Spikes or Nests?

Thanks to my brother Karl Vaters.  He is my guest blogger today and is pastor of Cornerstone Christian Fellowship in Fountain Valley.  I'm enjoying the break and a long weekend!
Karen


Hello Jenny and Pearl readers,

My sister has given me the extreme privilege of being a guest blogger. I don’t expect to do this anywhere near as well as she does, but I’ll give it my best shot. And I’m a preacher, so I’m likely to blog like one. You know what they say about old dogs…

We’re in the middle of a much-overdue renovation project at the church where I pastor. No this is not a plea for money (but if you had a little extra cash, I wouldn’t complain…).

A few months ago, during the design stage of the project, we had one of those thousand little decisions you have to make when you’re building something. This decision concerned a three-foot high wall that will enclose the brand-new patio on one side, and border a brand-new skateboard park on the other.

The contractor was expressing concern that people would be tempted to sit, not just on the seats inside the wall toward the patio, but on the wall itself to face the skate park. He was wondering how to design the top of the wall to keep people from sitting on it.

My response surprised him. I told him to add a ledge to make the top of the wall wider and to make sure the wall was strong enough to hold people’s weight. I think my exact words were “They’re gonna sit there anyway. Might as well make it comfortable and safe for them.”

I know what you’re thinking. “Compelling story, Karl. So when does your sister get back?” But hear me out.

I responded the way I did because of a change the Lord made in my heart several years ago. And it had to do with the very kids (well, a previous generation of those kids, anyway) that we’re building our new skate park for.

I’ve pastored two churches where we’ve had what many consider the “problem” of teenagers hanging around the property looking for something to do. In the first church, over twenty years ago, we were right next to a high school. The school had passed a zero tolerance rule for smoking, which sounds great on paper, but what that meant was that the kids who smoked didn’t stay on campus during their lunch break. Instead, a whole lot of them congregated – you guessed it – in our church parking lot.

The first day they showed up I was shocked and offended. “How dare they do that here!” I thought. “Don’t they know what kind of building this is?!” So I pumped myself full of self-righteous indignation as I marched out of my office to teach these kids some manners.

As I was about to open the door, it was as though a presence stopped me in my tracks and a small voice in my head said, “You know what, Karl? They don’t know what kind of a building this is. But the moment you open your mouth, they will.”

Ouch.

I pulled myself away from the door and walked back to my office where I wrestled with God, my conscience and my self-righteousness for quite a while. To make a long story short, instead of shooing them off the property, I approached the church members and the nearby Bible college about the opportunity we had. In less than a month, and for the rest of the time I pastored that church, once a week there was a group of Christian students and student leaders who set out ashtrays, gave away free pizza and hung out with a growing group of high school smokers in our church parking lot.

I wish I could tell you stories about transformed lives, salvations and broken addictions that resulted from Pizza Thursdays, but I can’t. I don’t know of any. But I do know this: if those former high school kids have ever, in the last twenty years had occasion to think about God, Jesus or the church in a negative way, it wasn’t because of us. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a thirty-something adult out there now whose life has been changed by Christ, and when we get to heaven we’ll find out that it was partly because, instead of yelling at them or putting up “no smoking” signs, a pastor made sure they got free pizza and had a chat with a friendly face.

So what does that have to do with turning a low wall into a seat for skater wanna-bes at the church today? At Cornerstone, where I’ve been privileged to pastor for almost eighteen years now, we had kids hanging around too. But they weren’t smokers, they were skateboarders.

Instead of shooing them away or putting up signs to keep them out, we welcomed them and built skateboard ramps. And sold pizza for fifty cents a slice. And at this church, after more than ten years of welcoming skaters, their friends and their families, we do have some life-transformation stories. Dozens of them. Every year.

The principle is the same for the new wall.

We all want to control the way people enter or stay in our lives. And no one is worse at this than church people. Jesus welcomed the sinner. We shoo away the smoker and the skateboarder. We tell people “this is a church, behave the way I do” or “this is a wall, it’s not for sitting” much like we put spikes on the top of walls, statues and crosses to keep birds from building nests in them and pooping on them.

I don’t think Jesus was a spike-planter. I think he was a nest-builder, even though he knew better than anyone the mess it would cause. He just thought that having people in his life was worth the mess.

And I figure if people want to sit on a wall, we ought to make it comfortable and safe for them. It’s a pretty low price of admission for having more people in our lives.

Every day of our lives you and I face similar decisions, and not just at church. Will we accept people the way they come in to our lives, along with both the mess and the love that they bring? Or will we keep demanding that they come in the way we want, and have less mess, but less love too? By our attitudes, are we putting up signs or ramps? Walls or seats? Spikes or nests?

I don’t want anyone else erecting signs, walls or spikes when I want to be a part of their life. So I’m learning to build ramps, seats and nests when they want to be a part of mine – and maybe if I serve them a little pizza they’ll stick around a while.

I think the mess is worth it.

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 5

To read Chapters 1-4 of My Story, click on the links at the right.

Before I continue this next chapter, I have a confession to make. I am feeling a bit squeamish about the title of my story "The Gift of Pain". When I began writing this, most of my pain was in the past.  It had settled to a dull roar and I felt that I had really learned some lessons that I could share. Unfortunately, the pain has returned and is increasing. Once you read the chapters dealing with my chronic pain (I promise, I will get there eventually), you will understand better why I do not want to return to those days of misery.

I have discovered that pain is a cruel master. Just when you think you have beat him back, he rears his ugly head trying to wrest control of your life once again. I guess, in some weird way, this is where the gift aspect comes in. I don’t know if I would have learned how desperately and completely I need the Lord’s presence in my life, were it not for the pain. I’m that stubborn and hard headed.  I just really wish I could learn this another way. 

Right now, I have to admit, I am praying for a reprieve. If you are looking to read a story that wraps up nicely, like the final five minutes of some mindless TV show, where everything is resolved and they all ride off into the sunset, then quit reading now.  

If you are a 'name it and claim it' Christian, this will not fit your theology.  I offer this alone, a firm and deep conviction that whether or not I am ever free of pain, God is who he says he is, he is worthy of my praise, and my life is in his hands.

"Since Jesus went through everything you're going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you'll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want."  ^{1 Peter 4:1-2(MSG)}

Are you ready?….read on.

I will never forget the sight of my dear husband, lying in our bed while a dozen firemen and paramedics crowded into our room . It was surreal. I stood motionless at the end of the bed, until the phone rang. “Mommy, are you going to pick us up from school?” asked our daughter. “You’re late!” I put on my cheery mommy voice and said, “Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I got busy and forgot.  Someone will be there to pick you up in a minute.”

I asked my brother to get the kids from school and he left. The paramedics loaded Steve into the ambulance and told me I would need to follow in my car. I was alone and scared. I immediately called my parents but got their voice mail instead. I finally called my sister, living in Vancouver at the time, and burst into tears when she answered the phone. She prayed with me and reassured me that everything would be all right. God was in control.

I hung up the phone and sat in my car, unable to move. All at once, I felt a deep sense of peace settle over me like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I had never experienced anything so supernatural yet so very real. I dried my tears and headed to the hospital calmly. When I got there, I was directed to the emergency room where a dozen people were hooking up Steve to wires and monitors, asking a constant stream of questions. Their cheery demeanor and professionalism calmed me further. One of the doctors announced, “Congratulations Mr. Rutledge, you are having a heart attack.”

Before long, my parents arrived and rushed to my side. We were told that Steve would be going to the cath lab for further testing and I kissed his cheek as they whisked him away.

Over the next several hours the waiting room filled with family and friends as they came to support our daughter Ashley and me. Our youngest two spent the night at my brother’s house, oblivious to the drama at the hospital. I sat calmly in the waiting room, still sensing that “peace that passes understanding”.

After a while, the doctor came and gave us the news. While undergoing testing, Steve had gone into cardiogenic shock.  They almost lost him, but were able to start his heart again.  They implanted an external heart pump to stabilize him so he could survive  emergency coronary artery bypass surgery. The doctor stated, matter-of-fact, that if I hadn’t called 9-1-1 when I did, he would have died. I heard the doctor, but it was days later before the reality of the situation sank in. I signed the approval forms and we continued waiting.

As Steve tells it, one minute he was lying on the table looking at the heart monitor. All of a sudden… he saw it flat-line.

He looked from the monitor to the doctor and then passed out. The next thing he knew he was waking up from surgery. “I thought I died,” he says. When I woke up, everyone looked grim, telling me I had to have a double by-pass. All I could think was, I’m glad to be alive!”

He certainly wasn’t the only one that felt that way. We called friends and family with the good news, praising God for sparing Steve and for the quick actions of the paramedics and doctors.  We braced ourselves for the days of recovery ahead, as his parents booked their flights to come from Canada to be with us.

Let me ask you something, at this point? What is your greatest fear? What is that thing that keeps you awake at night or that you are certain you could never survive? For me, it had always been the possibility of my husband being hurt or injured. From the time we were married, I was certain that I would be widowed at a young age (that time has certainly passed!) I could not imagine how I would manage if I was left to cope with our lives alone. Maybe because we had been married very young and I had never really handled life on my own. Whatever the reason, it was a very real deep-seated fear of mine that I had never shared with anyone.

Now my fear had become a reality. He had survived the heart attack and the surgery, but he was incapacitated and would be so for some time. Being self-employed, we didn’t have sick days or disability insurance to fall back on. How long could we survive, I wondered?

I had a meager income selling my purses and a few things on ebay, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. Here is the amazing part. From that moment in the car, when I felt that peace come over me like a blanket, through Steve’s recovery, I never worried. This is not normal behavior for me. I know it was God’s presence reassuring me that he would care for me when Steve could not.

Many days I would look at our circumstances and say to myself, “Today, the bills are paid, the children are healthy and Steve is alive. That is enough. Tomorrow is another day and it’s in God’s hands.” I took it one day at a time, some days, one hour at a time.

So many dear friends and family held us up through that time, with their prayers, encouragement, presence and financial support. We could never repay them all for being there for us at such a critical time.

Steve recovered quickly and was soon feeling better than he had in years. We had survived another major crisis. Certainly now we would get a break.  We enjoyed a period of relative health and prosperity where we breathed a little easier, but for me personally, the worst was yet to come...


" There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love."  ^{1 John 4:18 (MSG)}

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 3

To read Chapters 1 & 2 of My Story - The Gift of Pain, click on the link at the right.

Months turned into years, as my neurologist worked diligently to pinpoint the source of my seizures and find a medication that would halt them. I was blessed to have an incredible neurologist. I know it was God’s provision for me at a time when I felt little hope. Not only was he a top neurologist, he was an epileptologist. Dr. Sirichai Chayasirisobhon, known as Dr. Chaya, is an incredible man, a devoted Christian from Thailand and tops in the field of epilepsy research and treatment.

We discovered that Dr. Chaya had come to faith in Christ at a church in Thailand that was planted by the Stone Church in Toronto, while my dad pastored there over twenty years previous to this time.  What an incredible 'God connection', for my heavenly Father to be preparing this man, while I was just a child, to minister to me all these years later.   

The first few times I visited Dr. Chaya, I struggled to understand his heavily accented English but from the very beginning it was clear that he was on my side and would not rest until I was well. He never said, “We may not find a solution” only “it may take time”.

We still laugh about the time I asked Dr Chaya if there were any dietary restrictions that I needed to be aware of and specifically, if I should give up drinking coffee.

He looked at me and very seriously said, “You must have quality of life”. He reassured me that I didn’t need to give up coffee along with everything else I had lost. To this day, I will pick up a cup of java, breathe in the delicious aroma and repeat, “I must have quality of life”.

While Dr Chaya and his staff encouraged me, I encountered other doctors who were less than stellar. One particular doctor spoke words that crushed my spirit.

I went to the Kaiser Los Angeles facility for a full day of neuro-psychological testing. On the way there I had a seizure and was dreading a day of endless questioning. For over six hours I underwent a battery of tests and evaluations. Several of these tests were to measure IQ. As I took the tests, some of the clinicians told me that I was doing exceptionally well. I thought nothing of it and went home exhausted.

A week later Steve and I went back to LA to discuss the results of the tests with a doctor I had never seen before. He was an esteemed neurologist and from the beginning of our session was arrogant and condescending. Anybody who has suffered from a long-term illness knows how vulnerable you become to words that are spoken while you are in such a fragile state.

We went through the test results and he informed me that one of the things they had discovered was that I had an exceptionally high IQ. The doctor then proceeded to ask me a series of bizarre questions.

“Were you the victim of sexual abuse as a child?”

“Have you ever been a victim of violence?”

I replied, “No” to all his questions, but he wasn’t satisfied. He persisted, asking the questions again, rephrasing them and repeating them. I assured him that I had never been the victim of any violent act, wondering what on earth he was getting at. Steve sat beside me, puzzled by his questions.

After half an hour or more, the doctor stated with conviction, that I was the victim of some violent or traumatic act. In his (not so humble) opinion, I was repressing this memory. I stared at him in disbelief as he continued on, insisting that this was the cause of my seizures and I must dig deep into my psyche to uncover the root. At the core of his insistence was my high IQ, a sure indicator, he said, of someone with repressed memories (not true, I later discovered).

I left his office dazed and confused. For the few weeks my mind was in an uproar. These were some of the convoluted thoughts that raced through my head, day in and day out.

“I know I’m not the victim of abuse. I’ve never been abused in my life.”

“But…if I was abused and had repressed it, how would I know.”

“Maybe I am a victim and I just don’t know.”

“If I am a victim, who abused me?”

I repeated these questions, and others, over and over in my head. I lay there, picturing in my mind every loved one and acquaintance from my childhood, imagining them as perpetrators of some horrible crime against me. It was driving me mad.

The other aspect of the doctor’s report that I found troublesome was the issue of my IQ. My mind was so muddled from endless seizures that I found it difficult to read or focus on anything.

“What a waste of a brain!” I despaired. “What have I ever done with my life?” “I wish he had never told me.”

I plummeted deep into depression, certain that I was abused, useless and possibly crazy.

Finally, one day, Steve had enough. After listening to me rail on with my confused questioning, he looked me in the eye and said, “Karen, who is the author of fear?”

“I know, but…” I started to argue.

“Who is the author of confusion?” he asked again.

“The enemy – Satan” I hesitantly replied.

“Who is the author of peace and a sound mind?”

“God, my heavenly Father”, I meekly replied.

“This doctor has spoken confusion and fear into your mind, without offering you hope. You need to let it go, focus on God and accept his healing for you.” Steve continued reassuring me and read to me Scriptures of hope and healing.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”
2 Timothy 1:7

At my monthly appointment with Dr. Chaya, I related to him, in a panic, what the other doctor had said. With love, Dr. Chaya responded that he did not feel like I exhibited any of the symptoms of someone associated with repressed memories – self-destructive behavior and sexual promiscuity. He also stated that there was a great deal of controversy on this subject overall. He reassured me that we would find a cure for my seizures and to trust God to help in the meantime.

Slowly, I began to let it go, stop the questioning and believe for my healing. There were days that I could believe, but many days of deep, dark despair. I kept very few records of those years but recently found a journal with a few entries that summed up my feelings.

“This morning when I went forward for prayer I just felt like it’s a waste of time. I don’t believe I’m going to be healed and I don’t hold out much hope with the doctors either. I just see an endless horizon of seizures and sickness – living half a life as half of a person.  My short-term memory and my ability to concentrate are decreasing. Some days I can barely remember or process anything…I feel so out of control. Everything is spinning away and I can’t stop it.”

On September 11, 2003, I started taking Topomax, the seventh different seizure medication I was prescribed. That was the beginning of my slow road to recovery. It was a fairly new medication at that time, but trials had shown it to be successful in halting seizures with few side effects. Other medications had caused heart palpitations, sleeplessness, depression and a myriad of other unwanted symptoms.

Days passed without a seizure, then weeks and before long I had been seizure-free for months. I held my breath and continued to pray that this would be the remedy I had been praying for.

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

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 2

It is amazing to me that, as soon as I decide to share my story and the lessons I have learned, I find myself again battling pain.  The past three days have been low.  I have even debated whether or not I should continue telling my story.  There isn't a neat and tidy bow to tie at the end.  After a few days of soul-searching I have decided to continue - so, here it is.  I am a work in progress.

Years of uncertainty about my health led to a crisis and made me determined to get to the bottom of my health issues. After a terrifying incident behind the wheel of our car, I vowed to find the answers I needed. I told Steve that I would not drive again, until a doctor could tell me what was wrong. Little did I know, when I uttered those words, that it would be over four years before I would get back behind the wheel of a car.

The day after the frightening episode in the car, I showed up at the doctor’s office without an appointment, and insisted that I needed to see someone immediately. After some time I finally got in to see the doctor. I related to him how I was feeling and the specifics of my incident the day before. He asked me, “Do you ever space out and lose track of time?” “No!” I said, annoyed at him for asking me. “Yes, she does” Steve responded. I looked at him in disbelief. “I do not!”

Steve insisted that I did. I looked at the doctor, then back at Steve, hurt by what he was saying. “Why did you never mention this before?”  “I didn’t want to make you feel bad” was his response. I sat there, dumbfounded, as the doctor questioned Steve further. He asked him what my behavior was like when these incidents occurred, how often it happened and for how long. After speaking for a few more minutes, the doctor turned and looked at me. “Karen, I believe you are having seizures. You cannot drive anymore until you see a neurologist. I will make a referral right away.”

The impact of his words hit me like a punch to the face. I looked out the window and, watching the cars drive by, thought, “This can’t be happening to me. What is going on? What does this mean? How will I survive without driving?” The rest of his words were a blur. We walked out of his office and I wept the whole way home.

For the next several months, my life was an unending series of tests and doctor’s visits – EKGs, EEGs, CAT scans, SPECT scans and more. I was diagnosed with epilepsy and my license was suspended. They said I was experiencing partial complex seizures.  The neurons in my brain were misfiring.

The seizures increased in frequency and intensity. My health deteriorated rapidly and before long, I could no longer hold down a job, drive a car or care properly for my family. I was afraid to leave the house, for fear of having a seizure in public.

To the untrained eye, my seizures were not obvious. I could sense when they were coming as the left side of my face and body would grow numb and tingle. If I immediately lay down, the seizures were short and less intense, but the more stressed, hungry or tired I was, the more intense my seizures would become. I would lay my head down, or lean back in my chair and feel this sensation come over me. I could barely move, couldn’t speak and would wait for it to pass.

Shortly after my seizures began, I had another health scare.

One day, while visiting my sister, I was gripped so strongly with pain that I couldn’t stand and could hardly speak. I had suffered with this pain before but not with this intensity. My sister raced me to the emergency room. The ob/gyn doctor on call that day was one of the top doctors in his field. After examining me, he informed me that I needed a hysterectomy and I had to have it as soon as possible.

Because of my symptoms and the length of time I had them, he was concerned that the large tumor within me might be advanced ovarian cancer. Within 24 hours they had me scheduled for surgery. I lay there, prepped for surgery. A doctor I had never met before walked into the room and introduced himself to Steve and me. He smiled and said he was the oncologist and was on hand “just in case”.  Worst-case scenarios reeled through my mind.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from the words of my groaning?


O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,
by night, and am not silent.


Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One;
you are the praise of Israel.
Psalm 22:12 (MSG)

What a flood of relief, when I woke up in the recovery room and saw a huge smile on Steve’s face. “You’re fine. The tumor was benign,” he said. They had also performed an appendectomy as my appendix appeared as though it was about to rupture.

I wept with relief.

In the meantime, my seizures continued. They didn’t last long, but the impact was incredible. Following a seizure I would feel exhausted, like I had run a marathon, and often felt very emotional. Because I was unable to drive, I had to ask for rides to the doctors or the store. Family and friends became my taxi service. The helplessness of my situation overwhelmed me. Looking back on it now, I realize how selflessly these loved ones cared for me – driving me, helping with the kids, cooking meals, praying and just being there. I am humbled when I think of their generosity and love.

There is one particular incident that sent me plummeting into despair. I was lying on the sofa when I felt a seizure coming on. My son (only four years old at the time) came in the room as I lay there. He called my name repeatedly and tugged at me to respond. I could hear him, but could not speak. My six-year-old daughter came behind him.

“Mommy’s not answering me", Sam told her. A few seconds passed. Rachel called my name. When I didn’t respond, I heard her turn to her brother and say, “I think she’s dead”. They both climbed on top of me and sat silently. Slowly, I recovered and reached up, pulling them close to me. I lay there and wept - utterly helpless to comfort them. I couldn’t bear to see the fear in my children’s eyes and wondered if God had abandoned me in my despair.

It would take some time for me to discover the truth. God was holding my hand through this journey, but the journey wasn’t over yet.  I would need to grip his hand firmly.

In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears.
Psalm 18:6

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 1

We cannot escape pain. It is a fact of life as certain as death and taxes. We may avoid it for a while. We may deny it for a period. But we cannot escape it forever.

My first experiences with pain were mild. I stubbed my toes, scraped my knees and fell off my bike, like every other child, my own included.  But usually, a soothing word, a caress and a band-aid and the injury was quickly forgotten. Okay, I just lied there. The truth is, I would scream bloody murder for an hour and a half and then I would get over it!  (So that's where my kids get it from.)

I had occasional trips to the emergency room for stitches and the typical growing pains of youth. As an adult, I seemed to gain more grace but, on occasion, would twist an ankle or bruise a shin. I gave birth to three beautiful children and experienced all the sickness, pain and utter joy associated with childbirth.

All of these experiences with pain were eclipsed, however, in the past several years, as I discovered the unrelenting cruelty of sickness and suffering.

For some time now, I have been compelled to tell my story.  The facts are often ugly and grim. I questioned whether or not mine was a story that people would desire to read and if it was self-indulgent.

Recently, I had two specific incidents that prompted me to take the leap and bare a bit of my soul.  Two different friends, on separate occasions,  said, “You need to share what you have been through."  One friend knows a fair bit of my story, the other, very little. Their words have stuck in my mind like gum on the bottom of my shoe, and I can’t get them off.  So, I have decided to take a risk and let you into my private world of chronic pain, shattered dreams, renewed hope and joy. This story will take a while. It is still often hard to relive. There are tears in my eyes as I write this. But, as the Swedish Proverb says, “Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow”.

This journey began approximately ten years ago. At that time, I was working full-time as the secretary of the Christian school where my two youngest children attended. Our oldest daughter was at the end of her high school years, looking ahead to college.

I had a particularly difficult labor with our youngest child and never felt like I really bounced back. At work, I was not as sharp as I once was, often distracted and overwhelmed.   I was told it was just the stress of parenting three children, working full-time and dealing with life.  However, one day my husband’s cousin made a remark that made me think there may be more to the way I was feeling.

Jon and I had worked in the same office a few years previous to this time and he commented to Steve, “Remember how sharp Karen used to be. She was type A and could multi-task better than anyone I knew."  Turning to me he said, “You’re just not the same anymore."

Now, I know that this sounds like an unusual thing for somebody to say and it really annoyed my husband. He felt that it was unkind and told Jon in no uncertain terms.  I, on the other hand, felt like there was finally somebody who acknowledged how I had been feeling for some time – dull, slow and just generally out of whack.

For months I had questioned Steve, my mom, my sister and friends, “Do you notice how different I am? I’m just not the same. Something is wrong. Do you see it?” One by one they had reassured me that I seemed normal and that I was probably just tired - not to worry.

I told the doctor how I was feeling and they ran some blood work and ordered an EKG, but everything appeared fine - "probably just hormones" (a doctor's favorite go-to line).

All that changed on Thanksgiving Day, 2001.  We had a great time at Grandma and Poppa’s house, ate too much turkey and were driving home, just over a mile away.  Steve had gone ahead with our oldest in one car and I was a few minutes behind with the youngest two in their car seats.  As I was driving down the hill from my parent’s house I had this strange feeling come over me.  I wasn’t sure what to do with the car.  It took me a few seconds to orient myself to where I was and it scared me.

I pulled over to the side of the road, my mind in an uproar.  “Mom, what are you doing? Why did we stop?” the kids questioned.  At first I couldn’t speak, but eventually told them that I wasn’t feeling well and needed to rest before we could go on.  In my mind I was thinking, “What is wrong with me? I can’t drive any further. Maybe my sister will come along soon and see me here.”

Several more minutes passed and nobody drove by.  I got my bearings and continued on home.  When I walked in the door, Steve could tell something had happened.  I looked at him and said, “I am not getting back in that car again until somebody tells me what is wrong. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow and I am staying there until I get some answers!”   I was truly terrified.

This was the beginning of my journey through sickness, pain and strengthened faith.  It is a journey that I am still traveling.  I don't know how to share it briefly, so I will continue to share my story over the next several weeks.  I earnestly pray that somehow, when you read it, you will be encouraged to persevere through your own journey, however painful that may be. My purpose in this is not to glorify myself or garner your pity, but to bring glory to the One who was, “despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.” Isaiah 53:3 NIV

You will discover how I can truly say, I thank God for the "gift of pain".

Our Dumb Dog

Our dog Casey is stupid.

I know that sounds unkind, but stick with me here and I think you will eventually agree.

On the other hand, our cat is smart.

This has nothing to do with me be "cat person" or a "dog person".  These are just facts.

I actually prefer dogs.  They wag their tails when you walk in the room, accompany you on on walks  and are generally good-natured when they are loved and cared for.

Cats, on the other hand, want everything on their terms and can, at times, behave as though they really don't need you.  My cat would not like to be taken for a walk and I gave up buying her collars, since she immediately got rid of them (I have yet to figure out how).  I spent years disliking cats intensely and still have only warmed up to a few of them.  Our cat Skipper has won me over.  Even though she is noisy (like the rest of the family) and a bit demanding, she is smart.

You are probably wondering why I think our dog is so dumb.  Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, a family had a black cat.

She was happy with her status as the family pet and was not in the least threatened by the parade of fish and reptiles that came and went.  She survived the occasional scrape with tomcats and possums and managed to avoid the coyotes.  To show her love and appreciation for her family, she regularly left gifts of dead birds, mice and lizards on the back step.

Then this family adopted a cute little beagle from the local animal shelter.  That's when everything changed.  From the moment this dog entered their home it was clear that her beagle hunting instincts were very strong.  She cornered the cat, chased her down the hall and generally pestered her on a daily basis.  The cat, however, ignored the dog as best as she could and avoided her at all costs.

One day, the cat had enough.  She was cornered by this pesky dog and took matters into her own paws.  With one swipe she left her mark.  The dog ran away, yelping  in pain.  When the owners examined her they realized the cat had hit the bullseye, or the dogseye, as it were.  She had scratched her cornea and left an ugly mark.  The dog was taken to the emergency room where they said the eye would heal.  The vet said, "well, at least now she will leave that cat alone".  For days, she lay shaking in her dog bed, whimpering in pain, while the cat paraded by, inches from her, once again queen of the house.

Slowly the dog began to heal, with daily antibiotics squeezed onto her eye and extra TLC from her owners.  Peace ruled the house and the family breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, if the story ended there, that would make sense.  The fact is that dog got better and once she got better, you know what she started doing again?  Chasing that cat.

Now, if you were bugging me, teasing me incessantly and generally making a nuisance of yourself and I took a stick and poked you in the eye, practically blinding you, would you continue pestering me?  I highly doubt it.  Well, not our dog Casey.  She is truly thick-headed.  She has resumed chasing the cat, although I have to admit, the cat doesn't take her quite as seriously and doesn't perceive her to be the threat she once was.

On her checkup visit to the vet, I told her how the dog had begun to chase the cat again and she shook her head in disbelief.  That is one dumb dog (she didn't say it, but I know she was thinking it).

When I started thinking about these two beloved pets of ours and their complicated relationship, I realized I'm really not that different.  There have been times in my life when I have been poked with a stick in the eye - not literally, but you get the drift.  And you know what I did?  Went back to doing the same thing I had done before.

This was partcularly true of me as a child and a teenager, but it has persisted into my adult life.  Like my kids say, "sometimes I likes to be's bad!"  I do something stupid, suffer the consequences for my behavior (the proverbial stick in the eye) and then turn around and do the same stupid thing over and over and...

It has been a slow journey for me, realizing that I need to change my rebellious ways and learn from the discipline.  But the Lord is so patient with me and his mercy is endless.  If there's hope for me, maybe there's hope for that dog!

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. ^{Hebrews 12:11 (NIV)}

Snapshots

I'm overwhelmed.

You may know the feeling.  No matter what I do, it's not enough.  If I'm working in my office, I'm picturing the mountain (I'm being literal here) of laundry piled by the washing machine.  When I'm doing the laundry, I am thinking about the housework that needs to be done (why does the dog still have hair on her body when there's soooo much everywhere else?).  When I'm doing housework, I'm thinking, I need to spend more time with the kid's this summer.  When I'm out with the kids, I am trying to focus, but keep being drawn back to all the other things I should be doing.  It is a vicious cycle.

There never seems to be enough time, money or energy for what I need to accomplish.  This is hard for me to admit.  I hemmed and hawed about whether or not I should write this.  I hate whiners and don't want to sound like one, but I have a feeling there are others of you out there who may relate to my predicament.

Yesterday, it all just became too much.  I was being pulled in so many directions that I just gave up, sat in my chair and cried.  I had myself a first-class pity party!  Now a pity party is not festive, and nobody wants to join you, so I had it all by myself, no cake no banners, no gifts, just a box of tissue.  After I was done (and my eyes were red and blotchy), I walked away from the computer, ignored the housework, the laundry and yes, even my kids and went to my room.

I sat on my bed and had a looong talk with the Lord.  I told him about my fears and my frustrations.  He is the one friend that I know for sure will listen.  Slowly, I felt a peace begin to settle over my spirit.  I recalled the words that Jesus spoke, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." John 14:27.  Slowly and sweetly I let those words calm my spirit and my mind.

Not wanting to leave my room, I picked up a box filled with unsorted, disorganized pictures and started going through them.  My first thought was to try and get them in order (must be doing!) but before long I got lost in the pictures and the memories and started focusing on how good life has been.

One thing about photographs, they capture a moment in time, but we tend to be selective, taking pictures of the good times and ignoring the bad.  I have never (and won't do it even for this blog) taken a picture of my mountain of dirty laundry.  I don't snap pictures of the bills piled on the desk and I don't have a single photograph of the dog poop in the backyard waiting to be picked up. 

I do, however, have pictures of my wedding day.  I have shot pictures madly of my children, from the day they were born, through their first steps, vacations, athletic events, academic awards, and the fun of watching them grow every day.  Their sweet faces fill my photo boxes.

I also have pictures of my own childhood, my beautiful parents and in-laws, my husband and me, young and in love and old(er) and still in love.  There are pictures of family - nieces and nephews, cousins and siblings, friends present and past and loved ones that are no longer with us.

After some time, poring over pictures, laughing at hairstyles and chubby cheeks, sharing memories with my husband, my daughter and her fiance, I felt my burden easing a bit more.  Nothing had actually changed since my pity party.  A magical fairy didn't fly in the window and do my laundry.  I didn't get a visit from Publisher's Clearing House with a check for $10,000,000 (or even $10!), but I did allow myself a fresh perspective.

It is true that my troubles cannot and should not be ignored, but I can change my primary focus.  I can choose which mental snapshot to keep and which ones to throw away.  With God's help, I am
committing to dwelling on "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy"
Philippians 4:8.

I'll check back in and let you know how this new perspective works!

Psalm 91

You who sit down in the High God's presence, spend the night in Shaddai's shadow,

Say this: "God, you're my refuge.
I trust in you and I'm safe!"
That's right—he rescues you from hidden traps,
shields you from deadly hazards.
His huge outstretched arms protect you—
under them you're perfectly safe;
his arms fend off all harm.

Fear nothing—not wild wolves in the night,
not flying arrows in the day,
Not disease that prowls through the darkness,
not disaster that erupts at high noon.
Even though others succumb all around,
drop like flies right and left,
no harm will even graze you.
You'll stand untouched, watch it all from a distance,
watch the wicked turn into corpses.
Yes, because God's your refuge,
the High God your very own home,

Evil can't get close to you,
harm can't get through the door.
He ordered his angels
to guard you wherever you go.
If you stumble, they'll catch you;
their job is to keep you from falling.
You'll walk unharmed among lions and snakes,
and kick young lions and serpents from the path.

"If you'll hold on to me for dear life," says God,
"I'll get you out of any trouble.
 I'll give you the best of care
if you'll only get to know and trust me.
Call me and I'll answer, be at your side in bad times;
I'll rescue you, then throw you a party.

I'll give you a long life,
give you a long drink of salvation!"

Psalm 91 (The Message)

Artistic Endeavors

Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one.  
~Stella Adler

The Girl with a Pearl Earring Jan Vermeer

A few days ago I had my to-do list posted.  I won't tell how few of those things I have actually accomplished, but "get my office and my merchandise in order" is just about completed.  What a mess!  It has taken me several days, working at it a few hours at a time, to finally 'tame the beast'.  It feels so good to see things nicely displayed on my shelves and tucked into orderly boxes.  I don't know how long it will last but for now, it feels good.

While I was wading through all the 'stuff', I got my work desk cleared off and realized how much I miss creating.  Now, this blog has definitely sparked the creative juices and I love hitting the "Publish Post" button every day, knowing that at least one thing is completed in my day.  The creative outlet that I miss is making jewelry, transforming something out of bits of nothing and holding it in my hands.  I wouldn't call myself an artist, but it is my artistic expression.  I have been so overwhelmed with life, my shop, writing and more life that I haven't taken the time to be creative.

For years, I discounted the value of my artistic endeavors, thinking it was something to fit in after everything else was done.  I undervalued it's importance, placing more worth on checking items off my list.  What I have discovered is, allowing time for the creative process is not only highly therapeutic, but allows me to connect with the ultimate artist, my Creator.

When I take the time to appreciate art, visit a gallery or work on my own creative outlets, I have to slow down and block out the noise of everyday life.  When I enjoy a colorful sunset, a beautiful painting, uplifting music, or my own original expressions, I believe I tap into the very heartbeat of God.

God's first acts recorded were those of creation.  And what a creation - filled with color, humor and beauty!

Art is man's nature.  Nature is God's art.

~James Bailey

God is really only another artist.  He invented the giraffe, the elephant and the cat.  He has no real style.  He just goes on trying other things.  
 ~Pablo Picasso

For all of man's exploring and discovering we have still barely scratched the surface of the incredible world in which we live.  I need to connect with the creative heart of God.  So tonight I'm going for a walk, communing with my Father and making something, just because...

And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.   
^{~Genesis 1:31}

To Do List

I have really been trying to take my own advice and make Sundays a day of rest, no blogging, no housework, no listing.  I am enjoying that one day of the week to focus on my Creator, relax with my family and recharge for the coming week.  All of this means, of course, that I have to get things in order on Saturday.

Today my list of to dos is long.  I'll check things off one at a time and what doesn't get done...well, tough!

~ Work on Natalie's wedding veil (I'm making it - here's a tiny peek)

~ Get my office and my merchandise in order - what a mess! (will not post a picture - don't want to make you cry)

~ Clean my bathroom and vacuum (recruiting family volunteers for this one)

~ Spend some time taming back my jungle of a yard

~ Finish my blog (almost done!)

~ Take more product pictures

~ Post said pictures on my site

~ Buy Rachel basketball shoes (pleeeeze, mom?!)

~ Drop off packages at the post office (Steve just left with packages in hand - thanks!)

~ Get some groceries

~ Make an attendance chart for my Sunday School class

... okay, I just looked at this list and realized, it ain't gonna happen!  I'm sure you all have a list as long, or longer.  I could keep adding to it, but I've got to focus on what's important and let the rest wait.

It's so easy to get overwhelmed with the 'to dos' of my life.  I need to make sure that somewhere in that list is what is really important

~ spend time in the Word and talking to the Lord (if not, I won't make it through the day)

~ sit down and share a coffee and a chat with a friend (motivation to complete my tasks)

~ snuggle with the kids and talk about their day

~ contact a friend who is struggling, to listen and tell her she's loved

~ finish my blog (done!)

I feel better already.  See you Monday!

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
Matthew 6:34 (NIV)

Personal Heroes - Chapter 4

My hero today is an incredible young lady.  I know once you read her story you will fall in love with her as I have.  The first two things you notice about her are her height (tall, like me!) and her fabulous smile.  I met her when she was a teenager and have watched her grow and blossom into an incredible young woman with a deep compassion for the poor and the abandoned in the country of Romania.

These are the facts - in 2005

~ 4000 babies were abandoned at birth in maternity wards in Romania, Bulgaria and Ukraine
~ another 5000 babies were abandoned in pediatric wards
(Unicef Romanias 2005 report)
~ in 2009 those living in poverty increased from 369,000 to 1.59 million.  351,000 of these are children.

These numbers are staggering and I find it hard to wrap my mind around what this truly means and how it must impact a whole society.  Most of us hear figures like this, see a picture that tugs at our hearts and feel a moment or two of heartache but then we move on.

When Raegan Glugosh was faced with the impact of this poverty and abandonment, she could not move on.  In 1996, Raegan, an RN licensed in California, went on a short term missions trip to Romania.  God stirred her heart to minister to the needs of the forgotten children and become his hands and feet extended to these hurting souls.

In 1998 she moved to Romania permanently, leaving behind the affluence and comfort of Orange County and trading it for the challenges of daily life in a developing country.  Out of this obedience was birthed the ministry Touched  Romania, continuing today in a children's cancer hospital and facilities for abandoned babies throughout the city of Bucharest.

In 2006, the ministry expanded to include Hagar Home maternal center for the prevention of baby abandonment.  This aspect of the ministry empowers and disciples women in all areas of their life.  As a result, they have seen a decrease in abandonment by dealing with the source of the problem, working with mothers and families.

God has placed it on the hearts of Raegan and the staff at Touched Romania to become a voice for young mothers.  These single mothers have no government assistance in a society that requires little accountability from the biological fathers.  By working in the areas of advocacy and lobbying within the Romanian government, their plan, with God's help, is to effect a change in Romanian society.  Wow!  What an incredible goal.

This is the challenge that is facing Raegan and her team.  Touched Romania has an individual in mind to fill the position of lobbyist/activist.  They need funding to assist paying this extra salary.  If your heart has been stirred by the plight of these women and children, please consider giving toward this worthy cause.

   'I was hungry and you fed me,
   I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
   I was homeless and you gave me a room,
   I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
   I was sick and you stopped to visit,
   I was in prison and you came to me.'
  "Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.' 
Matthew 25:35-40 (MSG)

Baby Talk

I was never a baby person.  You know the type.  They can smell a baby from the other room.  They make a beeline to any new mom or stroller that they see, begging to hold the little bundle of joy and generally making a fuss.  You know who you are (Amie, Jodi and Donna!) and I know you can't help it.  There is that strong maternal instinct that just goes out of control whenever an infant is near.

I was never like that.  In fact, as a young person I didn't babysit or hardly look at babies.  I would make the required complimentary remarks about people's progeny but you wouldn't ask me to teach or help in the nursery!  I began to wonder if I had that maternal instinct at all.

A single event changed all that over 27 years ago.  I had a baby.  All of a sudden, my world was turned upside down.  I was not prepared in any way.  I hadn't even changed a diaper and had to have the nurse teach me before I left the hospital.  I was overwhelmed, at first.  The lack of sleep, lack of training and constant neediness of my little girl left me exhausted and wondering, "what have I gotten myself into?".  But gradually, she slept through the night, sat up, crawled, walked, and continued to grow into a little person and I realized something one day.  I was smitten.

I never imagined the ways motherhood would change my life - for the better.  I wouldn't trade being a mom for anything.  But there were times, when I was younger that I would ponder, "Is this it?  Is this the only contribution I will make with my life?  Feeding kids, doing laundry, juggling work and school and sports and..."  Now, I realize there is no better contribution I can make to the world than having the opportunity to pour myself into the lives that have been entrusted in my care.

As the years wore on, I prayed for God to remove the desire from heart for more children, but it remained and, if anything, grew stronger as my friends had more babies and I was surrounded by a boatload of nieces and nephews (who I adore).  Thirteen years passed before we were blessed with another baby girl.  Two years after that, our son was born.  What joy!

As a mother of three, I have applauded loudly at their accomplishments, fallen to my knees through their struggles and been amazed every step of the way, to seem them grow, rise to the challenges and blossom into their own unique persons.  Our oldest is now an adult and next year will marry and start a family of her own, but she will always be my baby girl, the one that broke me in!

As I continue daily, to pray for my children, for their safety, their future, their many needs, I am confident that whether or not I do everything 'right' (and let me tell you, I certainly don't), that their Heavenly Father is watching out for them and cares for them more than I could possibly imagine.  What a comfort.

So, I'm a convert.  I am now a baby person.  I marvel every time I see a sweet little cherub with all their incredible potential, and thank God for the three he sent to our family.




   God's love, though, is ever and always, eternally present to all who fear him, 
   Making everything right for them and their children as they follow his Covenant ways and remember to do whatever he said.
Psalm 103:17,18 (MSG)

This and That

I have been wracking my brain today.  I am completely uninspired.  I don't know if it's the summer haze or having the kids at home but today I've got nothin'!

So, I'll just chat about a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

~We had a beautiful Father's Day.  Our kids showed dad how much they love him with handmade cards and tokens of their love.

He is an incredible dad plus he's a big softy so he eats this stuff up!
Our pastor preached a great sermon about legacy, posing the question "What kind of legacy will you leave?"  It was a good challenge for all of us, not just the dads.  Whoever we are, we are influencing someone - a son, a niece, a coworker or friend.  Even strangers that we meet can be affected by how we respond to them.  What kind of legacy are you leaving?  If that question makes you uncomfortable or you are dissatisfied with the answer, ask God to help you reflect His love to those around you.

I have been blessed with the best example in a father and also in a father-in-law.  What a godly legacy they are leaving for us and our children.  They are men of faith, love and compassion.  They inspire me and I am privileged to have them in my life.

 I'm still a daddy's girl

*Check out my Father's Day post under Personal Heroes - Chapter 3.

~Being June, wedding bells are ringing and my niece is getting married in three short weeks now so things are gearing up.  We had a shower for her on Saturday and there will be another in two weeks.  Friends and family will be arriving from out of town.  What fun!  The joy that a couple shares as they begin a new life together is so beautiful to watch.  It has made me reflect back on my own wedding day almost 29 years ago - yikes!

 The bride-to-be Natalie and her beautiful mom (my sister Kathy)

Little did we know, as young as we were, the challenges that lay ahead for us.  It is truly by God's grace and with His love that we we have built a family and our lives together.  We could not have done it on our own.  He is the One we lean on when disappointments, pain and the stresses of everyday life weigh us down.

~I met with a dear friend this morning for a cup of coffee (one of my favorite things to do) and we were thinking back on the past several years.  They have been filled with loss, pain and incredible challenges, for both of us.  But it is such a comfort to know that whatever life throws our way, we are resting in the Father's hands and He cares about us.  I love this Scripture, it remains one of my favorites.  Hope it encourages your heart today.

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

Personal Heroes - Chapter 3

I had another hero in mind for today, but in honor of Father's Day I have chosen to share with you a profile more dear to my heart.  


I called him Poppy.  The general population knew him as Pastor Eugene Vaters.  He was a circuit preacher, a spiritual pioneer, a gentleman, a poet, and my grandfather.  My dad, the eighth child in the family, was born on Poppy's 40th birthday.  He was and remains, my greatest hero.

To me, he was bigger than life, and time with him was a rare treat.  He lived on the Atlantic Coast on the rugged island of Newfoundland, much too far away from our home in Toronto.  My grandmother, who we called 'Mom Vaters' (she did not like to be called 'Grandma') is the Jenny of Jenny and Pearl.

There is one particular time together that I recall most fondly.  When I was just a little girl, about 7 years old, we went on vacation to visit my grandparents.  Our favorite cousins, Elizabeth and Sarah also lived there and my sister and I were so excited at the prospect of spending time with them.

"I have decided" Poppy pronounced one day.  "I am taking my girlies to the Cabin for an overnight stay."  We squealed with excitement at the prospect of a road-trip.  My Aunt Pauline objected.  She couldn't imagine how her 73 year old father could possibly manage four energetic tow-headed little girls, but she was overruled and we were on our way.

Now, you have to understand that the Cabin, as it was called, was little more than a one-room wooden shack in the middle of a rocky outcrop in the remote little village of Victoria, where my grandmother was born.  There was no running water, one bed and a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.  None of that mattered to us.  We escaped from our parents and the boys, the four girls together with our adored grandfather.  It was an adventure!

Our first meal at the Cabin was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Poppy made us all scream with disgust when he opened a can of sardines and plopped them in the middle of his.

Because it was their summer retreat, he had a garden planted at the side of the house.  He asked us all to come out and assist him for a while and we happily trooped outside.  The soil on the property was more rocks than earth, with a profusion of wild blueberries, but difficult growing conditions for any other crop.  The task slated for the afternoon was removing rocks that sprouted up every year, faster than weeds.

We set to work digging and raking while Poppy began removing some of the larger rocks.  The sun was shining brightly at first but was soon hidden behind a bank of low clouds.  The fog rolled in from the Atlantic, thick as pea soup and it wasn't long before the other girls begged to go inside, away from the damp and the cold.  They called to me to go inside and I hesitated at first.  It was cold and I was getting a bit tired, but I declined as I saw an opportunity to have my grandfather all to myself.

The fog settled around us like a misty curtain and our breath came out in cottony puffs.  I immediately set to work beside my grandfather, pulling out the biggest rocks I could find, determined to show him I was a big girl.  The only sounds were the muffled laughter from inside the Cabin and the chink of metal against the rocky soil.  I couldn't imagine anyplace I would rather be at that moment than in that tiny garden working side by side with the grandfather that I adored.

The air became colder and the mist fell like rain, dampening our skin.  The minutes turned into hours and time was suspended as my hands grew numb prying rocks from the stubborn soil.  Throughout the afternoon, my dear Poppy would encourage me, touch me gently on the shoulder and smile at me approvingly, spurring me on.  He was planting seeds of love in the stubborn soil of a hard-headed little girl.

Years later, a young lady received a letter from an old man.  "Do you know, Karen, I could see again those nice, little fingers following my digging fork at Victoria, hooking out the stones?"  he wrote.  "That is so vivid.  You were so determined and you stayed with me all the while the girls were warm and cozy in the Cabin."  He saw my determination and stubbornness as an attribute and not a great character flaw.  What an incredible gift.

Poppy has been gone for over 20 years now, but I often reflect on that precious time together, remembering it fondly.  Thanks Poppy, for believing in me .

'Rise in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly and revere your God. I am the LORD.'
Leviticus 19:32


P.S.  Dad, Happy Father's Day!  Thanks for being the best grandpa ever to my kids.  I love you.

A Grateful Heart

Today I am choosing to be grateful.

I have found that when I choose to be consciously thankful for all of the little things and focus on the blue sky between the clouds, I am far more content with where I am.

So today, this is my grateful list, in no particular order

~ blueberries - eating them while I type!

~  summer - three more days and it officially arrives in our house

~ Ashley's new job - good to see my daughter loving what she does and getting paid for it!

~  my new computer - so much faster and a pleasure to work at

~ the fact that Steve is cooking tonight so I can work

~ my lululemon pants - they fit just right!

~  my church family - it's wonderful to feel connected

~ Peet's Coffee

~ salted chocolate caramels (with a cup of coffee)

~ Rachel playing the piano at all hours of the day

~ a hearty, snorting, makes-your-belly-hurt laugh (don't judge me, I snort!)

~ my sister - she understands me

~ God's patience with me - it is infinite!

I could go on.  There are many more things that I am grateful for, but for today, I'm especially grateful for you and the opportunity to share myself through words.  What's on your list?


^{1 Thess 5:18} Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus. (NLT)

The Myth of Perfection

I had an interesting conversation with my nephew Jacob yesterday (or Ja-Bob, as I call him).  He has been going through a very difficult time lately and is struggling with some serious issues.

We were in the car alone and had our local Christian radio station on.  He was commenting on the songs, which ones he liked best and how powerful the words were.  Then he told me, "sometimes I listen to this music, and I like it, but sometimes I listen to rap and it isn't good for me, but I want to do it anyway.  I just can't help it."

I thought to myself, Jacob you are not alone.  You see, my problem isn't rap music, but it is my flesh at war with my spirit.  There are so many things I know I shouldn't do, but does that stop me?  No.  I am an adult - fairly mature and a parent at that.  But it does not prevent me from battling with anger, pride, jealousy and other aspects of my sinful nature.  On my own, I fail.

Paul could relate to me and Jacob.  He spoke about how this affected him, in the book of Romans

"For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time. 

It happens so regularly that it's predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God's commands, but it's pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge.

I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?"
Romans 7:17-24 MSG

If we were to leave things there, we would be in a sorry state.  But it doesn't end there, with hopelessness and defeat.  Paul continues on...

 ²⁵"The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different."

The key is not in working harder,  but in submitting control to the One who is perfection.  This does not let us off the hook.  Quite the opposite.  It requires a daily, sometimes hourly submitting of our will to God and admitting our weaknesses to him.  It is our pride that keeps us striving for perfection.  It is our humility that allows us to admit that we are flawed.

"God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God.  Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it."
Ephesians 2:8,9 NLT

Thanks, Jacob, for reminding me that we are all alike in this struggle, and we are not alone.

"Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.  All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely."

Day of Rest

This has been a hard week.  It has been exhausting - physically, emotionally, spiritually.  I have an old injury that has decided to start acting up again.  I thought I was improving, and now this!  I wore earrings and now I have swollen glands, because I'm allergic to metals.  I am paying a price for my vanity.  This is just the tip of the iceberg.  There are issues, too personal to share, that are weighing me down and sapping my strength.  So many loved ones are dealing with major life issues like me and I want to be there for them, to offer support and encouragement.  But I feel like the well is dry.

I know it's been the same for many of you, and you feel like yelling, "Uncle!  I give up!"  But, we keep trudging on, doing our best to deal with all the pressures and trying to put a smile on our face.

But, you can only 'fake it' for so long.  There comes a time when you have to recharge and refuel.  Like a car, you can't keep it running without stopping for gas or changing the oil and maintaining the engine.  Eventually, you will sputter to a stop, or the engine will seize (unfortunately, this I learned the hard way - don't ask).

So, how do we recharge and refuel?  I know there are a couple practical ways that I do this.  The first one is to daily be in the Word.  When I read the Scriptures, God can speak to my heart and heal the broken places inside like no earthly person can.  I'm not so good at the 'daily' thing, but I've found that when I discipline myself to do this and make it a priority, the stresses of life are not as overwhelming.

The second one is to give my worries to God, in prayer.  I Thessalonians 5:17 says to "pray continually".  I have to remind myself that prayer isn't just me spouting my frustrations to God, although He can handle it when I do.  It is also waiting quietly for God to speak to my heart.  It is two-sided.  Like a conversation with a dear friend, I need to give Him time to speak, instead of dominating the conversation.

The third way to refuel is to allow ourselves a day of rest and dedicate it to God.  I know, nowadays this seems impractical, and for many their jobs don't allow it.  This is the hardest one for me.  There is so much I could accomplish on Sunday (my chosen day of rest).  I am behind the ball and I'm scrambling to get caught up.  But God thought it important enough to set an example.

 ^{Exodus 20:8-11} Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Work six days and do everything you need to do. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to God, your God. Don't do any work... For in six days God made Heaven, Earth, and sea, and everything in them; he rested on the seventh day. Therefore God blessed the Sabbath day; he set it apart as a holy day.

Why is it so hard for me to set aside that day?  God wants to be with us!  What an incredible thought.  The God of the universe, who created the moon, the stars, the earth and everything in them, wants to spend time with me?  The least I can do is carve some time out of my week to be in His presence.

If your Sabbath can't fall on a Sunday, or a Saturday, I encourage you to find time, somewhere in your week to sit in His presence and reflect on His goodness.  He is waiting to spend time with you!

^{Isaiah 26:3} You will keep in perfect peace
      all who trust in you,
      all whose thoughts are fixed on you!

The Gift of Presence

I have a child that does not deal well with disappointment.  When something doesn't go as planned, it is hard to 'bounce back'.  Children deal with disappointment by fussing, complaining, pouting, yelling and often crying.  As a parent, I have learned to be careful what I promise to avoid disappointment.  I just can't deal with it!  Yesterday, this child was disappointed - and there was NO climbing out of the despair.  Nothing I could say or do was going to help.

Ten years ago, we were on a family vacation in Newfoundland, Canada.  One of the days was spent on a sightseeing trip to a bird sanctuary.  It was a spectacular day.  We walked across a beautiful meadow to the edge of magnificent ocean bluffs, where we saw thousands of puffins and other incredible sights.  Daddy and others took turns carrying our son on their shoulders on the way to the ocean view.

On the way back, he wanted to walk and while he took his time picking up rocks and pointing out all the goat poop, the others got ahead.  It was just the two of us left behind.  Well, we didn't get very far before he decided he wanted a piggy-back ride back, just like before.  There was no way I could manage it and told him he would have to walk on his own.  After arguing and fussing, he decided there was only one thing left to do to express his disappointment...

As every good mother would do... I got my camera and took a picture!

Yesterday, I was driving in the car (by myself, for a reprieve) I started thinking about how I handle disappointment.  No, I don't stomp my feet, cry and wail, or throw myself to the ground (much), but I do often get 'stuck', especially as it relates to my relationship with God.  I feel like I should get answers for my problems, immediate understanding or a break, for crying out loud!  Then it hit me, I am like a little child at times, whining "why me!" when things don't go my way.

Life is filled with disappointments - broken promises, shattered relationships, opportunities lost, betrayal, hurt feelings.  It is something we cannot avoid.  But how we respond to these disappointments is a sign of our maturity (or immaturity, as the case may be).

Don't get me wrong - I'm not there yet.  I'm on a learning curve.  But if I treat God or even others as though they 'owe me something', I am not living a life of faith.  In my book club this week, Kay Warren shared her heart in the book Dangerous Surrender, and her experience dealing with the brokenness of this world.  When she encountered a Bengali woman, grieving the disappointments of her life as she lay on her deathbed, she "offered the one thing I had in my power to offer - my presence, my very self.  I offered her the gift that everyone can give - the gift that costs more than our money or even our energy and time - our very presence."

That is what God desires us to do, give Him the gift of presence - time with Him, where he can heal the wounds of our disappointments, and not just for our own benefit, but so we can reach out to others suffering as we are.  "So I don't offer a new and improved 'me', I offer him". 

There's nothing better that we can give.

"So he became their Savior.  In all their troubles, he was troubled, too.  He didn't send someone else to help them.  He did it himself, in person."  Isaiah 63:8-9 MSG