remembering. . .forgetting. . .pressing on. . .the journey

Posted on January 25, 2017 by oct17

it has been a year. . .

My last blog entry was February 10, 2016 on Valentine’s.  I have since failed to string words together to make sense of this journey called life.  I did not nor could not use words to encourage or give hope.
For you, my friends, who wondered at my silence, who prayed for Tom and me when you had no idea of the sinister curtain that was  slowly draping around us, I thank you.  Nora in Copenhagen prayed-and prayed.  Ingrid in Vienna wrote a message every Sunday for the entire year. Two or three of my girl friends stayed with me on those days I was too afraid to be alone. I am indebted to you.  My daughters, bless their hearts, wondered if they would ever again know the mother they had always known. But they stayed as constant in their concern and care  as I was confused and bewildered.

I have survived!

A few days after the blog of February 10, I determined that I would never write again.  The following days, weeks, and months is a period of life I would like to erase.  To hit the delete button and forever forget. (thankfully, much of the pain and darkness of that time is a blur, now.)

Paul says in Philippians 3: 13, 14 that he desires to forget and press onward. I know the context of those verses is on a much higher note than I can sing now.  He desires to know God . Yet, there is a lesson for us. I confess that there are things we must NOT forget unless we “remember”–then we press forward.  It is such a paradox–this remembering and forgetting.  I must remember enough to use what I forget in a positive way.  I must remember enough to be thankful, while forgetting those things that impede the progress to press forward.

So what do I remember. . .while trying to forget the pain, the struggle to live, the tears of hopelessness?

It took months for a physical diagnosis that had created such unexplained anxiety  in me–a somewhat normal, almost put-together woman of joy, love and laughter.How could this happen?   Chronic EBV had taken  a toll.  Extensive labs unearthed two bacterial infections my body had been trying to fight for years-one a very rare one and the other, a malaria type co-infection from the Lyme I had years before.  One day, it just couldn’t fight another battle.  All this coupled with thyroid issues, stress and  hormones resulting from the infections, as well.  The dam could only break.

And it did.

Reading, studying for my ladies’ Sunday School class became increasingly difficult. It saddened me much to give it up; I had cried so often in class, and they never gave up on me.  It was freeing to be honest with them, and may be one of the reasons I was able to begin the healing process. To this day, I struggle to  read with strong purpose and study deeply.  This is an area in which I am pressing on.

I remember one day in the grocery store (after all reports were in, and I had learned that yes, there is a reason for all this, and no, I am not losing my mind. Boy, what a relief that was!)  A young mother and I were sharing–I was not ashamed to share what I  was going through. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, “Oh, Mrs. Barb, I have suffered with anxiety and depression for years.  I can’t tell anyone as I’ve been told Christians can’t have those issues.  I carry this alone.”

Immediately, I knew.  I would write again.  I would struggle to give a voice of hope to someone of those 40 million of the population suffering panic attacks, various types of anxiety and  depression.

But I have to remember–enough.  I have to remember enough in order to compassionately see in sad brown and blue eyes. Eyes that negate their declarations of “I’m fine.” I have to remember enough to speak with concern and hope. One young man at the emergency room check-in at 3 in the morning looked at us and said, “oh, I suffer from anxiety.”

And I have to remember enough to live in gratitude today.

How else can I rejoice this morning in the full, peaceful nights’ sleep of last night if I completely forget those hundreds of dark nights, many spent walking in the driveway at 3 a.m. begging for sleep. At one point late spring 2016, I went over 36 hours without sleep.

Now I am giddy with delight after preparing a delicious, creative meal as I remember the multitude of meals–unprepared, unplanned, uneaten because I could not cope with cooking. I, who always loved cooking for guests, went 10 months without preparing a single meal for anyone, other than simple ones for us.

Once a plan of treatment began and there was hope, I developed a more attentive ear. I learned to listen.  Indeed, to hear the whispers.  And they came.  Not many, not often.  But they came, and really some had come in the blackest of moonless nights.  In those times when there were no other answers, but His whisper of hope, I learned to trust Him again.   Little by little, bit by bit. . .One verse that blessed me so as I made it personal to me as it had been for Mary in Luke 1:45:  “Blessed are you, Barbara, when you believe that those words I whispered to you in the night are truly possible.”

We all have something in our lives to forget–events, disappointments, some form of pain–those happenings that keep us afraid of opening new doors. Some are worth remembering.  Those lessons learned in the mistakes we long to forget enable us to move forward.

Paul wrote the words in Philippians while in prison.  He had already been on three missionary journeys, established many church plants, wrote numerous letters, but he desired MORE. “I have more running to do”, he says. “I press on . . .”  I am going somewhere  soon . . .I think he prepared every day to run. . .

“There is more race to run whether we are 17 or 97.  Don’t look back.  Forget past accidents and past failures,” writes Richard DeMass.  Well, I am 17–backwards!  Where do I run now?

I have always said I don’t know what to be when I grow up.  Tom says it is because I will never grow up.  But I think it is time . .  Now that retirement years are here, surely I will know.  Until then, until I know, I am pressing on . . .

My experience had made me wonder about you.  Are you doing well? Do you need someone to give you a word of hope, a hug.  I encourage you to remember enough—to forget anything that is an obstacle to your progress–to listen—and then run the race.

Pressing on, running wildly . . .into a blessed hope.

 

And this was a new spark of joy this spring when I so needed a fresh hope. Our second great granddaughter,  Evelyn Jane and I share middle names.  She arrived May 18, 2016.

ej-w-me

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wear your love . . .

Posted on February 10, 2016 by oct17

Where have I been? –my last blog was three months ago. I missed being in touch with you at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s.

Celebrating? 70 years in October must have caused such consternation, contemplation, rumination, introspection, retrospection–all those -ation and -tion words, that I have suffered a “life slump”.  (You know like a pitcher’s or batter’s slump in baseball.) I have been frozen in time:-(

But this is Valentine’s week–must write something on love, right?

I noticed these words on a calendar this morning: “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” I pondered that word on two levels– in my physical world as well as in the Christian life.

That quote comes from a Chinese philosopher and contemporary of Confucius from the 6th century.  Loazi, founder of the “School of the Tao’, in no way, equated this principle of love with the unfailing love of God.  But I can.

I always wear a heart during Valentine week. 0210161043

My dear mentor in the pastor’s wife role was wearing her declaration one February in 1983 –I love George-.  I squealed.  She had found these pins in a small shop in Yulee, Florida, over 33 years ago. I was so impressed that this older, mature, gentle, yet fun, pastor’s wife of a large church would wear such a thing. Wearing her love. A few weeks later she gave me this heart, and I have worn it every Valentine’s week since.

“I have lost my heart,” I cried earlier this week when I could not find it immediately.  “It’s the only week of the year that I can wear it. I must find it.” Tom smiled, “You have a heart:-) and you can wear it whenever you want to.”  (Now wasn’t that romantic!)

Strength. Courage.

Can one survive daily living without either? when storms toss me, when winds blow strong around me, when words hurt.  And from where do these positive traits come?

“But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.” Psalm 16: 5-6

“O Lord, be gracious to us, we long for you.  Be our strength every morning, our salvation in time of distress.” Isaiah 33:2

“I love you, O Lord, my strength.”   Psalm 18: 1

“The Lord is my strength and shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song. The Lord  is  the  strength  of  his  people. . .” Psalm 29: 7,8

Courage comes from having a perfect source of strength. We as believers are enabled to live life out of the richness of being loved unconditionally by God and, in turn, we are given courage to  stand firm in life.  A synonym for strength is power, and a similar meaning for courage is boldness.  We have the power to live in His strength and the boldness to share His love to those around us.

I have no trouble at all “wearing” my affection for Tom. I am not ashamed, nor embarrassed.  I may not wear my “heart” all year, but I will this week. And I pray I wear it well. Hopefully, my love and commitment to him– for him– is on display at all times.

More importantly is that I “wear” my heart for the Lord 24/7, all year, every year.  Unashamed. How I wear that love is seen at all times.

Wear your love— your commitment to the One who loved you enough to give you life. Wear it. Not just this week but every day.

Wear it well.

 

 

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. . .safe?

Posted on November 19, 2015 by oct17

I remember my grandfather’s sharp command, “Run to the storm cellar; a storm is coming.”   Satellite or radar wasn’t around  to predict possible disasters way back when.  If the sky warned of an impending storm, everyone at my Papa’s house was imprisoned for hours, waiting out the storm.

You know– I don’t remember how antsy I was to get out of that dark crowded  cave as a young child.  That cool bunker also served as Aunt Ruth’s  underground pantry.  We sat on hard  low benches, and I would count the many jars of canned fruit and vegetables on the upper ledges overhead. Potatoes and carrots stayed cool on a layer of papers. I do remember feeling safe.

I suppose those times in that protective cellar prepared me to want my children near me when a storm was forecast.  Springs storms, summer storms alive with loud claps of thunder and lightning or the ominous storms of winter–it didn’t matter the season, I wanted all of them at home-right then.     I felt like the ” hen gathering  her chicks under her wing. . .” in Matthew 23.

Because of our years in Vienna and Denmark, the world I ‘see’ and know is much larger, more inclusive of many languages, faces and cultures.  Now,  I pray for protection, for security, for hope–for  “our international children.”

And I am never more aware of this love and concern I still carry for those beautiful faces as when there is an international crises.

The mood in our home last Friday evening was set for neighbor guests.  Candles burned. The fireplace blazed and hissed in one room while Henry Mancini’s band played in another. Wonderful fragrances filled the rooms–truly a safe, comforting atmosphere.

And then we heard the news!

Immediately I wanted to make sure Shelia was safe there in Paris.  What if her son was at the concert? Maybe she was at the restaurant? I must write her this minute I thought.   I suddenly wanted everyone I knew in Europe under my ‘wings’, holding them, loving them into safety; I wanted to get them into a storm cellar.

But I cannot.

Jesus must have had this sense of longing for those in the city of Jerusalem; “how often I have longed to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing . . .” verse 37

One of our guests that Friday evening shared  of a recent incident when a man, visibly high on drugs, tried determinedly to enter her house.  Thankfully, a 911 call brought her immediate help. We concluded that we, even in  small town Tennessee, are no longer as safe as we like to believe.

We are vulnerable, so “out there” for tragedy. Are we safe anywhere? Dare I live abundantly, free–anywhere? I want my journey to look like the picture at the top of this blog–me, walking with you down a peaceful country lane.

And if not, is there a storm cellar where I can run to for safety, for protection? And a place I can take all those I love with me?

And I know, and you as a  believer, know.  Yes . . .there is a safe place and only one place. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield . . .” Psalm 91: 4,5. But does this mean that nothing bad will happen to me or my children or those I love in Austria,  Denmark, in Paris, London, or Peru or  the Philippines?  And we will all live ‘happily ever after’?  I think not.  What it does mean, is that I can have the peace, the assurance that He is faithful to protect me and all who trust Him for an eternal future.

When the storms erupt around me, and I cannot run into a cellar for shelter, I can run and run swiftly under His wings . . .

. . .but I must learn to settle, just to rest . . .there. .  .

 

 

 

 

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cycles . . . on the journey

Posted on October 26, 2015 by oct17

Early morning on September 9 I just knew we were being invaded by a spaceship.  A massive ball of light looked dangerously close.   I was walking in the morning darkness but quickly ran into the house to ask Tom what was going on in the eastern  sky.    He immediately checked his reliable source for answers to my often strange questions, “Barb, it  is Venus.”

Now, in case you are thinking  I was a bit juvenile in my supposition,  Venus is often misreported as an unidentified flying object. “U.S. President Jimmy Carter reported having seen a UFO in 1969, which later analysis suggested was probably Venus.” Wickipedia

So began my pre-dawn treks to watch Venus in all her brilliance; I have become a morning star gazer. She rises before the sun–brilliantly.  I  began my Google study in Astrology 101 and learned that Venus entered the morning sky this year on August 15;  she will leave it on June 6, 2016 and then will be Venus, the evening star again.  She was most spectacular early morning on September 21.  I have learned new words–transit time, elongation, conjunction–all detailing the cycles of Earth’s closet planet, Venus– and other planets, as well.

I have waked and walked with Venus since that morning.  Did I not learn this in middle school science class?   It was only in the early 1960’s that scientists learned that Venus  rotates backwards or  clockwise, different from the other planets.   Maybe the information wasn’t in the text books for my education way back then:-)   Jupiter joined Venus as a pre-dawn star in late September and now in October, Mars can be seen, too.    Mercury is there in the morning sky after the sun comes up.

Pre-dawn awakenings  have been glorious here in middle Tennessee.  I hope you have seen Venus and Jupiter, wherever you are these September and October mornings. But you have to peer out before the sun comes up–or you will miss them.

I know this great big, Creator God who “brings out the starry host one by one and calls them each by name” (Isaiah 40:26) cares and knows my name and  your name.   But sometimes I need a reminder.  One dark morning watching the dazzling lights in the east, after having researched information, I marveled at the scene displayed above.   I stood in awe of the countless years, yes, thousands of years, that these planets have made  scheduled conjunctions and cycles across the skies,  I was struck anew that this great big God  is just as involved in the paths that I am on.

Summer has been colored by disturbances at our address.  Tom has experienced weeks and months of pain, due to a fall in June.  He has recently had a partial knee replacement; he walked with pain before surgery and he now walks in a different kind of pain.   We had a small bathroom renovated and  ‘things and stuff’ were in disorder.  I wondered that normal would define us ever again; I had been ‘blog-less’ far too long.

It was that morning  the Lord so clearly spoke to me of His security and care–no matter the changes and discomforts in life, no matter the cycles in life, “He who determines the number of stars and calls them each by name, is mighty in power; his understanding has no limit.” Psalm 147:4-5

And He will guide us through the cycles and seasons of life just as surely as He has  guided Venus and the planets since time began.

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These are my poor attempts to capture what I saw two mornings.  I should have taken one every day. I wish I had taken one on that September 9 or the 21st. But I had stars in my eyes!    This web site has awesome photos taken around the world.

http://EarthSky.com

Gazing upward and outward.

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. . . always thirsty. . .

Posted on September 17, 2015 by oct17

One morning  last week, Tom and I were presented a robust concert on the deck.  Birds were everywhere–darting here and there and back again– in trees and bushes.  The hummingbirds fighting more vigorously than usual.  But all were singing.   Though a strange cacophony, there was  a certain joyfulness.  Tom said during breakfast, “The birds are unusually loud.”

“It’s going to rain,”  I said, and they are happy.

It had not rained in ‘forty days and forty nights’.  Well, it seemed so. It has been a long, hot, dry summer in middle Tennessee.  We haven’t mowed  the lawn the last two weeks as the grass is brown and dying.  The fall perennials are begging for moisture or they will not survive. Signs of fall have arrived too quickly.  The little maple below was a magnificent red last fall. (Today, every yellow, dry leaf  in this picture taken last week has fallen, and it is now bare.)

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Isn’t it amazing how quickly we can go from flood conditions to drought.  Early summer we had to mow weekly–or even twice a week.  Remember the large tub —-https://ajourneytonow.me/2015/06/02/overflowing was full and running over; I didn’t know what to do with excess water.

Is this not life?  How quickly we can go from feast to famine in our spiritual lives.

The colorless pictures above often mirror my own dryness –brittle and a bit crumbling.  Easily frayed at frantic winds.  I, too, become thirsty. I need the rains to fall on me–around me.  I understand the psalmist’s cry, “As the deer thirsts for the water brooks, so my soul thirsts for you, O Lord.” Psalm 42:1.

Thirsty deer actually make a loud panting, braying sound as they look for water.  When  deer go too long without water, they literally cry out for a water source.  But they must keep looking. We fret over times of dryness and wonder why. Various reasons–we each can name ours–sickness takes its toll; heartaches in broken relationships; sadness;  a focus on pain; travel-anything that  changes our routine.

Dryness is subtle–it begins slowly, quietly, innocently.

For me, it happens when I let ‘life’  get in the way of  drinking.  Mornings that I do not spend  time in the predawn hours, reading, listening–hearing His whispers. I don’t take the time to drink hungrily of the Word.

(And I  think I have a good excuse:-)   Another bout of active positive mono–and I am not able in my own strength to awaken in readiness and excitement.  I can so easily miss mornings to drink with the Source. And I can wither in the heat as quickly as a recently transplanted flower.

What happens when we don’t drink enough water–clean, fresh H2O?  The answer is simple–dehydration.  A 10% drop in our body’s water supply will land us in the hospital, but a mere 2% drop can trigger signs of dehydration, including: trouble concentrating, headaches, fatigue and difficulty focusing on smaller print, such as a book or a computer screen. In fact, mild dehydration is one of the most common causes of daytime fatigue as blood carries oxygen to the brain, and when blood volume is low (due to dehydration) the brain receives less oxygen than it needs, resulting in fatigue and difficulty concentrating.  (Health and Science, Jerusalem Post)

What signs of spiritual dehydration do I face?

I was as excited that rain was predicted  last week as the birds were.  I anticipated a drenching, soaking downpour.

My desire is that I continually drink.  But when I am distracted, when I lose focus— I pray thirst guides me back to the Source. I want to crave His word  no matter the circumstances of life that alter my routine.

dry. . .  thirsty. . .drinking . . .soaked.

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the journey begins . . .BEFORE

Posted on August 27, 2015 by oct17

(Some readers may find the last picture offensive. But please read to the end.)

I turned the outside faucet on a couple of nights ago to water some drooping potted plants and  noticed I had a visitor resting on the top of the spigot.  The area of his seat is about the size of a half dollar coin (remember those?)

I was fascinated at the delicate wee frog–looking at me, not in the least afraid of the hand that had turned the red knob. I watched him (or her–how do you know the gender of a tiny frog), and he watched me. (click to see him a  bit larger.)

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Tom came to see who I was talking with.  I thought it was an infant frog, but Tom informed me this was a mature tree frog. Google has added to my knowledge of these tiny amphibians.   There are over 800 species of tree frogs world wide.  The largest ones in the United States are between 1.5 inch to 5 inches.  The tiniest ones are less than one inch long(or 2.5 centimeters ).  And they can live five to nine years!!

What is interesting is that the night previous I had seen another very small frog on the outside glass deck door. He looked a bit eerie, outside looking in–plastered on the glass.

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Just minutes earlier I had buried my face in a pillow as a news segment concerning Planned Parenthood showed tiny baby parts in a bowl–feet, legs, hands–sort of transparent and as thin skinned as this frog.  I had screamed.  I did not want to look.  Now, this frog on my glass door reminded me of the scene I had just witnessed.

Except the bowl was bloody.

I tried to “un-see” that bowl of pieces of flesh on the TV screen.

I sat on the floor, snapping multiple pictures of this frog– watching him swallow, blinking beady dark eyes.    Something was happening to me, and I cried as the frog moved a toe.

It was the following night–the very next night, after photographing the frog on the window, that I met the little frog on the water spigot. I was in tune with frogs by now.  Almost audible, soft and gentle, the little creature said, “I am FULLY frog.”  The message was so clear; this tiny species–a tiny, living breathing creature, perfectly formed as he is–is FULLY frog.

The issue is not what Planned Parenthood does with infant body parts; it is not even  about funding such an agency.  The issue is that we must discuss such a controversy at all.

I read that abortion is a complicated issue; it is not complicated at all. It is about opinions, preferences, consequences, opinions, disobedience, a quick answer to an undesired outcome.  (I do know there are life and death situations that must be considered, yes.)   If you can–please go to clinicquotes.com/abortionpictures. I did not want to give you an easy click-on.  You will need to find it. If you want to.

Watch until you cry. Look until you sob. Weep until you are spent.

Then ask what can one person do? click for count this minute/second  — there have been 1, 673 abortions in the United States since I began to write–oh no, that has just changed.  Three thousand fully flesh infants are aborted every day in the US.  The count grows each second.

Do I care?

“He chose me, actually picked me out for Himself as His own–in Christ —BEFORE the foundation of the world; that I should be holy, consecrated and set apart for Him, blameless in His sight. . .” Ephesians 1:4 Amplified Bible

“The Lord said to Jeremiah, BEFORE I formed you in the womb I knew you and approved of you as my chosen instrument, and BEFORE you were born, I separated and set you apart. . .” Jeremiah 1: 5 Amplified Bible

“Your eyes saw my unformed substance, and in your book all the days of my life were written, BEFORE ever they took shape, when as yet there was none of them.” Psalm 139: 16 Amplified Bible

“Can a woman forget her nursing child and not have compassion on the son (daughter) of her womb? Yes, she may forget, but I will not forget you.  Behold, I have indelibly imprinted (tattooed) a picture of you on the palm of each of my hands. . .” Isaiah 49: 15-16 Amplified Bible

FULLY FROG

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FULLY FLESH

The one feature that unites each individual tree frog in the hundreds of species is that the last bone in their toes is shaped like a claw.  The one characteristic in every single fully flesh infant  is that he/she is imprinted with the fingerprint of God.

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time for the climb? . . .

Posted on August 17, 2015 by oct17

Oh, to be as persistent as a squirrel.

You know, they have no idea that they can’t.  They try and try–everyday, twenty times a day.  These long tailed rodents have never listened to anyone telling them it is impossible to raid the feeder on the pole they are climbing.

Some of you may remember our saga of the squirrels last year.  We trapped sixteen of the furry pests and carried them to far away places.  Then Tom discovered a method that assured their abstinence of the birds’ sunflower seeds.

The squirrels climb the pole, look up into a black hole, then scamper down just as quickly.  One will come down, and another one will  begin his climb. The interesting fact is that they do this exercise every day–over and over.

We have squirrels again this summer and they take their meals at other tables; we even enjoy their antics.  We are not concerned that they are taking food from the birds’ mouths.

But the metal cyclinder on the pole does not stop them from trying.  (click to enlarge)503

I have indulged in a happy dream of writing for years; I can imagine a row of books at a Lifeway store.   I delight in words coming together to make some semblance of meaning; and I have published a few articles.  However, and a big however, is my lack of discipline, hard work, perseverance. Too many other interests guarantee that it is just that–a dream.

But I was curious and a bit hopeful after reading a book on writing and corresponding with the author this past May.  He was kind enough to critique some of my work, and I was eager to know the answer to my life question–what to be when I grow up?

Or was I?

“You have potential and talent, but you have a long way to go” were his words to me.  I imagined that word was a very looooooooooooooooooooooong long way.   I still am not sure if I were relieved or devastated.  All writers, would-be’s and wannabe’s, evidently believe they have talent.  My reply to him,  “I do not have the time to go a long way. You have mercifully released me of any notion I have ever had for writing, and I rest in that more peacefully.”

I really want to be like a squirrel. I think. Maybe, perhaps.  But probably not.  They have more determination and persistence than I; they  believe they can.  They try and try.  I have written one or two blogs since that fatal blow.  I do not want that one statement to quench a desire to blog, so in that way, I may be a bit “squirrelly.”

“Words from a wise man’s mouth are gracious,” Ecclesiastes 10: 12

Many verses in Proverbs encourage us to give attention to the wise.  For those of you who have time to “go a long way”,  I would urge you to begin that journey of your lifetime.  Persevere and climb those poles of obstacles and impossible situations.  Keep at it—over and over.

Be a squirrel.

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mandevilla and marriage . . .

Posted on July 10, 2015 by oct17

for Hailey . . .

I planted a Mandevilla vine late spring near the deck. The soil was good; the container was large enough for  growing a large happy plant. Tom prepared a trellis for its potential climbing.  The young creeper looked promising, healthy and strong, green vibrant with life.   After a few days, long slender runners were wild growing in every direction; they were not about to climb anything.  Hum-m.  I would have to train these young expressions of Mandevilla.

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Everyday I would gently wrap thin, wispy tendrils around the strong parts of the trellis.  Of course, they would come off, and the next day, I would rewrap.  It was as if these young vines had a mind of their own as they floundered and blew aimlessly in the wind.

I was patient.

Within a couple of weeks, some of the vines began to cling, holding tenaciously to its source of strength and were growing upward, blooming profusely. 20150630_162952

Carefully placing tender vines around the ‘strong tower’ one morning after a heavy windstorm, I smiled, “this is like marriage.”  I remembered our first years and how much we had to learn about this kind of clinging.  It is a long, arduous piece of work. Oh–the amount of books and articles I read on learning to “leave and cleave”.  Fifty one years ago there was not a plethora of Christian materials available, and I literally had to search out helps in secular magazines.  Back then, much of that information was not far from spiritual truths!

Tom and I attended two weddings last weekend in Kingsport. Hailey, our  first granddaughter, delighted us with her wedding plans and preparations to Brandon. Their vows were given  in a beautiful pastoral ceremony.   The other joyous celebration  was for the daughter of a dear friend.  Beautiful brides. Grinning, doting grooms.  Romantic music, dancing, laughter, embraces.

Tender, new vines everywhere.  And will they learn to cling?

I took the hands of one of the couples and said, “I wish I could tell you the joys and rewards of marriage after fifty one years.”   They smiled and agreed it would be great.  But really they have no idea. . .

Not yet . . .

Because clinging is difficult.  It takes a lifetime. Years.   Learning when to cling–how to  cling in the hard days when the winds blow, and  it is humanly impossible to hold on to each other –sort of like clinging to our Lord.  Sometimes we cling–or not– when we want to, when it is convenient, when I have a better idea. The marriage relationship is a beautiful picture of the relationship we are to have with our Creator.

And even though this Mandevilla vine clings strong now, very often there are occasional single new tendrils that  have to be threaded and placed carefully around the strong center. Growth brings changes, new strands must cling.

. . . a life process.

Webster defines clinging as l) holding together; 2) adhering as if glued firmly; 3) holding tightly or tenaciously; 4) having a strong emotional dependence; 5) lingering near (I like this meaning–there’s another blog in lingering 🙂

Sounds like marriage to me. And our relationship to Christ.  “Cause me to hear your loving kindness in the morning; for on you do I lean (cling–my word here) and in you do I trust.  Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk, for I lift my inner self to you.” Psalm 143: 8- Amplified

This Mandevilla analogy may be a bit elementary for you, but I love this picture in clinging. Always clinging. I have been reminded of that every single day as I have watched this vine bloom and climb.

Oh, Hailey, cling.  Cling when it is easier to break lose and run, when it hurts, when the tears fall—cling to young dreams; hold firm to your commitment.  Keep grasping for all things wonderful.  (Of course, your Gram is a hopeless Polly-Anna!). It is in the clinging that you will realize the beauty of a relationship designed by our Creator for his children, and in that process discover how much He loves you.

Still clinging . . .

(an aside:)

I wish you had the time to hear the blessings and joys of fifty one years of learning to cling.  The newest one is mowing!   If I had opted out at any one of the wind storms that blew on young tender threads of discontent or selfishness,  I would have missed this fun new activity.  I so delight in mowing with Tom.  You should see us chasing each other over the grass! Just one benefit of a life time of clinging  🙂

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dancing . . .and resting . . .

Posted on June 22, 2015 by oct17

It seems such a small thing to write a weekly blog.  You would think that anyone who loves to write, who joys over words, whose morning walks in the garden and time in the Word  brims over of life would have no problem doing so. I should be able to sit right down and push “publish”. (I have written three the last three weeks–but didn’t “send”.)

I consider your journey and where you are in life; I want consistently to bring encouragement into lives that are aching, questioning.  I desire to gift  you with a bit of peace and promise and hope– into these days of chaos and uncertainly.

How can I provide that for you when the conflict to stay sane and insecure on this roller coaster of intense pain and suffering is real on my  journey.  I wonder if I should hear or watch the news. I want to play it safe, to live in a  cocoon, oblivious to the dilemma in the days.  But I cannot; that is not reality.

It is a struggle for me to rest secure, to “feel” safe when recent news causes sadness most mornings : the family murdered in the mansion in the Washington D.C . area; the small plane crash enroute to a graduation, killing all on board, the beautiful prom queen drowning near her home.  Just last week  a soon to be  grandmother whose sister is a member of our church was killed in a motorcycle accident. A three week old baby girl  whose father is an employee of a member in the church  died five days ago.

This past week two precious ladies in the church received devastating diagnosis and prognosis concerning health situations.  The deaths of nine believers in a sweet congregation in Charleston caused such sadness–even anger.

How do we respond? What do we say when the journey is rough,  looking more like an ocean storm with billowing waves than a quiet way to be walked?

And I am supposed to be happy?

I cannot be. Happiness is a variable contingent on our circumstances.  And there are times when we just cant be happy.  And you cant, either, when you are walking through painful sad places on the journey. We are not promised happiness. . .

. . .oh, but the joy we are promised!  Joy in the Lord is a constant, based on the relationship we have with Jesus Christ.  Peace and joy are gifts we as Christians are granted to walk this journey. Joy is peace dancing and peace is joy resting (unknown author)

I cannot be happy as Tom continues to endure his physical pain–but soon, we hope it will be gone. Nor can I be happy as I enter into the heartache and sufferings of  others.  But I can dance and rest these days because of who He is . . .and what he gives.

Read these words with me from the prophet Habakkuk who was not at all happy at what was coming to his nation of Israel:

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls———

YET, I will rejoice in the Lord.  I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights—–” (3:17-19)

And I can dance!

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overflowing . . .

Posted on June 2, 2015 by oct17

Today is another cloudy, gray day in Lebanon, Tennessee.  The grass is as green as Ireland now due to the downpours in the last few days.  But before the rains came, the garden was brittle and brown; inch-wide cracks opened in the yard.  We watched every black cloud with anticipation, but no abundance was falling at this address.

Texas was drenched in wetness, and we were being teased with showers.  Why doesn’t it rain here, I questioned. I breathed a smile and thanked God for every sparse drop.

Until today . . .

We have had enough rain.

How dare I say ‘stop’?

What do we do with excesses when we  first consider them as blessings?  I was rejoicing for the showers when they came, even though my heart hurt for those in Texas for being deluged.  When is rain a blessing, and when does it cease to be a “good thing”?  I would never pretend to know that answer.

When it began to rain, Tom had a brilliant idea (he thought :-)) of saving on the water bill due to May’s  barren days.  So Saturday we pulled a 100 gallon tub (a flea market find) under a gutter to catch the precious liquid.  The idea was that I would water newly transplanted trees, bushes and flowers with that–use the water quickly (the ground is unusually parched, right?)  and then it would fill again with the next small shower.

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Imagine my surprise when I went out early Monday morning; it was still drizzling, and my new watering can was running over. The dry ground is saturated–it doesn’t need any help from me.  Now what do I do with this much blessing?

I stood there watching the rainwater overflow the sides,  and didn’t know whether to count this as a blessing or a curse.  A few days before I had cried as I heard of the sweet young prom queen who had drowned when her car was caught in flooding water near San Antonio, Texas, only a few miles from her home.  Several others have lost lives in that flooded state.

How can beautiful rain cause such disaster?

Rather than being a cause to question excessive rain,  maybe this mammoth watering trough can be a symbol of hope- in the floods, in the hurricanes, in all of life’s  enormous catastrophes.  When questions don’t have answers.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15: 13

filled with joy and peace . . .

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