~~FEMININE MATTERS~~

Patience Is A Virtue, Especially These Days

Well, I got a lot of writing done today.  Three devotionals.  Yet, not one chapter in my book.  However, it's only 11:30 a.m.  There's still time.  I haven't cleaned my house in months.  Serious as a heart attack, friends.  I look at my messes and cringe.  My back just prohibits that kind of movement.  It's so annoying.  Hence, the need for more patience today.

I get aggravated that I cannot play with my grandchildren like I once did.  No puzzles on the floor.  No trips to the park.  No lifting them on monkey-bars, no pushing them in swings.  It's irritating to want to do something but face such limitations.

I have to be patient with myself.  With my lot in life.  With the reality that I am limited.  With the annoyance that I must thrust the work I ought to be doing upon another.  I want to do more but simply can't.  And yet, I praise the LORD.  He is so good.  He provides for me.  He gives me strength to endure.  He fills my heart with joy so I do not get discouraged and depressed. 

He gives me my husband.  He pushes the swings.

I look at my dear sweet spouse who goes beyond the second mile with me.  Laundry, sweeping, mopping, scouring.  He helps me put together meals when I cannot stand long enough to wash the veggies, and cut them up for salad.  As soon as I get stuff on the stove, he watches it for me, so I don't have to stand.  He sometimes brings dinner on his way home from work. He puts up with my cranky attitude when I don't sleep at night.  

He's a jewel; his worth is far above rubies.  I count my blessings for his unconditional love.

It does get tough to sit back and let others do what I feel is my role as homemaker to do.  Even as my husband does what he does without complaint, I realize how often I complained about doing housework when I was able.  If not for the grace of God and His mercies, I could be extremely guilt-ridden.

Soon, my husband will be packing our belongings so we can move to a smaller, more convenient place.  He will take the care with the treasured items, because he cares for how I feel about the memorabilia.  He will paint new colors on my walls if I decide I cannot live with what I've picked.  He will unwrap my junk and place it for me.  Then he will move things around to appease my change of mind.  Patience is definitely a virtue.  And my husband has it.  Every day, but especially these days. selahV

For a devotional on patience:  The patience I'm daily devoted to learning, go HERE.

IMPORTANCE

Occasionally we think we are important.  Sometimes it occurs when someone appreciates us.  Appreciation turns to admiration, admiration to idolization or dependency.  Not good, for either us--or others.  Sooner or later we fail to measure up to an admirer's image of us.  Sooner or later, we fail to meet another's need for the hour.  When this occurs, all parties involved feel the sting of separation.  Ultimately there is only One Who can meet our needs and fulfill the empty space within our hearts.  Only Christ holds the piece of life's puzzle.  Christ alone.  selahV

Vulnerability

It's a very dangerous thing.  To bare one's soul, open one's heart, or share one's thoughts.  To do so tills the ground for anyone to tromp all over the intimacy we once guarded and crush the tender shoots of trust.  Boundaries.  Most often they serve us well.  Otherwise even the closest friend can take advantage of our vulnerability.  Just when we begin to release a piece of ourselves into the care of another, they're apt to treat it carelessly--more so than we would tend to it ourselves.  Erecting walls, invisible or real--may be the only way to live within a world of constant critiques and bias.  It is a peaceful thing to know there is no need for walls, nor ceilings, locks or keys with our Father in heaven.  He knows.  And He loves anyway.  selahV

A CHRISTMAS GIFT

It's a little thing.  It's Christmas and on special occasions I try to help my son's two little girls remember to do something special for their mother.  Sometimes we do hand-imprinted tee-shirts.  Sometimes homemade ornaments.  Sometimes cookies.  Sometimes we shop.  This year I thought a coffee mug was in order.

So we went to PIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION, a pottery shop, here in Lawton, where the girls chose a mug to decorate for their mom.  Rather than pick two things and have them give something separately, I had them pick one thing and decorate it together.  (This was not an easy feat, as they both wanted to hold the mug at the same time and turn it in a direction that best suited their own work.  But we made it happen.)

They chose the colors to paint the background, the handle, the impressed lettering, and other embellishments.  And then we did the "special" part.  The petals making up the flowers painted on the back side of the mug are their little fingerprints.  Then inside the mug they randomly dotted the mug with their fingerprints in various colors.  We left it at the shop to have it glazed and fired in the kiln. Tomorrow I go pick it up.  When I get it I will add photos to this post for you to see the results of their handiwork.  The photo above only shows the finished work of their painting, which dries to almost powdery white before it is glazed.

When they come see me just before Christmas, they will wrap it.  They will give it to their mom when they celebrate their tree gift openings.  I, of course, won't get to have them for Christmas Eve as once was traditional for our family.  Things change when a person dies and the ones who must adapt are those left behind with an empty seat in the room.  My granddaughters' mom has remarried.  They must share their holidays with their stepfather's family as well as their mom's. 

That is a tough thing about holidays.  Many things must change that once were part of everything.  You don't just lose a person.  You lose all the pieces of their personality that once gave meaning to part of the holiday traditions.  For me, it has been a spiritual journey of loving unconditionally.  I love no matter where my family members are.  I love no matter what I'm given or not given in return.  I accept the time I am alotted.   And I pray the memories I help create in the hearts of my granddaughters are those memories most important to the spiritual growth of their lives.  May they always choose to give, rather than receive.  selahV

      

WHO PAINTS YOUR TOENAILS?

<<<===HEEEERE'S BT, my granddaughter, cleaning the nailpolish off my toenails.  She didn't like the job she'd done in painting them, so she took the remover and wiped it all away.  She's a perfectionist of sorts.

I was thinking as I placed this photo in my banner above, how sweet a gesture.  How like a lady--so feminine an act.  Think about it!  How many men would trim the nails of another man's feet? (they wouldn't begin to paint them with polish, so I had to have another analogy).

Jesus showed his disciples how to be a leader by washing their feet.  And we, feminine creatures, seem to do more of that part of ministry than most men, don't you think?  We are the up-close and personal who don't mind painting toenails and removing polish we've missed the mark in applying.  And we don't even give it a thought when we do.  It's our nature.

We scrub toilets, sort dirty underwear, and clean up after sick children.  God prepares us for the nitty-gritty of ministry.  And while many of us have positions with "higher" calling such as teachers, administrators, and leaders in our churches, we still don't bat an eyelash when asked (or not asked) to do the foot-washing jobs.  (Check out the nursery on any given Sunday and count the heads of women versus men changing diapers.)

So I'm writing this today to commend we ladies in ministry.  Mary used perfume and her hair and Jesus said she'd be known forever for that act of love.  While some may not appreciate our offerings in life, we can know we please our Savior. 

If you have a minute, think about someone who has "painted your toenails" lately.  Can you share it with us?  selahV

[copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007] 

WHEN IT ALL BEGAN

It all began before she was born.  We loved her the minute we learned God had blessed her mother's womb.  We loved her before we knew she was a girl.  Perhaps I should have listed this photo in another category.  Saved it for a Kinsey story.  But then I think, "No, this IS just me."

All I am, in many ways, is what I can be to my grandchildren.  Here I hold my youngest; she's just 3 months old.  I took this picture with my arm extended, precariously holding my digital camera as far out as I dared, and praying I captured some sort of image worth saving.  It worked.  She was staring at the multicolored lights on a miniature Christmas tree in my living room.  I was almost hidden in the background.  But my heart was bursting with love and joy to be holding her in my arms.

When she is awake she is most happy when someone is holding her.  Her fretting calms with my rendition of "Jesus Is The Answer" being hummed next to her ear while we are glued cheek to cheek. She echoes my coos.  She tries to speak with her lips pursed in various ways that she obviously thinks is mirroring mine.  She feels so soft.  She smells so sweet.  She is so very loved.

Her 2 year-old sister insists that her name is "Baby Sister".  Her momma calls her pumpkin.  And that is funny...because she is as plump as a pumpkin.  Her momma says "you could lose a penny in the dimples in her knees."  She likes to sit upright and look around.  She stares contentedly at the colors of Dora The Explorer bouncing across a television screen.

I wonder what she will be like as she grows.  Will she be passive?  Assertive?  Talkative? Will she still want to be held and cuddled?  Or will she enjoy her own company better than others?  I wonder what her voice will sound like; how she'll interact with her sister.  It's not all that important that I know.  I'm just curious.  I'm already praying for her mate.  I'm praying for her spiritual growth.  I'm praying for God's blessings upon her and her heart to be flooded with love for Jesus as she grows older.  I'm praying to be around when she gets married and gives me great-grandchildren.  I pray for every little thing I can think of for her.  Love.  Joy.  Self-control.  Tenderness.  Gentleness.  Kindness.  Holiness.  Purity.  Protection against the evil one.

What else can a grama do but pray for the best?  It's just me--it's how I am.  And I wouldn't want me any other way. [copyrighted, 2006, selahV]  BORN SEPTEMBER 25, 2006

MORE THAN VALENTINES

LOVE IS MORE

MUCH MORE THAN

VALENTINES.

If you could actually see the items in this photograph, you'd see a can of ginger ale, a jar of Classico Basil Pesto, a lovely card with a sentimental verse inside, and a vase of lovely carnations.  But there is so much more, you can't see.  So let me share.

My favorite drink besides water and coffee is Ginger Ale.  My husband knows this.  He also knew I was out of ginger ale.  Another thing he knows I enjoy is basil pesto spread on warm toast.  He doesn't share my enthusiasm for pesto on toast, but that didn't keep him from searching the grocery shelves to find a jar for me.  Anyone can grab a bouquet of flowers for their sweetie for Valentine's Day.  But my guy knew I like flowers that last longer than a couple of days.  Therefore he chose the cheapest variety--carnations.  And by that he did two things.  He didn't spend a lot of money, which he knows I hate for him to do.  And he got me flowers to brighten my winter day and beyond.

One would assume a Valentine card would in itself be a "given"--every man can do that.  But once he arrived at the car to sign the card he had purchased, he discovered it hadn't been included in with his groceries.  So what does he do?  He goes down the street and purchases another one.  That's love.  Beyond the call of duty.  Thinking of things I enjoy, and yes, I could purchase myself.  Behind every item was a thought of me.  What she likes.  What would cause her to smile.  What would appeal to her tastebuds.  What would let her know I love her just the way she is...weird tastes and all.

His love is so much more valuable than sentiment.  His sensitivity more touching than anyone's I know.  I thought of Valentine's Days past.  A fully decorated car with chocolates and cards and streamers.  A room filled with hearts hanging from all parts of the room.   A homemade card from his computer (which he hates to even turn on).   So many gestures.  So many memories.  And so much more than Valentines.  I do not deserve such a man.  But I'm keeping him anyway.  [copyrighted,selahvtoday,2007]