range from tiny irritating things to issues that you think at the time will literally do you in. You and I could each make out a list right now, or if you're like me, they very easily come to you in the middle of the night when you would rather be in cozy sleep.

The sense of burden hit me in another way that morning when reading a "Mornings With Jesus" devotion by Susanna Aughtmon. She wrote of the "heart wrenching work Jesus' Father had asked him to do--to save the world. To take on every sin for all of mankind for all of eternity."

Again... to take on every sin for all of mankind for all of eternity....

Can you imagine the sense of burden Jesus carried?
I can only begin to fathom such a thing.

But because I can only begin to understand the price he paid, I determined that morning to try harder not add to the burden myself with anything I consider little or anything I consider big.

My eye-rolling when showing disrespect would be a "little" thing.
My lack of trust and a worrisome attitude would be a "big" thing.

The poster-sized sheet in my room has Psalm 140:23 written in my own handwriting.
I posted it a couple of weeks ago.
It took on new meaning....

Search me O'God and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life.

HE IS RISEN.
HE IS ALIVE.
SO, WE, TOO HAVE THIS PROMISE
Easter is not past.
It should be a beginning of our own story each and every day we wake up.

Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank you for sending your Son, Jesus, to carry our burden. May we everyday live EASTER and be thankful for your lovingkindness, your grace, forgiveness, your uncensored love. Amen and amen...

Ears to Hear and Eyes to See

There's an early morning humming, a whooshing, a gentle howl as the wind buffets buildings, wires, twigs, and leaves. Lawn remnants tumble and end up in a neighbor's hideaway. Tree branches and shrubs twist indecisively--this way or that? Robins take refuge; deer huddle in nearby woods; bunnies hover under the woodpile. The cardinal my dad made from scraps of wood, its blue button eyes the color of his, watches with interest from his perch on the deck rail.Rainfall sprinkles, smears, and then pelts windowpanes and glides downward leaving the glass cleaner than any purchased product could imagine. On the street, a stream evolves and hurries to the nearest culvert--soon to mingle with the Cedar River.... And another journey begins.

Elizabeth Eaton writes, "It isn't possible to be whole apart from the rest of creation. We miss the divine all around us and deny the intimate presence of God within us. ...Human beings are part of creation. Human beings are connected to everything in the cosmos. Human beings are connected to God..."

Whether you are beholding a rainfall, the sun rise or set, a rainbow, the various creatures created by God...  Whether you are listening to the wind, a child's sweet babble, a cardinal whistle.... Keep in mind that we are connected to Creation; we are connected to God. 



Ears to hear
Eyes to see
Connected to Creation
Connected to God
Awesome thing, isn't it? 

Journalism 101, 1967

Ten to fifteen of us assembled in a forgotten classroom, in a declining building on a small college campus, 1967, for Journalism 101. The professor was aged, white beard touching his top shirt button, his hair wispy and untamed. The floorboards creaked; I found a seat in the middle of everyone else and blended. I hoped for an easy class.

After the first session, I was hooked on the way of words: using them to evoke emotions, convey nuances. Learning that word order within the sentence makes a difference. Knowing that sometimes less is more. Striking verbs, using magical adjectives, and understanding the reality of an unworthy adverb.

Within a short time, I had poetry published in the college periodical and a national anthology. It was a humbling and vulnerable awakening as I was putting words on paper with my name below. It kind of said: this is me.

Finding a job, starting a teaching career, getting married, running a household, and both overwhelmed and overjoyed with the births of four children, the creativity was put on hold. In fact, I never even thought of writing.

However, I was in to reading and often thought: I can write a better book than this. Forty years after the Journalism 101 class, I sat down at my Gateway and let my fingers fly. Ten pages, twenty pages, thirty pages, and then a roadblock.

Dear God, If I'm to write a book, I need some help. I remember the prayer offered somewhat facetiously, but nevertheless, uttered. After the prayer, I never knew what twists and turns the story-line would take; it just came to me every time I sat down to type. There was no master plan, but it fell into place.

It's been almost ten years since that first book came out and it's been a journey of learning and living, living and learning--about lots of things--not just writing, editing, publishing, marketing. But living and life.

This last book, SUMMONED, available soon, is an anthology consisting of a novelette and several other shorter narratives. Most are inspired by true stories. This is where the living comes in or we could just say life happens.

Praise be to God.

Grapes of Wrath and the Abels

John Steinbeck's THE GRAPES OF WRATH is a story of the Joad family. Forced from their farm during the Depression, they headed to California with thousands of others to pursue a dream and ended up as migrant workers.

Both of my parents experienced the Depression in different ways. However, they raised a family who always had plenty.

Nevertheless, there is an Abel family photo that reminds me of the Joad family. Maybe, it's the black and white muteness, maybe it's the expression on our faces of being just a little bit worn out.

The shirts my brothers and I are wearing were made by Mom. The jeans, although store-bought, were patched by Mom. The rugs inside our house were made from carpet bag rolls and coal kept our house warm in winter months. Our bellies were full of a harvest from the garden adjacent to the house. Our minds were filled with scripture read by Dad after a supper meal. We were a unit. We worked as a family. Chores were divided, purposefulness was not a issue; we didn't understand the word "boredom." There were no gadgets to entertain or bombard our eyes and ears. The activities were mainly family focused: Farm Bureau potlucks, a church picnic at a camp, after-lunch family softball games, and times with grandparents.

Although there were fights, the bonds existed for practical and spiritual sustenance. We were a unit and our unit was part of something greater which we understood when we ventured off to school each fall and headed to church every Sunday.

I got thinkin' how we was holy when we was one thing, an' mannkin' was  holy when it was one 
thing. An' it only got unholy when one mis'able little fella got the bit in his teeth an' run off his own way, kickin' an' draggin' an fightin'. Fella like that bust the holi-ness. But when they're all workin' together...--that's right, that's holy. [from THE GRAPES OF WRATH]

Although the Joad family struggled to keep their family together, they were also fighting for the rights of their fellow man by organizing migrant workers, sharing their resources, etc. so that the unit would be stronger. The GRAPES OF WRATH illustrates the significance of sticking together, working together.

Scripture tells us that we are One in Christ. 1 Corinthians reads, "There is one body, but it has many parts. But all its many parts make up one body. It is the same with Christ. ...You are the body of Christ. Each one of you is a part of it."

I'm so thankful for my parents, my siblings, my growing-up experience.
The world is so different today.
But I think we have something to remember  from our past that we can share in a variety of ways in today's world.

Sticking together, 

working together, 

remembering we are One in Christ, 

and always praising God for the promises He has given us.