SelahV Today by hariette petersen

It's One of Those Nights

You know the one--wide awake at midnight.

It's when sleep is just far enough beyond your mind's grasp that it cannot hold onto it.

And so, you think.

Your mind wanders down paths of yesterday, where regrets are hidden in silly memories--where losses crowd your thoughts with sadness. You long for a moment with that person who knew you almost better than you know yourself.

You wish you could hear their voice-- the one that excitedly greeted you, just because it's you at the other end of the phone.

I miss my dad,

my brother,

my son.

Each was always thrilled to hear me call. I can recall conversations with them as clearly as if it were today. None of them was too busy to take my call, nor did they ever wince that it was me on the other end of the line--or let on that I interrupted whatever they were doing. With all my heart, I know this to be true. And I really, really miss them because of that.

Sometimes, in the darkness of the night, I wonder if anyone will miss my calls when I am gone. I'm sure my husband will. But midnight darkness has a funny way of illuminating stark realities, sometimes. Brings to mind a quote I once read:

“When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Think about that a moment. City lights often hide those stars.

Daylight is too bright to notice the light that rests beyond the sun. Often, darker, quiet times reveal what lies hidden from our view.

Daylight is so filled with busyness and noise. We fail to see the value of familiarity amid the crowd of fresh faces in everyday places. Schedules, duties, appointments, and lifestyle demand our attention. We do not stop to contemplate that someone we care about may not be there tomorrow--or that they might enjoy hearing from us today. We're just so busy living life, until...

...until life ends for that someone dear-- then we stop long enough to grieve and wonder what was the last thing we said to them.

The last time daddy talked to me, he sang me a song he made up about loving God.

The last time my brother talked to me, he told me he was afraid to die. Not that he feared for where he was going...he believed he'd be seeing Jesus, our deceased brother and my son. He just didn't know what would happen to his daughter and wife--and he didn't know how painful the cancer would get before God took him home. I remember saying something like, the same God you trust to greet you, will meet the needs of those you leave behind. And I cried.

The last time I spoke to my son, he said, "I love you, momma."

Tomorrow I'll try and talk to my dear loved ones-- in the midst of their living. When I do, I'll savor the moments and store their words within my heart and mind. Will you? ~selahVtoday

 

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Living with Chronic Pain, How to Help when You Cannot Change a Thing

I've been dealing with Chronic Pain for several years. It's annoying. It's sometimes excruciating. It interferes with every single thing I do:

Sleeping, sitting, walking

standing, bending, turning around,

showering, getting dressed or styling my hair,

reading a book, cooking, gardening, crafting, and more--much more.

Of late, it interferes the most with my writing. There's no energy left in me after battling to get out of bed, fix a bowl of cereal and take my medicines and supplements. As time has passed, I've learned my limitations. I've accepted them. Others have a harder time accepting them--or understanding them.

It began with what some would call "normal" aches. It's complicated. The article below explains it as perfectly as I can imagine trying to describe. I find it difficult to read one sentence and not be able to relate to it. If you know someone or love someone who suffers from chronic pain... please read the link below. Share it with others. It helps to know people understand-- even though they cannot physically help or change a thing. selahV

Open Letter from a Person with Chronic Pain.

 

Marriage Begins after the Wedding

Some folks think the "wedding" is marriage. But, marriage is so much more than a beautiful day of childhood dreams.

THE RECESSIONAL: After the bride and groom are pronounced man and wife, they walk down that aisle together and leave behind respective mothers, fathers, family and guests. It is they and they alone who are to walk on into life and take the journey of marriage and commitment. As parents and guests follow, they become the support system behind them. Or at least, they should.  Don't you think?

My Knight in Shining Armor

Last Friday I had an appointment with a neurologist to see if they could determine what is causing this crazy vertigo I have.  "It's not normal", says my ENT.

However, last Friday, I didn't want to leave the house because the threat of ice and sleet was all but certain for our roadways.  I've come to really trust what our meterologist, Austin Bowling, tells us on Channel 7.  Parts of our area were already being hit early in the early a.m., but it hadn't hit us on the eastend of my county here in Oklahoma, yet.  I considered canceling my appointment, but appreciated the fact I'd gotten in to see this specialist as soon as I did and didn't want to postpone it.

So I donned my heavy red sweater, new red gloves and wrapped two winter scarves around my head, then grabbed my cane and waddled out the door to my Prius.  It was bitter cold, as you all know due to the windchill factor.  We were down to 28 degrees and bitter north wind wrenched my scarfs from my neck with every step. Thirty minutes later, I arrived at Southwest Medical Center, and gratefully parked my car relatively close, and went inside. However I was in the wrong building.  So I had to waddle back out, crawl back inside my car and go to the otherside of the Hospital. This time I wasn't so blessed. I had to park farther away from the building.  Yeah. They had handicap parking up close, but I've never applied for one of those tags. Figured there is plenty of handicapped folks more handicapped than me and until I reached a point where it's near impossible to walk, I'll let the wounded soldiers in our area and all the other handicapped folks have those spaces. (I confess...I sure thought it woulda been nice at that particular moment though.) 

I entered at 10:45 a.m. and walkways were still dry.  After waiting for 45 minutes in the office, I'd called my husband, and he said it had started icing over in area.  I wasn't concerned so much about driving in the icy rain (hadn't driven in New England for 15 years without developing courage on icy roads).  My concern was walking on ice with my cane.  I envisioned myself slipping on the sidewalks and cracking my already messed up noggin beyond fixing. By the time I finished with my doctor the clock was hugging 1:45 p.m..

Enter my Knight in Shining Armor (well, actually he looked more like Santa with his bright red car-coat)...but...

I'm checking out of the doctor's office and hubby calls.

"Which building are you in?"

I tell him and he tells me when I'm done to meet him in the lobby with my car key and he'll get my car and bring it to me. 

So...I meet him downstairs about 20 minutes later, and he says, "take a seat".  I watch him trek out to my car in the freezing rain. People came and went in the lobby as my husband warms up and scrapes all the ice off my car.  Then hubby drives the car around to the Medical office curb, walks me to my car, puts me inside, kisses me good-bye and sends me on my merry way home.  He goes back to his truck and returns to work. 

Was I grateful?  You betcha.  Not just for that day and that relief, but that the Lord blessed me with such a thoughtful knight-in-shining-armor over forty-nine years ago.

One man in the lobby of the medical building lobby said to me as he watched my husband helping me, "Chivalry is not dead, yet."  And I replied, "neither is love."

A SIMPLE GOSPEL: "The Light is where Jesus Is"

I was just about ready to get up and go next door to check on the girls because their mommy had just left to run some errands when Kinsey popped through my door and asked if she could call her mommy.  She'd found a brand new paint brush and wanted to use it.  "What are you going to paint?"  She hesitated. 

"I don't know."  I could tell the paint brush was one of the cheap craft-brushes so I was sure my daughter wouldn't mind if Kinsey used it.  However, the question racing around in my mind was what did she plan on painting. Visions of her doll house, and walls streaked through my mind.  I said, "But, Kinsey, I need to know what you are going to paint before I call your mommy."  Kinsey looked frustrated and shrugged her shoulders, her eyes went back and forth like she was searching her mind for an answer.  

"Haylee's painting," she reasoned.  Uh oh.  I thought they were in their rooms playing with Barbies.  Definitely time to go next door and check out the action.  I should have known they were too quiet. 

"What is Haylee painting?"

"I don't know." My heart skipped a beat.

"Where is Haylee painting?"

"In the office."  When we got to Mommy's office, my heart settled down.  Haylee was painting gold hearts on paper.  Whew...was I happy.  Haylee showed me where they'd found the paint brushes and sure enough they were craft-brushes.  They both asked if we'd call Mommy to see if it was okay to use the paint brush.  I knew it was okay, but to relieve their minds, we called.  Mommy said it was fine as long as they were in play clothes, "they know what not to wear".  Haylee (who'd already been painting and dripped a few drops on their school desk), immediately started taking off her top.  Kinsey stripped off her sweat pants.  Now we're getting somewhere.  I then suggested we go next door to my kitchen table.  They were all for that.  I got out some paper for painting acrylics.  I pulled their hair back in ponytails, pinned back their bangs and got Haylee a paint shirt to wear (yes, I keep paint-shirts for such occasions).  I poured various colored paints into an empty plastic egg carton and they began to paint.  I went back to my writing.

"Haylee, my cross is ugly."

"No, it's not.  It's the best cross I ever saw."

Thirty minutes later they brought their masterpieces to me to view.

I affirmed and extolled their work.  I told Haylee what a nice job she did.  I didn't mention it, but she'd obviously learned from the last lesson I gave her on filling in all the white space on the paper. She even made the grass two shades and made the blades growing up instead of across the page.  She put her sun behind the cross.  I was impressed. Then Kinsey shared hers with me.  She hadn't filled in the sky, nor had she remembered about the way the grass grew...but I didn't say a word.  It seemed she had a bigger picture in mind as she interpreted the details of her painting:

"I put the light behind the cross.  'Cuz Jesus came alive after He was on it. And the Light is where Jesus is."

Simple truth.  Simple Gospel.  Don't you think?  selahV

"Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

Little Things

...mean more to me than big things.  I don't know why.  They just do.  I've found my greatest pleasures in going through old photos of my kids and grandchildren... and thinking about a particular slice of life, a comical antic, a conversation, that could never be repeated with the same intensity, excitement or joy as the moment it first occurred. 

A couple of weeks ago, my hubby and I pulled into our driveway after church and I spotted a huge tumbleweed on the side of the road in the ditch.  All the years I've lived in Oklahoma, it was the first one I'd ever seen. I'd seen bits and pieces of one...but none so big, so intact.  I was flat out tickled.  I was tempted to bring it in and hang it from the rafters (hubby's disinterest nixed that idea.  I visualized a decorative arrangement of sorts, but wasn't about to share my vision.  Instead, I explained I wanted to show it to the girls.  He didn't seem the least bit impressed as he drove on down the gravel drive towards the house.  I wasn't going to whine, I just opened the car door and hobbled on into the house.  I poured a cup of coffee and was about to settle  down into my recliner when in through the back door came my husband with the tumbleweed in his hand.  Delight filled my heart.

I could hardly wait till the girls got home; I was pretty certain they'd never seen a bonafide tumbleweed. I couldn't have asked for a better day to set a tumbleweed in motion.  The north wind was blustering gusts at 20 to 30 mph in our field.  When the girls arrived, I grabbed my camera to take photos of them holding it.  I told them they were going to put it on the ground to watch it.

"What's it gonna do?" Kinsey asked as she grabbed the tumbleweed.

"Wait, wait!  I don't have my shoes on," Haylee complained.  An early morning rain had saturated the ground so when the girls walked out on the ground Haylee's shoeless feet got soaked.  They were giddy with excitement until Haylee got irritated about her wet socks and cold feet.  What seemed a great idea for one, turned a bit sour for the other.  I dare say, that's about how life is on many occasions.  Even the greatest event can sometimes be dampened by one thing or another.  But, it doesn't have to destroy the experience.

Such was the case when those girls let that tumbleweed loose and watched it blow across the Oklahoma plains.  When I took the last photo of the big release, we cheered (or maybe it was just me), then we watched it tumble over and over again into the field.  They wondered how far it would go and mused about its final destination.  I don't know if they will remember the day we released a tumbleweed, I doubt my husband knows how much it meant to me when he brought it through our kitchen door.  Within seconds the girls were off to play with their dolls, my husband to watch his football game-- our tumbleweed forgotten.

Such excitement rarely lingers more than a few moments in any given experience.  For most folks, events are rarely big enough to conjure up memories in days ahead.  I suppose this could never compare to the moment they learned to swim, the thrill of bungee jumping, or the first time they drive a car.  Still, someday, another tumbleweed may blow into their lives as this one blew into mine.  Perhaps they'll want their husband to get it so they can share it with their grandchildren.  And maybe, just maybe, they'll discover the little things that meant so much to Grama, were not so little after all.  selahV

The MERCIFUL Thing To Do

Last week was a low-point in my life.  As sixty-three-plus years flew by, I’ve witnessed death in many forms: cats poisoned by neighbors, favorite dogs hit by cars and trucks.  As a minister's wife, I've spent many hours at the bedside of dying family members; and sat with them alongside caskets as friends came by to show their respects for the life they knew.  I've hugged teens who lost grandparents, parents and siblings. I've hugged parents who lost their teens and spouses.  Death...From grandparents, to my own children, strangers, friends.  From accidental deaths to suicides.  I buried my granddaughters' daddy.  Death is no stranger to me.

You'd think I could handle putting a suffering dog out of his misery.  Such a humane act seemed like the merciful thing to do.

I've written quite a few times about Rowdy over my blogging years.  He's provided great subject material and given me several analogies for life (see below).  His spirit and stamina are second to none other dog I ever knew.  Even the amputation of his front leg did not deter his determination to root out Oklahoma armadillos, skunks and snakes.  He literally kept coyotes from the door.  When his lone, front leg finally failed to support his 91 pounds of mete strength, it broke my heart. No longer could he lift himself to walk.  He scooted on his belly, pushing himself with his virile back legs.  From the porch to the field, he pushed himself in an effort to relieve himself away from the house.  Then he'd push himself back to lie in the shade for the day.  I carried water to him and fed him hotdogs stuffed with extra-strength Tylenol by hand.  Each time I came near, he wagged his stubby nub of a tail.  He looked into my eyes with all the trust and devotion he’d shown since I loaded him in my Astro van and hauled him back to my daughter's house to live with us following my son's death.

I knew it was time.  I knew his days had come to an end.  I sat and patted his head, scratched his ears, and listened to him groan with pleasure.  His buddy, Minnie, stood guard by him and seemed to begin a mourning process of her own.

I drove down to Texas to get my son's daughter so she could say goodbye.  I made the appointment with the vet.  It was the merciful thing to do.  I took pictures of him with my two youngest granddaughters so they'd have a tangible memory to hold.  My eldest grandson drove a tractor in the woods and dug out a 4-foot grave.  I prayed (as did other internet friends), that my grandson's broken foot would not be damaged further by his act of compassion for me.  He and my daughter loaded him into the back of her Suburban, so we could take him to the vet.  I placed an old quilt in the trunk which my granddaughters once used on their beds in Texas. We'd wrap him in that after...

The vet's staff carried him in for us so my grandson didn't have to stand on his booted foot.  Waiting for the vet to treat other animals was not easy.  Rowdy sat there staring at us, whining, then panting wildly, coughing now and then.  His ears perked up and he wagged his stub.  It was hard to believe he was so sick.  I rubbed his ears to keep him calm.  My grandson talked soothingly to him and patted his thick neck.  We chatted about different things to avoid talking about the obvious.  The merciful thing to do.

Tears rolled down my face in waves as the vet shaved Rowdy's front leg so she could find a vein to insert the overdose of anesthesia. Rowdy didn't have a good vein...I suppose he was already "shutting down".  I'd so prayed the Lord would take him so I wouldn't have to do "the merciful thing".  The vet explained to me what would happen with Rowdy and told me I could pet him as she inserted the needle in his vein and put him to sleep forever.  As I patted his head and stroked his ears the last time, I recalled the sweet memories of him, and the annoyances. I pondered his connection with my son.  No words can express how my heart felt to watch the act of mercy.  One second he’s staring at me…the next his eyes closed shut, his breath stopped, and he is gone.   Lifeless.  And it was my choice to do it.

Oh, yes…Rowdy was suffering--how much, I do not know; he could not say.  I know when he tried to stand on that front leg he whimpered in pain.  His labored to breathe.  He choked each time he ate the third piece of hotdog stuffed with Tylenol.  He choked and sputtered when he drank from the pan of water I kept near his chest.  Yet, to order Rowdy’s death crushed my heart in a million pieces.  My son's teenage daughter told me it was like "losing another part of Dad".  I don't know how long I'll struggle with what I did--the thing of mercy that feels so unmerciful.  I still haven't reconciled myself with the fact that I had Rowdy’s life snuffed out.

It made me consider the heart of God when He gave His permission for soldiers to nail His only begotten Son to a rugged, humiliating cross.  He watched him suffer a sacrificial death and make the payment for our sin. God in His mercy, gave His life, in Jesus, so we might live eternally.  And on that dark day, I sincerely doubt it made God feel any better than I--even though it was the merciful thing to do.  selahV

ONE FIRE KINDLES ANOTHER

BANDAIDS DON'T FIX EVERYTHING

I CAN'T HELP IT, HE IS FAMILY

HOPELESS SITUATIONS

 

WERE YOU AMUSED On April Fool's Day? I wonder...

This past Sunday, April 1st, 2012 marked a variety of things for me in my life.  One, it was a blessed day because we celebrated my husband's birthday. We gave him a Kindle and made a crown from the wrapper.

This year he is in the last year of his sixties.  I cannot believe he is going to turn 70 next year. It marks a milestone of sorts because it's within one month of the major heart attack he had on May 8th, 2007.  The doctors told him that most men who have the damage he had to his heart are not around to talk about it 5 years later.  I suppose that is because most men don't have a wife like me who makes him mind his "P's and Q's", eat properly, take medications faithfully, and exercise regularly.  I was so grateful to be celebrating his special day. 

The day is bittersweet for our family.  My son who was killed on Mother's Day of 2005 was not here to give my husband his annual Boston Red Sox cap.  The fact that April 1st comes and goes without Chad's presence leaves a void, only God can fill.  And He does. With family surrounding us and sharing one another's love.

Another thing about April 1st in our family is my sister-in-law, Valerie, married her husband that day in honor of her dear brother.  But Val's husband died last year of mouth cancer that he battled for several years.  So, she was meeting her anniversary without him.  It was a hard day. I spent some time trying to encourage and comfort her with empathy I learned through the loss of my son.  She emailed and told me she was too messed up to even call her brother and wish him Happy Birthday.  We understood.  Completely.  Sometimes the pain is too fresh, too deep and too difficult to even pick up the phone, nevermind, call someone to wish them happiness when we should have been able to return the greeting with a Happy Anniversary.  She sent me a sweet email the next day about the grace of God.  I sent her an email back with a link to a super uplifting song about how Mom's look the other way when their sons are not all they want them to be.  She has two sons.  Val said she cried again, but that time it was a good kinda cry.  Emotions ran from one spectrum to the other on Sunday.

Of all things, one of my best email buddies, whom I've known since I started blogging in 2006, emailed to tell me her first grandchild arrived on...drum-roll please. April 1st.  I'm so excited for her.  What a joy to hear!

Couple that with the wonderful fact that we were able to have our son's two girls with us to celebrate my husband's birthday dinner, and that both my shift-working grandsons had schedules that allowed them to be with us to celebrate the big 69, it turned out to be a wonderful day.  My daughter's girls and my son's girls and I went for a meadow-walk in the back 40 acres.

It was so much fun to watch them gather wildflowers and ooh and aah at the horses and new foal, which the horses would not let us near. (click on photos to enlarge)

To top it off, it was Palm Sunday, the Sunday before Easter.  We celebrated how Christ entered Jerusalem to the praises of the multitudes and the shouts of Hosanna!  What a perfect way for us to fuse our celebration remembrances of earthly things to the eternal remembrance of our King. Celebrations. Praises. 

Some folks may be amused to take April 1st and concoct ridiculous hoaxes, and treat folks as FOOLS. Some folks find sport in spending the day thinking up ways to trick others into believing a lie for their own pleasure and amusement. You wouldn't believe the jokes my husband has had played on him at times. This year we got a flat tire on our way back from Texas from picking up our granddaughters. Nail in the tire. Not funny.

However, something unique and significant occurred this year-- much different than most years.  And some folks paid no mind to it.  They had no regard to what might be objectionable...or dishonorable for remembering Christ's entrance to Jerusalem, or His weeklong preparation to shed His blood on the cross for us.  I do wonder sometimes what in the world we find amusing about some things made for secular godless thought.  As I considered sharing this post, I happened to open an email I received.

And I opened up a devotional from Dr. Adrian Rogers delivered to my email several hours ago from his daily devotional site.  In light of all the events and circumstances which surrounded my life the last few days, and the life of Christ so many years ago on Palm Sunday, I found it rather ironic that Dr. Rogers shared the origin of the word "AMUSE":

"It's a combination of two words. Muse means to think, and the alpha prefix in front of it means "not to."

Perhaps that is the major problem with us in the world today.  We want to amuse ourselves with basketball, Nascar, hoaxes, and pranks at another's loss or expense.  We want to amuse ourselves, please ourselves, and don't think what it may cost another for our amusement and pleasure.  We fail to take time to consider the marvels of our Creator as we rush about our day to amuse ourselves.  We muse amiss.  And when our muse gets away from us, our thinking is out of control.  Simply put, we don't think. We don't think about feelings.  We don't think about consequence. We don't think about another's perception.  Nor do we think about God's.  And that may be the least amusing thing about "April Fools Day" to date.  If so, the joke is on us, don't you think?  selahV

Defining Moments and Turning Points

Certain times in life define the course we take.  The actual time and date is not as pertinent to us as the character we have when a circumstance intersects with our lives. The people surrounding us in that very moment, and how we act or react to those circumstances, determines the course the next hour is lived, and eventually the next hour or decade.

I've lived nearly 64 years.  One would think I would have learned a lot by now.  I grew up in a strictly authoritarian home.  I loved my dad, as little girls do.  But my dad was a man who brooked no arguments.  His law was law.  No grey areas.  No wishy washy inconsistency.  When Daddy said no...it was no.  When he said yes, it was yes.  Whining and complaining got me no where.  Tears carried no weight.

Our dinner table was set for Daddy, myself, my younger step-brother and two elder biological brothers.  I sat across from my father most of the time.  My stepbrother sat to my right.  My eldest brother sat next to dad, and my middle brotherto his left at the of the table. We did not talk.  We did not share our day.  No one asked what we thought, or what had gone on in our day.

My step-mother never ever ever sat down to eat with us.  She placed the food on the table and served my father whenever he needed something.  If we had bean soup and she gave him a soup spoon, he'd push it across the table and grumble, "if I wanted a shovel I would have asked for it."  My step-mother cowered and scrambled to get him a teaspoon.  Some nights he wanted hot coffee; sometimes he wanted ice-tea.  Momma never quite knew what he wanted, nor did it seem, she felt free to ask.  One time she gave him a teaspoon to stir the sugar in his ice-tea.  It was too short for the tall glass.  He pulled it out of the glass, tossed it across the table and barked, "What good is this?"  Momma scrambled to find him a soup-spoon.  He wanted scrambled eggs each morning, but he didn't want to hear her beat the eggs.  He stood in the middle of the living room and say he needed a tee-shirt.  Momma got him what he stated he wanted.  He never asked; he ordered.  He never said thank-you.  He never said please. He never offered one word of affirmation or gratitude.

After each meal, my step-mother cleared the table; my brothers and I took turns washing the dishes from dinner and all the dishes accumulated throughout the day. Each night I either washed or dried, depending on which my brothers preferred doing.  It was woman's work, after all.  I knew my place.  Sometimes my brothers had other chores, or homework. And I would do both the washing and the drying, regardless of my homework assignments.  Daddy would read his paper, then leave home.  While we did dishes, my step-mother would eat a few cold leftovers. 

My father was an incredible man.  The entire community lauded him.  He was a hard working servant.  He worked as a plumber-pipefitter on the base in Quantico, Virginia by day.  At night he volunteered for the Fire-department and Rescue Squad.  "Such a wonderful father you have," I'd hear people say.  "Such a good man."  I had nothing to compare to "wonderful" and "good".  So I accepted that what Daddy did was what all men did.  They brook no arguments.  Whatever they want is what is done.  All the complaints in the world did nothing for my step-mother, but find her face to his back as he went out the door. She learned to walk on egg shells, and I watched her settle into her place in life.

Defining moments for me.

Defining experiences and circumstances.

Men do what they do.  Women submit.  Women serve in silence, or watch doors slam shut in their faces.  What they say must be acceptable and approved by men, or they'll see spoons they offer rejected, and words they utter rebuked.  They have no recourse. Rules are made by men, and rules are altered to suit men when men choose to alter them.  Women have no opinions.  They have no voice. That was my life as a child.

Somewhere between the orders barked for tee-shirts, and complaints for how eggs were fried, I resolved never, ever to have a man like my father as a husband.  God blessed me beyond any resolve I imagined.

No friends; we are not totally bound by yesterday, because our Lord says he gives us "new mercies each morning". Yet, each yesterday carries its own set of experiences that guide us, inspire and edify us, or...sadly..

destroy us...and put us in our place--without recourse.

No matter what success we have in yesterday to build upon dreams, and life-long ministries, today brings its own intersections of people.  And sometimes...

sometimes we find ourselves sitting at the kitchen table with the family all around us...silenced, without a voice.  It's these times we must choose to shut up or speak up.  To wilt and wither, or stand tall and deliver.  The choice is ours.  It's not always easy;  it's not always fun.  It's not always popular when all is said and done.  But growing in grace gives power to the flower, and strength for each hour.  One moment at a time.  selahV

 

Heart of Clay, A Whisper from God

Sometimes in life God whispers to me.  He solidifies my thoughts and affirms my walk with butterflies, honeybees, and well...this time, a clay heart.

Since my son died in 2005, I have felt an incredible burden to continue doing things I know he would want to do with his daughters.  Chad absolutely adored his girls and loved doing things with them.  He loved to take them to feed the ducks, bike-riding, the park.  He crammed more things into an hour than I normally do in 6.  He loved life.  He didn't just take his girls to the park.  He sat in the sand-pit and showed 3-year-old Abby how to push sand into a styrofoam cup with her little hand because it would crack if she tried to use it as a scoop.  He played on the monkey bars and slid down the slides.  He sat in the swings and swung high in the air.  He spent hours on the beach pointing out different crustaceans as he collected the shells with his girls.

Chad loved to take his girls to picnic on Mt. Scott in Wichita Mountains.  There, he would hike through the boulders.  When they tired, he'd rest beneath the gnarled trees and stare at the clouds.  He was infatuated with life.  He shared that infatuation with perfect patience when it came to his daughters.  He often stopped along the roadway and picked wildflowers with the girls.  He climbed trees with them.  He showed them the moon, the stars, and played in the rain and rain puddles with them.

I feel so inadequate in sharing life with his girls.  I want them to love life as he loved it.  I want them to see life with the same curiosity, pleasure, expectation, and joy that he did.  I want them to know that side of life in all its fullness.  However, as I age, there is less and less of me able to do this.  I often wonder if my efforts are enough.  I wonder if I am foolish to want this for them.  I wonder if I'm stuck in some kind of psychotic frenzy of grief-reconciliation.

When I took the girls on a walk through the woods at our new house, I wanted them to capture a chunk of joy and happiness as we went.  I didn't know if what I'd show them would matter at all.  I knew Abby, ten, would enjoy the fallen trees I'd discovered.  I knew she'd love to climb them.  I believed Brooklyn would, as well.  However, Brooklyn is now fourteen.  Her life is full of social interaction, soccer, track, basketball, and volleyball.  Grass does not grow beneath her feet.  Would a walk through the woods mean anything to her?  Would she be bored?  Was I foolish to want to share what I felt their dad would have wanted to share with them?  Could I  connect?  Chad's words echoed in my mind, "They don't need alot to entertain them, Mom.  They love little things."

Those are some of the thoughts running through my mind as they both climbed tree-trunks and balanced themselves as if on tightropes.  I showed them a thorn-tree with 6-inch thorns.  As we walked further, we found more thorn trees.

Brooklyn found a shovel at the shack in the woods that her cousin had built.  She found pleasure in digging into the thick layers of grey and adobe colored Oklahoma clay earth.  I snapped pictures of giant billowing cumulus clouds in the background of their explorations.  We laughed, we talked, we reminisced.  I felt happy.  I knew they were, too.

Just as we were about to leave, I spotted a rock on the ground.  It was tan with an imprint of adobe red in the center.  It was an abstract heart.  I felt like the Lord put that heart right there, just for me to find that very moment in time.  It was like God was whispering.  Yeah...Chad is glad you're doing this, my child.  Help his girls see the joy of little things in life.  Of quiet times.  Of nature's peace and My handiwork.  Remind them that I am good, I am with them in every area of their lives.  And remember: "Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it." Isaiah 30:21  Remind them of that, too. selahV

Another's Loss

My husband's sister lost her husband today.  He died this morning after a long battle with cancer which eventually went to his brain.  I covet your prayers for Valerie and her family.  Thanks.  selahV for Today

TICKLED TO PEDDLE PINK amid the howling beasts

I love pink.  I like pink dresses, pink blankets and pink roses.  I love pastel blue, lavendar and pale green.  Anything that's soft and feminine, to me, is ideal to lavish upon my darling granddaughters.

I read an article on AOL a few weeks ago about an author who is opposed to pink being peddled to our precious little girls.  Seems she is not just against girls prancing about in pretty pettifores; she doesn't like the princess-image being force-fed to girls via fairytales...there are no Prince Charmings or White Knights.  Very few girls grow up to be princesses.  If I didn't know better, I'd think most girls grow up expecting to live in vine-covered castles, fulfilling fantasy marriages complete with twittering birds and talking mice at their beck and call.  The villains sucking the brains from our vulnerable little girls are Disney's line of princesses: Cinderella, Snow White, Beauty, Mulan, Sleeping Beauty, and of course, that wicked Little Mermaid.

According to Parent Dish's Tom Henderson, the author of "Cinderella Ate My Daughter", Peggy Orenstein, offers an ominous outcome for girly-girl imaging.  She is concerned the "prince" her daughter marries and vows to love and protect her will run off and marry nurse-Nancy as soon as he's finished dental school.  After all, once a Beast, always a beast. 

I might agree with her position if not for one thing.  Reality.  I grew up in the age of Barbie and Ken.  My sister-in-law passed her collection of Barbies onto my little girl.  Although Barbie donned a fresh gown every time she twirled around, she also had attire complete with briefcase and hard hats.  Barbie portrayed a working gal.  Yeah...that liberated woman who brought home her own bacon and wouldn't let Ken open her pink car door.  She could be a nurse one day and a doctor the next; a model in a gown or a CEO in a three-piece pantsuit and tie.  I do not recall one apron or rolling pin in the pink plastic wardrobe.  It's an absolute miracle my daughter grew up to be a stay-at-home wife who raised three children and is now homeschooling her two little girls.

But back to the princess plight.  I was fortunate; Cinderella didn't eat my daughter.  She grew up reading all the fairytales and watching happily-ever-after movies.  She wore pink and played with Barbie.  But she lived in the real world, unspoiled, and learning what it is to be a Proverbs 31 virtuous woman.  She didn't model herself after the folly of the world because we brought her up in the admonition of the Lord and prayed with her, over her, and for her throughout her life.  And no, life has not always been a rose-garden.  But she's learned how to pull the thorns from her thumbs and move on.  Sometimes the brambles seem overwhelming as they wrap around her life.  But in these times I'm glad to see she's developed the character of all those Disney princesses who suffer unkindness, calamity, and misfortune.  She's stood strong and uncompromising.  Though buffeted by life's storms, she still looks to the One Who calms the waves and trusts He will speak as only the Prince of Peace can.

In the meantime we paint pink playrooms, buy pink bows and purchase princess pajamas.  We crown the girls with jeweled tiaras.  And as we sip sweet tea from our china tea-cups, we delight in telling them they are, indeed, princesses--that someday they'll wear a robe of white and dine at the table of the King of Kings.  selahV

ANOTHER POST YOU MAY ENJOY at my "Feminine Matters" blog.

 

LIFE OF A HAMMOCK

Shredded gaps, like a balding head, expose its age.  Strands of rope fall loosely from the wooden bar that once held the netting securely in place.  No longer can one lie in its cradle and gaze at the season's changing pecan limbs.  It's finished its course, its race is over.  Three years of swinging, swaying and hanging beneath the shade, the sun, ice, snow, and rain has taken its toll.

It's been more than rope macramed together to form a hammock.  It's been a nest of memories...joy, laughter, fun, and meditation.

It now reveals the test of time.  It's a bit sad...especially on a December day like today.  It's 74 degrees.  Instead of last year's blizzard, it feels like Spring.  Good old Oklahoma.  I just never know what weather I'll experience on any given day.  That's why I left the hammock up year-round.  I didn't have the heart to take it down and place it in hibernation.

Do you think Santa has any hammocks in his sack?

If not, I suppose memories must suffice.  selahV    

HER FIRST CHRISTMAS

From Iraq to America...life is different.  Language.  Street signs.  Clothing.  Stores.  Food. Customs.  Holidays.  Faith.  Almost everything is different.  But some things are the same.

Needs.  Emotions.  Desires.

Within the soul of every person lies a need: to eat, to sleep, to drink, to love, to hope...to be free.  And to have a friend who cares.

Ever have someone answer the door with an expression abandoned to sheer delight?  That is what it is like to go knock on my friend, Linda's door.  I cannot tell you how humbling that is.  To know someone you've known for so short awhile is so happy to see you....to have them get excited for the next visit...to drink in your words even though it is a struggle to understand them all.  No expectations for you to perform--just glad to have your company.

This is her first Christmas.  I am excited.  We begin with the Gingerbread House making fellowship at church on Friday night.  I have another friend who will help Linda with her house as I work with my granddaughters on theirs.

Ours is the fifth one since their daddy died.  It's tradition....it's joy that sticks with you the whole year.  Try it, you'll like it.

Need help?  Check out THIS /LINK and you'll see how easy it is to build one with graham crackers and a bit of candy.

As Americans we take so much for granted.  Freedom to celebrate our Savior's birth.  Freedom to make Gingerbread Houses in our churches without fear of a bomb being dropped on our heads.  Freedom...in Christ.  Makes you want to praise the Lord, huh?  selahV 

CALL FOR PRAYER AND CHARITY BOOKSALE

[UPDATE: God is soooo good.  No longer need any donations.  Please keep praying for Allan's situation and if you want to purchase any of the books on my list, they are still for sale]

 I've told you about my brother, Allan.  His lung cancer is contained in the one lung.  He will decide this Thursday what treatment to do for it--surgery, radiation or chemo.  Please pray for him because any of these are going to be extremely difficult. He is 6'1 and weighs only 110 pounds.  He cannot stand to lose weight, so I don't know what they will decide.

His inability to breathe qualified him for 24-hour oxygen. He has 50-feet of tubing so he can get around the house when necessary. He spends his days, alone, in his bedroom. Occasionally he gets up to make a little meal and let his Labrador and German shepherd outside.  He lives in Connecticut, a two-day minimum trip by car for me (which I cannot take due to my back problems, even if I had the money to go, which I don't).

Herein lies the need and burden I have.

I want to get him a laptop computer so he and I can converse on-line and also, so he can Google and blog and play with it.  I am going to sell books to pay for it and the router and stuff needed to connect him to the world wide websites.  If you see a book you would like to purchase (from the list I will post soon in my left sidebar and keep updated), please let me know and I'll get it out to you. Just email me at selahvtoday@ aol.com. For the most part, these books are brand new.  I get some in exchange for devotional writing I do.

Of course, I shouldn't be proud...so I come to you with great humility asking if you'd care to make a small donation (I realize the economy is rough on everyone), I'd be so very grateful, and would pray down heavy-duty blessings upon you for your generosity.

If you have a book or two that you could sell on your own website for Allan and share some of the proceeds, that would be super, too.

For now, I am offering the following books for sale:

FOOL MOON rising, by Kristi and T. Lively Flaherty...a hard-back illustrated children's book about Pride, with scientific details in the back.  Retails for 14.99; I have SIX of these for 9.00 each and FREE shipping. BRAND NEW.

MANLEY BEASLEY, Man of Faith--Instrument of Revival, a biography of sorts by Ron Owens.  Retails for and I have one for 7.00 and 2.00 shipping. EX. COND.

the Jesus Storybook Bible, A hardback children's illustrated bible/book by Sally Lloyd-Jones; retails for 21.99;...I have one of these for 10.00 and 2.00 shipping. BRAND NEW.

HEAVEN IS FOR REAL, by Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent, retails for 16.99 and I have one I read for a review which I offer for 6.00 and 2.00 shipping.  Excellent condition.

WHOSOEVER WILL by David Allen and Steve Lemke; retails for 24.99; I have one for 10.00 and 2.00 shipping.  BRAND NEW.

PLEASING GOD, by RC Sproul, (paperback) retails for 9.99, Have one for 4.00 and 2.00 shipping  GOOD COND.

THE SOUL'S QUEST FOR GOD, by RC Sproul; hardback, retails for ??? selling for 5.00 plus 2.00 shipping.  NEW

LORD, IS IT WARFARE? TEACH ME TO STAND, by Kay Arthur; paperback; retails for 13.99; selling for 5.00 plus 2.00 shipping.  NEW. 

A HANDBOOK FOR MINISTERS' WIVES, by Dorothy Kelley Patterson; hardback; retails for 16.99; selling for 5.00 plus 2.00 shipping.  NEW.

OSWALD CHAMBERS Abandoned to God; by David McCasland; hardback; The Life Story of the Author of MY UTMOST FOR HIS HIGHEST; retails for ??? selling for 6.00 plus 2.00 shipping.  NEW.

MORE TO COME...selahV

          

CANCER and My Brother

So, Allan called me today.  "It's cancer," he said.

That would be bad enough in itself, but his emphysema and COPD leaves him with lungs operating at about 28%. He can barely walk to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, or bowl of soup without having a coughing episode.  Walking to the mailbox to get his morning paper is a long arduous journey.  I don't know what the immediate future holds for my brother as far as treatment, options, and prognosis.  Even the most treatable of cancers will involve risks for him to consider.  I ask one thing of you, my faithful readers:

Please pray for those around him to show compassion and concern and mercy.  That's all I ask--that his last days and months are filled with some people who care about how he feels.  Thanks so much.  selahV

IF SHE WAS PRESIDENT...

Six-year-old Haylee crawled up into my lap today.  She is very concerned these days about our president.  She wants to know how much longer before we get a new one.  She must have been giving it a lot of thought because she asked, "Grama, can a girl be president?" 

"When she grows up, yes she can."

"If I was president, I have some decisions I would make."

"Really?  What would you do if you were president?"

"I'd make everybody be nice and not make fun of people like that man on television."

I won't tell you who the man on television was.  Suffice it to say, he probably wouldn't even have flinched at the child's reproof.  She's always coming up with questions about politicians and I wondered what had sparked the latest interest.  Then I remembered; she went with her mother to the polls on Tuesday and watched her vote.  Haylee must have been reading my mind when she asked, "Did you vote for the government, Grama?"

"Yes, I did.  What else would you do if you were president, Haylee?"

"I'd build a wall around the United States like the one in China.  It has been there a very long time, and it would keep all the bad men out of here.  Don't you think it would?"

"It might."

"Is that a good idea?"

"I think it is better than some I've been hearing, baby.  Much better."

She wasn't happy the other day when she saw a story about a town that wouldn't let some children sell pumpkins without a license.  "It's their pumpkins, Grama, why can't they sell them?"

I haven't told her about the legislators who are trying to eliminate home-schooling.  Nor have I informed her about the latest initiatives to replace french fries for carrots and prohibiting toys in Happy Meals.  If I did, I think she'd be dictating an email for me to send to the knotheads in San Francisco.  How dare they!

If I were McDonald's and Burger King, I'd pack up my burgers and fries and head for the city limits.  No wonder California businesses are pulling up stakes and relocating in Texas.  When politicians can dictate a restaurant's menu, prohibition has found new meaning.  selahV

CELEBRATING NEW LIFE

Jocelyn Emma was born to a Christian mother and father, Christian grandparents, and Christian great-grandparents on Friday, the 22nd.  We're celebrating her life into our lives and praying for her new-life into Christ as the Lord so draws her unto Him in years to come.  She weighed 7 lbs. 2 oz., is healthy and sweet as can be.  Jocelyn is my third great-grandchild, my first great-granddaughter.  Must I say we are all tickled pink?

Her little brothers think she is pretty special.  We all agree.  If you are so led, lift a prayer on her behalf to our Father.  May she grow in wisdom, grace and love.  selahV

CELEBRATING DILIGENCE, PERSEVERANCE and FAITH

Diligence and persistance are synonymous with my 19 year-old grandson.  Even as a little boy, he played ball while hurt because his dad had taught him to persist and persevere--even when you don't feel like it.  The team was counting on him.  Through his life, I've marveled at the perseverance he has shown in multiple ways, through many difficulties he's faced head-on.  Again and again he followed through on commitments when more tempting situations and social events were ignored.

A year ago eighteen-year-old Ryan sat on the sofa in my living room and told me he simply was not interested in becoming an engineer, even though he had a scholarship to college.  He knew he had the potential to be anything he wanted to be--he's just that bright.  He didn't want to disappoint his teachers who'd recommended him for scholarships.  But he felt God was leading him to be a fireman.  He had joined the volunteer fire department in a little rural town near his home in the county before he even finished highschool.  He immediately started getting certified and training.  He loved it.  When he got his equipment, he came to our house to show us all of it.  Everything was used and old, but he spread it out and explained it all like it was Christmas in July.  He was so proud.

When he happened to be the first responder to a horrific fatal accident a half-mile from his home, Ryan called in the accident; he didn't panic.  He simply assessed the situation and ordered all the right things--including jaws-of-life for the nineteen-year-old girl trapped inside her vehicle.  He told me he couldn't believe how calm he was in the midst of it all.  He believed God was using him as he sat on the bank--just talking to a little boy who'd been in the accident while other responders attended to the boy's grandfather.

When Ryan went to his first structure fire, they were able to save the trailer.  But Ryan wasn't satisfied with that.  He felt he needed to hook up the family with churches in the area to minister to their needs.  He even organized a few meals for them through his mom, and his youth minister at church.  Ryan felt God could use him in the fire-department.  "It could be a ministry," he told me.  I remember telling him that he could do anything he wanted to do and no matter what he did, God could use him to minister to people.  But if God was calling him to be a fireman, then He would make a way for him to do all he needed to do to become one.

Within a few months, he was in the top three applicants out of 60 who made it through the rigorous testing required for firefighting applicants in a nearby town.  When folks told him he was in--not to worry about it, he hoped, but knew his age might be against him.  When the position was given to another who had more certifications, he didn't give up; he dug in.  He got more certifications.  He went to every single training event he could.  Before long he was training others.

A couple of weeks ago, when he went for his interview with Lawton's Fire Chief, Ryan knew his youth was still against him.  However, he had taken every class and prepared in every way necessary to get hired.  He scored well on all his tests and excelled in every training exercise.  While he awaited the Chief's decision, Ryan attended another school--this one for smoke jumping.  He figured if he didn't get the Lawton position, he'd find one somewhere else.  Fortunately, he didn't have to, he got the call that he'd made it through.  All that was left was his physical.

Last week he took his physical and though he passed it, he had to have an x-ray of his back where he broke his neck a few years ago while riding motocross.  Remember me requesting prayers for him then?  We wondered, would that accident be his undoing?  We prayed as we waited to hear the results of the x-ray and the doctor's recommendations.  Tonite we celebrated.  We've held our breath and prayed for him.  He has been so diligent...so persistent, so faithful and trusting.  He is now cleared and officially part of our town's fire department.

I have no doubts Ryan will be one of the best firefighters our town has ever had.  It will not surprise me to learn he saves another's life or that he boldly faces challenges others shy away from.  He's just that kind of man.  In a day when jobs are harder and harder to come by...when budgets are tight and firefighting positions are scarce, God has blessed my grandson.  In our state 97% of all fires are fought by volunteer firemen.  This is an incredible blessing for Ryan, and for us.  I'm so grateful, I just had to share my joy with you all.  selahV

ABUSE OF THE ELDERLY EVERY FIVE SECONDS

I headed for the check-out at Hobby Lobby.  As I approached the empty counter, another lady, probably in her early fifties, came out from a side aisle without a cart, and blocked my way.

"C'mon, mother!  Get over here!" she snapped. Her elderly mother had stopped at a little section in the store to read some plaques and magnets. "What are you doing?  Great; you're going to miss the line by reading those things. You don't need them," she huffed, continued to block me from the check-out, and grumbled, "Fine.  I will stand here and wait. But you are going to hold up the line."

Her elderly mother, stooped, and leaning over her cart, moved haltingly as she turned her cart, her cane hanging on the handle.  Just a few skeins of yarn lay in the cart.  I understood.  I can't walk around the store without a cart to lean on, either.  As I stood there observing this scene, it struck me how impatient this younger adult-daughter was.  She snapped, huffed, and snarled.  She shook her head in exasperated shame.  Anyone could tell she had no respect for her mother, just disdain and contempt.  Pity.

How often does this happen today in society?  I do not know.  Does this contempt lead to greater abuse?  A jerk?  A shove?  I do not know.  But it is definitely not the first time I have witnessed a scene like this of late.  For years I watched my elderly father slowly draw his breath, and take baby steps to walk to the bathroom in his assisted living center bedroom.  I watched peas, cream corn, and soup dribble down his chin onto his white tee-shirt.  Something inside me always wanted to help, to reach out.  But Daddy was proud and did not want that help.

Dignity in the latter years of life is scarce but protectively clutched to an elderly person's soul.  What do they have left?  Their health is failing.  Their eyesight dims, their hearing goes, and their tastebuds lose all sense of taste.  They become dependent on their children--the very children they gave at least 18 years of their own lives, if not more, to raise, to feed, to clothe, to clean up after, to chase, to chauffer, to teach, to pray for, to guide.  And what do some elderly parents get in return?

Not even the time to peruse a few knick-nacks in a store.

It was all I could do to muzzle my mouth.  I was angered.  I was aggravated.  I wanted to ask the lady if she'd like to go ahead and I would take her mother home.  I wanted to intervene.  I could not.  I said nothing.  I thought about myself.  I realize I am getting older.  Though not so ill I cannot drive myself to a store, I do have difficulty walking around the mega-stores now.  It's harder to reach things on the lower and higher shelves.  I spend more time deciding between brands.  I wonder.  How often do I annoy a younger, more able person with my hesitation?  How long will it be before I am the one in the way...the one who impedes another from doing what they want to do in a timely fashion?

I wonder, too, should we be addressing this in our churches today?  When do we stop honoring our fathers and mothers?  Should we be teaching our younger adult members to respect their parents, their grandparents?  Other elderly church members?  What happens if we do not?

According to Elder Abuse Daily, Data and Statistics on February 15, 2010:

There are nearly 6 million cases of elder abuse every year. That's approximately one case every five seconds.  Unfortunately, many of these cases go unreported.  According to EADaily.com's projections, California continues to be the state with the greatest number of elder abuse cases in the U.S., with 36% more than that of Florida, a state with second greatest number of elder abuse cases.  Alaska has the fewest in the U.S. at approximately 8,900 cases per year.  Just five states account for over 1/3 of all elder abuse cases in the U.S.  California, Florida, New York, Texas and Pennsylvania have the most cases annually.

"You shall rise before the gray headed and honor the presence of an old man [or woman], and fear your God: I am the LORD." Leviticus 19:32

In our church, we have an elderly veteran who lives at our nearby Veterans Home.  Some men go pick him up each week for church.  He gets in his wheelchair, and is pushed up and down the halls.  He sits in Sunday School with others and fellowships in the department.  Later, someone pushes him to the sanctuary and parks his wheelchair at the bottom of the stage stairs.  A couple of men assist him as he slowly and feebly makes his way up the stairs to the choir loft where he sings praises to a God of mercy and love.  Whenever I see him go up the stairs and come down, I am moved.  Tears of deep respect fill my eyes.  I am grateful for this example before our congregation.  I am grateful the youth in our church sit at the base of those stairs each week and are witnesses to the honor that younger, stronger, more able men show this veteran.  They preserve his dignity as surely as he once fought to preserve our freedom.  As they honor the presence of a gray-headed old man, we see the reverence they have for the Lord.  selahV 

THIRTY-NINE YEARS LATER, I still remember

It was 2:00 a.m. when my water broke and began the most amazing, gratifying, joy-filled, gut-wrenching, heart-rending 33 years, 5 months, 13 days and 2 hours of my life.  My son, Chad, was born this day, August 25th and I so miss the sparks, flames, and warmth that his life kindled in my heart.  I cannot begin to write what I truly feel.  I just know that though the world keeps turning, the moon keeps shining, the sun keeps rising, and his two little girls keep changing shoe sizes each year, I still remember how vital he was to my life.  How much I miss his hugs--of seeing the joy he grabbed from every moment of life.

I long to be with him in glory.  I long to see his face once more.  Occasionally, the Lord gives me dreams of him--such sweet moments in the stillness of my nights.  Sometimes I recall a particular phrase he eternalized in my mind.  And I smile.  I remember one in particular that he coined from some movie, I've been told.  But when I felt defeated and thought I just couldn't go on anymore with a situation, challenge or task, he would change his voice and say, "You can dooooo it, Momma."  And it gave me the energy to tackle life with his spiritual wind at my back.

That tad of encouragement has often come to me in moments when grief seems too much to bear.  When seeing his girls grow up without him.  When I need to be a part of something that he should have been in attendance for--my heart wants to run.  But I hear his voice--"You can doooo it, Momma."  And by the grace of God, and through Christ who strengthens me, he is right.

"Happy Birthday, my son.  Tell Jesus thank you for making it possible for us to see one another again when my days on earth have come to a close."  Love ya, bunches and bunches, and until then I'll just keep on "remembering the good times".  Momma

CELEBRATION and FAVORITE MOVIE LINES

Yesterday hubby and I celebrated our anniversary.  We took my son's two girls to dinner at Cracker Barrel.  Abby, 8, asked, "So Grama, how long have you and grampa been together?"

"46 years if you count the year before we got married. We've been married 45 years."

"Wow!  That's a long time."  The girls then asked where we first met and grampa answered. "In a parking lot."  I figured we needed to explain that a bit so I filled in the blanks.

"My girlfriend and I were at the swimming pool and we were talking to some friends of hers.  He joined the group and they introduced him to me.  He said 'hello' and I fell in love at first sight. True story. So I guess you could say, he "had me at hello".

[Renee Zellweger's line to Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire has been my favorite all-time movie line ever since I heard it.]  What's yours?  selahV

Such a Sweet Wish

In place of a birthday cake, my daughter and her little girls made me cupcakes yesterday.  We had them today after our Father's Day dinner.  Haylee and Kinsey like to blow out candles so I had my daughter put a candle in three cupcakes so we'd all blow out my candles at the same time.

"Did you make a wish?" I asked Haylee.

"Yes. I wished you'd live forever and ever."

Is that not the sweetest wish a grandma could have from her grandchild?  The glorious part about that wish is that it will definitely come true.  Jesus is my Lord.  And He has promised me that I will live forever and ever.  I pray I live long enough to see my granddaughter come to know Jesus and understand the full truth of her wish for me...and that we will all live forever and ever in His grace.  Amen?

May 8th, Five Years Later

I am no longer a puddle on the floor.  I no longer feel tortured by each breath, nor cry with each thought of him.  I am no longer angered that others pass by, and live life--as if his life had no meaning.  I still swell with pride at the sound of his name, and slow down at the memory of his words, "chill out".  I continue "to stop and smell the roses", and pick wildflowers by the side of the road.  I try to "count every moment special, and make every moment count".  I still remember his warm for-nothing bear-hugs, and miss his just-because phone calls.  I still long to hear his voice and see the brilliance of his smile.  I wish we could still hang-out while he runs errands, and share stories of God's intervention in our lives.  I doubt that will ever change.

Time is a strange commodity these days.  It no longer feels like it is standing still, yet it never seems to fly by either.

Whenever heartache comes my way, I "remember the good times".  Sometimes I still cry.  Sometimes I still get angry.  Occasionally I wonder "why".

I've let go of the dreams I once had for him and am resting in the reality of what is left in the wake of his life.  Brooklyn.  Abby.  Love.  Sunshine.  Flowers.  Soccer games. Softball.  Playing hard, and living each moment as if there is no tomorrow.  Sharing my heart as if I will not have a chance to say all I have to say after the sun sets today.  Treating each person I love in light of that May 8th five years ago; a call to go to our heavenly home could be here for any of us--at any time.  So take no one for granted.  Forget the small stuff.  Forgive quickly.  Seize the day.  Make time to say you care.  Live with all your heart--for your family.  For friends, and strangers.  And most of all--for Christ.  

[Remembering your life, my son.  Rejoicing that you are in the arms of the Lord.  I love you, Momma]

Our Home is Like a Little Church, Review

Our Home is like a Little Church is an excellent little book to read to your children and help them understand the role a father has in his home to lead the family in spiritual things.  Authors Lindsey Blair and Bobby Giles, write in a non-intrusive way. Their rhymes share how home is where one carries out the same things that happen in a church: singing songs, praying, forgiving, reading the Bible.  On one page Tessa James, illustrates the role of a church.  Then pictured on an adjacent page is how a dad is like the pastor at church who leads his family to understand God belongs in the home as well as in church. 

This little book fills a need to help dads realize their responsibility in the home as spiritual leader.  At the same time it affirms this truth to a child.  It is excellent for this purpose.  But it also emphasizes how a relationship with God is not just at church on Sundays; it's an everyday relationship with Jesus.

My only criticism would be that the book may cause some confusion to children who have no father in the home. 

It's a great book to help encourage Christian fathers to be the spiritual leaders in the home.  Churches would do a great service to parents and children to offer this little inexpensive book to fathers on Father's Day.

I thank authors, Lindsey Blair and Bobby Giles, and illustrator, Tessa James, for the opportunity to review their little book.  Each of them is a member of Sojourn Community Church in Louisville, Kentucky.  Their book is published by Christian Focus Publications, www.christianfocus.com Hariette Petersen  

MOTHER'S DAY MAGNETS, 4 Easy Steps

So I had the girls over and we made "mommy" magnets.  Below are photos of materials needed and step by step assembly by none other than Miss Haylee and Miss Kinsey.  They were very diligent in following directions and it was one of the simplest crafts I ever put together for them.

I used plastic bottle caps.  Stuck a round magnet on the back.  Filled the cap with Elmer's glue.  Then added the inside decorations.  *DRIED* rice, beans, split peas.

I had all the items laid out on the table before I brought in the girls.  Then I sat down in front of them and guided them through each step.  Have a damp washcloth handy to wipe those sticky fingers.

STEP 1) Remove the paper sticker off the self-stick magnet.

STEP 2) Push the sticky side of magnet onto the topside (outer side) of the bottle cap.

"Haylee; did you know that God makes beans, and peas and rice?"  (A time to teach about God's provision.)

STEP 3) Squeeze Elmer's glue into the center of the inside of the bottle cap about half-full.

 
STEP 4) Generously drop your beans, rice, and peas into the cap and press down.  Haylee got creative and added a few grains of rice to her beans and peas.  I always let them individualize their creations.  Whatever they choose to do within the bounds of the tiny space in front of them, I say "Go for it!"

"Why beans and rice, Grama?"

"Because we're making magnets for the kitchen.  And Mommy cooks with beans, and rice and peas."

"That's a good idea!"  Whew!  I'm sure glad it was a good idea.  If not, Haylee might have taken her magnets apart and began sticking in fresh daisies.

Hope you enjoy this little craft.  It's great for Sunday School craft.  It took all of 10 minutes for us to put these together. 

One bit of advice:  Have a little plastic plate beneath the space where they actually assemble their magnets.  I usually do this.  Duh, didn't this time and you can see the clean-up I had all over the table and onto the floor.  Not bad, just had to sweep.  But could be avoided with plates or trays under their bottle caps.  selahV   

[CLICK ON ANY PHOTO FOR AN ENLARGEMENT]

[Check out my KIDS' MATTERS Blog for Insights and Hindsights]

If not for the Grace of God...

...where would you be?  Where would anyone be?  Some folks think grace and Christian are bound in some kind of synonymous exclusivity.  That God's grace is reserved for Christians who trust in Christ the Lord--who recognize, believe and understand all the various doctrines which consume the word.  Saving grace.  To me, that kind of grace segregates most of life from the womb to the grave.  Where is grace for the abused and molested?  Where is grace for the aborted life?  Where is grace for the tortured and maimed?  Where is grace for the abandoned and betrayed?

 

Why, grace abounds!  It envelopes the whole of life and binds the simple innocent proclamation, I believe the 'word' near my heart, in my heart.  It's in my mouth and yours.

"The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart,...the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him,...for, "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved."  ^{{Romans 10}

Yet, even when I did not call, nor believe--grace surrounded me.  Kept me.  Protected me.  Nudged me; drew me.  Indeed, it even edified me.  I look back on my life before Christ and realize how little I knew of Jesus other than He being vainly addressed in the heat of an argument, or explained in Sunday School by a humble Christian mother.  As a child I lived with cruelty and venomous attitudes.  They were placed on my plate from the time I was a mere toddler.  I cannot remember a single day where there was not an argument in my home.  Not one.  I cannot recall a single time I did anything that my stepmother didn't criticize, condemn or ignore.  I was always wrong, always lazy, always stupid, always "just like my mother".  Yet amid all that, she gave me cookies, made me dresses, washed my clothes, and on Saturday nights--she curled my hair.  I lived in a world of unpredictable explosions, fits of anger and euphoric songs of praise.  Strange.  Very strange.  Such mania.

 

I can remember things I thought that were downright evil.  Unspeakable things, vindictive things.  Fearfilled, sleepless nights were normal.  In spite of all that evil, grace encompassed it all.  Grace shrouded the elements of evil with the love and benevolence of God.  Grace took all the evil and kept it from literally destroying me.

"He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.  For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together." Colossians 1:15-17. ESV

My Creator held me and my world together.  Despite the life I was born into, God surrounded me with people who showed me grace.  They bathed me in compassion, empathy, and prayer.  Sunday school teachers.  Strangers.  An uncle.  A few step-cousins.  Days were dressed with butterflies, blue ribbons, and sparkling creeks.  Sunshine, daisies, and dandelions.  Kittens, puppies, and bluebirds.

 

Life is filled with the grace of God; grace abounds.  Until we leave this world, with or without Jesus in our lives, we will have grace abounding.  Why would God bestow such grace upon this evil world?  Why would He seemingly look the other way when such atrocities exist?  I have no idea.  But I know one thing.  He loves us in the midst of it all.  He died for us because He first loved us.  Perhaps God expects we who are called by His name to extend His grace to people like the child I once was?  So others could choose to permanently receive His saving grace through Jesus the Christ, and live eternally in His presence.  Could we all live with that purpose in our hearts and minds?  We could.  But only some will.  Others will go their own way.  If not for the grace of God, where would we be?  selahV

BEFORE THE DAY WAS OVER

It was suppose to be the warmest day of the week.  But we woke to a clouded, chilly day.  I'd promised the girls a picnic trip to Wichita Mountains.  We layered ourselves in sweatshirts, hoodies, sock caps and scarves.  We didn't pack a real picnic lunch--just crackers, water, and cantaloupe slices.

Riverview Restaurant fed us loaded potatoes, popcorn shrimp and salad.  As we sat at the window seat, overlooking the stream, the sun finally popped through the heavy cover of clouds.

We got excited.  We finished our meal and headed down to the stream to feed the geese and take pictures.  The longer we stayed at the stream, the warmer it got.  But the time we got to Mt. Scott, temperatures were a brisk 60.

Before the day was over, we'd been thoroughly blessed by the creation of God.

CLICK ON PHOTOS FOR ENLARGEMENTS. 

UGANDA FRIENDS

I'm delighted to offer you a great blog to watch for mission ministry in Uganda.  My dear friend Freddie's son is ministering over there and his site has fabulous tidbits about their work and FABULOUS pictures of Africa's wildlife that is just 2 hours from their home. Check out their AFRICAN SAFARI POST.  Add their site to your blogroll and remember to pray for them.

Kent's family is an extraordinary sight in Africa because many of the natives have never seen a white person, and they have 4 little blue-eyed blonde girls to marvel at.  I won't steal their thunder by posting anymore than these photos.  Trust me, they are worth the read.  Let them know you are praying for them.  And if ya want a trip to a walk-about zoo, they'd be happy to have company.  Just bring relish and rice krispies when you go.

TO VISIT THE THE FORESTER CLAN WEBSITE just click HERE.  selahV

I Could Sure Use Your Prayers Again

It's been one thing after another.  I spent the afternoon in the hospital emergency room with my granddaughter, Bethany, who got that stomach virus.  Her mother stayed home to watch her two little boys.  Bethany and her baby boy came down with the virus at the same time.  Bethany is seven weeks pregnant and she was severely dehydrated.  That in itself would not be so bad, but now her other little boy came down with it.  So did my daughter, Bethany's mom.  Bethany's husband's father died last night and the furneral will be on Thursday.  Please pray that Jarrett doesn't get this virus.  Pray I don't get it.  I'm taking care of my daughters two little girls.  Right now, we're watching Scooby Doo at my house while the rest of the family is at my daughter's house trying desparately to get over this virus.  It is awful.  The doctor told my granddaughter to expect three more days of it.  She wants so much to be with her husband to support him in the loss of his father, but she can barely hold her head up.  Keep them all in your prayers.  Thanks so much.  selahV