The Lord’s prayer has s phrase that we often say, but think little about the whole of it’s meaning. “Give us this day our daily bread…” This week we finally found Kona the right food! I learned asking God for help to feed the puppy right is okay. And He asnwered our prayers!
Isaiah 11:3 “And his delight shall be in the fear of the Lord”. The verse goes on to say we should not judge things simply by what we see and hear. Wisdom needs a deeper dive just to fully understand. And sometimes the secrets of the Lord are for Him to keep and for people of greatness to find out. Do I give God the glory and fear Him when I can’t figure something out or when He supplies the answer?
I recently watched a movie on my prime account called “Gifted.” I was impressed by the dive into the Foster Care System and the failures of our court system to side with the acting parent. Whether blood relation should be first in the best welfare of a child is often disputed. In this case the primary caregiver finally won and the system demanded more specifics in that care. Most of the time the foster care system fails both the child and the parent.
We have our own case in the family of acting care giver. And the child was removed unto the system. However, our prayers are that the acting caregiver, my brother, will be able to continue his love and care in visitation and genuine love.
Kona with a recent Bark Box TM toy.
Don’t judge by what you see or hear… I have not ever really had much to do with today’s silliness. In fact, we had a book for the kids to help them understand. “Mommy, why don’t we do Halloween?” The book was intended to help kids gain understanding of differing worldviews and choose Jesus.
One of my four year old relatives said, “well, halloween is fake but Christmas is Jesus, and that’s real.” Yes, sometimes it takes a child’s mind to get the point across properly. One can dress up anyway he or she chooses, but it’s does not change the inside. The heart of the matter is what matters.
We spent a whole month trying to understand the “mind” of our little Kona, only to discover the whole thing is all about the stomach. Yep, I should know that by now. I mean really. We once had a Shih Tzu mix dog that developedoped “nut gut.” And while that dog truly drove me batty, I knew that Kona had not been given something bad to eat. So what truly was all the behavior problem with changing the food.
Apparently, Kona was an Oatmeal and Chicken puppy. Who would have guessed that is what he also must have as an adult food. We finally found an adult formula that is agreeing with his stomach. Small dogs are a breed all of there own, I guess.
The second day on the new food had him less nippy, more settled and actually asking to go outside for potty (pee). Thank God that some companies out there know that if a puppy grows up on oatmeal, he can’t switch to rice, or legumes, or potato. Bother. And I’m glad that my daughter was simple in her prayers at lunch with her kiddos and asked God to help us find the right food for Kona.
My review of Bark Box TM is ongoing. They are very consistent for this whole year of subscription toy and treat by mail. The treats have been helpful, though some do not agree with his tummy. Charlie gets those. The toys have been rather dumb sometimes. but the one above we named Bruce after the character of Batman. I tried to rotate the toys. But for the most part, they just get lost or put in the travel bag and we rotate that way. He does not destroy toys so is allowed to play with most anything.
Final notes on the last week of October: The weather has turned more late fall / winter. The moisture system left the west side of the state with some snow. We received less than a half inch of precipitation. It was enough to dampen all the fallen leaves and add to the mold spores in the air. Hubby lawn vacuumed the leaves just before the rain arrived. I am also thankful for that machinery. So on we go into the next month. I suppose this is not the last of Kona’s Journal entries.
So here is my praise to God for brilliant minds that learn all about the digestive needs of a little puppy and put together a formula for the small breed dog. here’s hoping that his weekend at the doggie hotel does not mess him up too much. It’s not exactly puppy college it’s more like going to the dogs and forgetting everything they ever learned. Yuck. Shower on Monday when we are back home.
Our family has said goodbye to the patriarch. A little over a month ago an accident happened that set up a series of events that led to the loss of my husband’s dear father. The one statement that was repeated most frequently by all in attendance of our losss was that “he was the most wonderful man that I ever did know.” This was often in comparison to a grandfather, or other such memorable figure in the speaker’s life. Such a great cloud of witnesses one never knows within the confines of this life. It is only in death that the knowledge of true character is revealed.
Our loss is heart wrenching, but our hope is ever present. We all cannot imagine facing such heart break without the hope of eternal life. It is that very faith that lifts us up out of the tears of grief into the Savior’s blessed words, “Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”’
Praying Jesus over life and death is something not necessarily new to me. However, being so close to the eternal gates with a loved one made me more aware than ever of the spiritual battle for the souls of mankind. I was so blessed to pray with my father-in-law twice during the last few days of his life. Asking Jesus to be present during the painful moments of stepping from this life to the next was a priviledge that I do not take lightly.
Holding what is dear until we are asked to let go is not easy. Yet during this hard transition it is Jesus whom we hold most dear. Our Lord is the truth that carries us through the difficulty of letting go of the present age. Praise God that He is truly the author and finisher of our lives.
Breathing eternal hope in thermos of our deepest pain is the true test of our faith. It is during this deep suffering that we identify with Christ who suffered for our sakes. Once I heard the Lord’s name “Yahweh” described as a breathing word. Yah is spoken on the intake of breath, and Weh is whespered as the breath is expelled. This is such a powerful expression of the Giver and Taker of life. The one who breathed the breath of life into the first created human being is the one who gives each person the first breath of air when born. And the Alpha dn the Omega, the beginning and the end, is also the One whose name we are to whisper in our final death.
Asking for what can’t be given is still okay to ask. “Ask and you shall recieve” does not always mean that we are given exactly what we have asked for. Perhaps “No” s the perfect answer for our humble need. I still find it hard to comprehend the painful examples of so many millions of children not receiving what they needed in life. Dieing of hunger, thirst or extreme abuse at the mercy of life’s atrocious suffering. I cannot reconcile this torture in my mind. yet I must accept that asking for what cannot be given is still okay to ask.
Each one’s loss is worthy of grief. Whether that loss is a wife with memory loss, a child with cancer, untimely deafness, or an auto immune illness that redirects our life. Grief comes in many different waves of the many different oceans of experience. Each person grieves individually. No one mourns loss the same way. Identifying with another’s pain can be difficult. One’s loss of spouse at early age is different than the death of a spouse of longevity. Blindness at age two is different than blindness at age 72. Deafness at birth is different that deafness at age 50. Yet each one’s grief is still valid and needs the comfort of shared loss.
Psalm 61:5 says “For You, O God, have given me the heritage of those who fear Your name.” Indeed the heritage of one who fears the Lord is the best inheritance one could ever ask for. Gratefulness is overwhelming the grief. There is no thought for the morrow like that of hoping one’s children’s children serve Christ Jesus as Lord. This prayer is worth knocking upon the door of the Great God of the ages to open His door of eternal blessings.
Hard to be happy but easy to be glad. Yes, I said that right. It is hard to be happy that someone get’s to go to heaven before us. Yet we must wait our turn. For the Almighty calls who He chooses. So it is easy to be glad in Jesus knowing that our turn will one day come for eternity’s gates to be opened and we too will be ushered into glory with overwhelming welcome and joy.
Listening skills are important when sitting with the grief stricken. “But I keep thinking of things to tell him.” It seems there is never enough. Quiet time has new meaning. In the house of mourning there may still be laughter yet. When mom says that she just wants to be with dad, I responded with “I won’t take it personally.” My company was not disdained or undesired, it just was an expressed preference. Yes, mom, I won’t take it personally that Jesus is a more desirable presence. I just hope that in some small wayI can be the presence of His Holiness during this time of grieving.
The outt pouring of love towards our dear ones during this mourning period is sometimes overwhelming. To hear from an old Sunday School student from nearly forty years ago about how much dad shaped his life walk with Jesus is almost unbelievable. Yet this is what it means to be good and faithful all of one’s life. My cup runners over. That is the best way to describe the comfort that is being sent forth, even as the empty chair sits empty. Even as the heart break fills so very empty, The Holy Spirit indeed is comforting in every prayer sent Heavenward for this dear family of mine as we count the blessings for knowing this good and faithful servant.
Some people live for food. No really, they think about the next meal before they are even done with the one they are eating. Meals, food and delicatessens are what drives them from hour to hour. My dad used to say of a particular relative, “They travel on the stomachs: Visiting all kinds of national monuments and beautiful places it is some simple pizza joint that they remember most and talk about with excitement.
Some people eat just to stay alive. I am in that category. I could work for hours in the greenhouse and totally forget meals and such. I could crochet for hours if I did not drink so much that I am driven to the bathroom. I don’t enjoy watching telvesion shows or videos about cooking. On the other hand it was my three year old daughter that grumbled about me rushing her meal and said, “Can’t I savor my food?”
Mealtime for me has always been about the conversation and togetherness. Even as a child I was always the last one at the table. I told everyone with such a captive audience, I thought every dinner was a theatre. Mealtime was entertainment 101 for me. What jokes and witty comments would incite laughter and or anger? I learned that my siblings had buttons that could be pushed and I learned what would and would not be tolerated by my parents.
What was it like to have a formal dining room and an appendix dinette? The kitchen was my mother’s domain. My dad was only in their on rare occasions. The dinette was the daily use eating zone. Nothing like the kitchens of today that have “homework” stations for the kids while mom or dad cooks the meal. And the formal dining room was used only for company. This was where I sat and did homework once in awhile, otherwise homework was done in my own space of my bedroom with it’s little desk and chair.
I often think of the kitchen and dinette as after thoughts in old houses. Of course back in the day of wood cook stoves, the heat made it important to keep the heat out of the rest of the house during summer. We had moved from a house with an addition of a large kitchen where the table was part of the room. The change was a poor one for our family. I think the “appendix” in the new house made it part of the reason my parents marriage collapsed.
Of course, it does not help that I had left for college and the communication between my mom and dad was already pretty bad. Then after my spring illness of appendicitis, that’s when things got really bad. I returned home to see that my mom was barely keeping up with this abandonment. And my dad was unwilling to make any changes.
My appendix had been surgically removed. The room that we had grown up eating it was now just a vague dry hopeless place where my mother and the three children left no longer ate with my dad. His silence on weekends, mealtimes and presence in the home was only occasionally interupted by bouts of angry outbursts. I tried to stand up for the others. But it was too late for intervention. The surgical procedure of the “heart” of the home had already been done by his constant belittling and badgering. Like a battering ram on the love that my mother was trying to give, the destruction was complete.
Friends were few and far between. What else was there to do? I felt my mother needed an ultimatum. Now that thirty some years have passed since the divorce of my parents. It’s clear that my mother was the glue and the love that drew us all together. My father’s eightieth birthday managed to gather some of us around him for a party. But his continued unbelief and faithless thought process towards our mother have pushed most of us away.
My dad’s 85th birthday was spent in unremarkable normalcy. On the other hand I watch the happenings of my in-laws through the years and the family grows and also finds itself distanced by all the extended happenings. Yet when dad needed a pep rally in the nursing home to keep him out of the “failure to thrive” annals, we all came together to make an attempt at cheerfulness.
All these things are going on simultaneously. Life falls apart, life moves on and little lives are being brought forth into the new world. Lives struggle with health. Lives learn new things. Lives march into the next unknown. And we still get disappointed when our expectations are not met by others. We still disappoint ourselves when we react inappropriately. We still are unable to change another person’s will. Whether we love and live in hopefulness does matter, doesn’t it?
This past weekend the roller coaster of emotions brought me back to the song above that I found a week or two ago. The old version is rather unknown. And this composition also is not highly memorable. Yet all of life’s emotions, feelings, wishes, wants and needs are nothing apart from being “In Jesus.”
I finished my book from Mother Theresa, but the wisdom it contained will continue to speak Jesus into my life and others. I had the chance to speak to my father in law in a moment of lucidity one evening. I told him about the book I was reading and how “thinking about the pain and suffering of Jesus when we have pain and suffering” can help us in our pain. It is because Jesus suffered for us, that we can endure. I don’t know how much of it helped. He told me he was “not worried about tomorrow.” So maybe it did help some.
All of us need the blessed assurance that if we confess Jesus over our pain, over our trials, over our emotions, over our family then God will intervene in the way that He chooses. We have to be okay with that.
So life continues on and IN JESUS I will try not to take things into my own hands. Only God knows what the appendix’s purpose really is. We have lost past family members in the early 1900’s from an appendix rupture. My brother in law has suffered from years from the effects of the the rupture toxicity. My appendix was removed and left me with ITP for over a decade and then another surgery, splenectomy.
There are organs in the body that can be lived without. And some that once damaged will lead to death. When a family looses it’s dinette of bustling conversations and playful bantering over the mealtime… well, I see over the years the family just drifts away from each other and soon learns to live without the spleen, without the appendix, without the arm that once fed it and kept it so vital. New families emerge and must learn not to make the same mistakes.
Living a life IN JESUS is more important now than ever before.
Finding much comfort in the old hymns and old sayings as we consider the comfort of our dear loved ones in the hospital this week. The wisdom of the aged is sometimes questionable. Why do they do such silly things and cause such neglect to their bodies needs? Once a pattern is set in the brain, it cannot be reversed. The hymn for today is “I’m A Pilgrim And I’m A Stranger.” Pretty sure that I have never heard this one before in my life. I also heard about a new singing artist that has taken over the workout music industry. Sometimes I wonder where have I been?
A couple of these old sayings are as follows: too much of any thing good or bad is simply too much, eat smaller portions and soon you won’t be eating enough to keep a bird alive, don’t worry about what most people think-most people are thinking about themselves, and keeping company with the wrong company can make anyone a rotten apple. Most of these sayings have some origin that most of us don’t know. The origin of the next old saying is a nursery rhyme might as well have come from the story of Micah or Habakuk, I’ll have to read up.
Remember the Pumpkin Shell nursery rhyme? There are times I wonder that the un-named princess of little Peter is me. Perhaps my honey dearest could not keep me without building a “shell” to keep me in. I imagine the creatures being little mice and how well they did eat that first while. What happened when the shell begins to rot? Oh, never mind. Maybe the critters are the little black squirrel who helped himself to the pumpkin on my daughter’s from deck last fall. What a mess he made!
“In the shade of the old oak tree…” The song tells the story of the oak cross beam that holds a church bell. How the tree was a comfort for soldiers long ago, and then witnessed the bloody battle. And finally succumbed to the lumberjack’s saw. On the southern edge of our driveway I planted a row of walnut trees. The trees have been kept trimmed regularly to allow a mower beneath them. The one third method of branching was done for quite some time to make the trunk nice and straight. The squirrels have been ever so busy this fall. I no longer have a squirrel hunter. We will.have to sweep up the mess and burn all of the casings as it is quite treacherous to walk down there.
One hundread and forty years ago our acreage was first homesteaded by relatives in the journey to the new land. The story of one’s ancient pilgrims is always a fascinating history lesson for willing ears. I did take the time to have my children interview their great grandmother on my dad’s side during their growing up years. She was the oldest living relative at the time. It is hard to comprehend that now our parents are such. It is time for some more interviews for sure.
A time of one century, two score and four years ago…our forefather settled this land and planted a cottonwood tree.Near to the sod house where the dishwater was poured out next to the little sapling. I can imagine every day as the dishes were done the pale was carried out and the little sapling was watered. Then ten years later another bare root was planted near to the second little building that later burned down. And in another ten years the more permanent building was built with it’s little attic sleeping loft. When one says living history, they do not look at these two old trees, do they?
About five years ago we went down to the creek bottom and dug up some fifty cottonwood saplings. I found out how hard it was to keep them alive. Only one tree survived. It is planted straight south of our house as the crow flies. I took buckets of water to it the first year. Then I put a plastic sleeve around the base to protect it. This year it has outgrown the sleeve and I took it off. The trunk has a slight bend were the wind tried to break it three years ago, but otherwise it looks healthy.
Dawn is slow this morning. A thunderstorm covers the grey sky. It threatens me with thunder and lightening. Yet never seems to release it’s tears to wash away the dusty surface. If only it could really rain. We did have some the other day and my goodness but the flowers looked happy. Even the grass was a little green for an hour or two.
I have not been down to Cocoa’s tree much this summer. The deer found it last fall, but the roots were healthy and new branches came out this summer. I put an Irish spring soap bar on a string around one limb. I think that saved it from any more deer threat. I have some bushes and another tree to plant in the area along with a contemplation rock that I really like. We have not placed any of these items. One of these days the heat won’t threaten to kill every green thing anymore and we can plant some more down there before winter.
Placing any tree or bush is takes a lot of thought these days. Getting water to the little struggling life is key. And sometimes I just get tired of carrying water to everything. We have tried auto waters two or three times and invariably the hose breaks or the joint or the connecter or something and we loose 10,000 gallons into the ground in a real hurry! I just don’t trust them anymore.
Psalm chapter one talks about the tree planted by springs of living water. “Blessed is the man who … delights in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night…He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers.“. In the passage it talks about walking, standing, and sitting NOT: with wicked counsel, sinners ways, or seated scoffers. Putting
this spiritual counsel into daily practice seams more relevant than ever. The two books that I have right now could not be in any more contrast. One is from a super model who wrote a book as if she had all of life’s lessons learned and now has just recently been divorced. The other is on the words of Mother Theresa. Honestly I think about the counsel that each one gives and find them to be in such opposite poles. Who would you listen to or take counsel from?
Streams of living water…. The words of saints and the word of God are just that to me. Each day when I struggle to bring my thoughts into captivity of Jesus Christ, I thank God that I have His Word in my life to give me healthy roots.
The night that I began writing this we were sending well wishes heavenward for a dear family member. The hopes that our elderly loved ones would get better seem to be dashed to pieces every day. One by one something happens and watching the elderly suffer is difficult. We know that suffering truly is part of living, but oh that we do not choose misery while the trials continue. I heard Mother Theresa say “suffering is inevitable, but misery is a choice.” Suffering is to be like Christ.
The mornings bring cooler temperatures these days. Searching for a sweater I fumble to get my shoes on and dor our morning walk. Our pets are down in numbers. Scooping food for two cats required a smaller container and reading the daily feeding requirement for our two orange coats. Charlie now usually has to greet me before snarfing his one and half can’s of kibble. Brr, I begin to shiver before the return to the porch.
The other night at 3 am I went out to the kitchen for y midnight snack and found that the I-dot was playing music for itself. Well, no one was out there. So it had to be for the enjoyment of self, right? Then I woke four hours later to the sounds of intense pounding upon the house door, or the deck floor outside, something woke me up. Turns out it was the cat jumping off of the porch swing.
This week my allergies are at the end of their wits. I am only upright if I have the strongest antihistamine available to my system. How am I to make it until first frost? I have so much to do outside yet. Gathering the geraniums and Hibiscus trees along with all of the canna lilies. So here goes my friendship with Benadryl.
Meanwhile, all the children in our lives are gathering birthday wishes and school mates to learn new things and grow old before our very eyes. Sometimes I wish we could grasp these memories a little tighter. They seem so slippery. One memory is quickly replaced by another and soon a little body that could not talk or walk is talking, sitting up, and feeding themselves.
The wishing well still needs a pole, and a rope, and a bucket, but it looks great this way, too!
Wishing well poems and fairy tales are not just for children. I could not find a good example for this thought process. But while combing the scriptures for the hopefulness, I found 2 Peter 3:9 “The Lord is not slow to fulfill His promises as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.” It made me so very pleased to know that God has wishes also. And what wishes have I that could ever be better than this?
While coating the well with it’s cabot oil, the rest of the deck furniture is all topped with another coat of water repellant also. I nearly used up the whole can. I decided it was time to spend my reading time with some better quality material. From “The Hobit” to “Redwal” to G.A. Henty time seemed to be passing with a bit of the RIP Van Wrinkle-ness of sleeping through the days while living in the other world of books. Mentally sometimes it’s okay to run away, but I needed a litle mental boost. So today I looked up some Mother Theresa books and chose “In Her Own Words” as my first listening option.
I think it’s because I have a devotional to attempt for a baby shower and one of the families “saintly” persons is now finely going to have a baby after eight years into marriage. Many thoughts have been on my mind about her famous spiritual leadership and. Missing the way that my mother used to be for me (stroke affected her mind and behavior) has made me often think of Mother Theresa. I think I wrote a paper on her when I was in high school I remember my classmates teasing me a lot about being a goody two shoes Theresa. Oh, well. I believe she deserves to be called a saint.
This is the mosaic crochet blanket poncho that I made out of some wool that my mother purchased a few years ago. It was originally a shawl and blanket. I took all the yarn out as I made the new item. It is much prettier now.
I am so happy my reading time is occupied fingers time. I really can’t imagine living without crochet in my life. This is probably one of the prettiest items that I have made it quite awhile. And the mosaic is a pattern that I could repeat over and over. I just never get tired of all the color combinations one can do with a particular pattern.
And now we “fall on our knees” as the whole of the family struggles with more sad news. Today, I sit in silence much. The sky began to thunder and even the clouds had a little cry…. but it seems to be a dry rain. We are getting numbed by the call for another prayer request. Why do we go into shock during stress filled moments?
Once again I turn to my new book to find some comfort in the words of a saint. The Bible reminds me to turn to the Psalms, to sing hymns of praise even during the midst of the battle. And we are in a battle for the souls of our friends and relatives. We are in a battle to choose to be like Christ rather than murmur of our misery. We are in a battle to love because God first so loved us.
Insight rather than outsight is my lot in life. I am one of the lucky ones who has learned to walk into a room blinded by the backdrop of a bright window and wonder what in the world I might run into first. While others love social engagements and “parties” of all sorts, I’d rather be a wall flower. And most times that is how I feel. So I do not heed the “come in, come in” when my body is riddled with the bullets of anxiety and I want to back up. Making sure that I do not run into anything or upset the apple cart is my first priority. It’s hard not to say, “Don’t push me over a cliff, go first and I’ll follow.”
The other morning I let my anger get the best of me. One of the most difficult things about tunnel vision is missing out of seeing something. Often it is the obvious street pole on the edge of the sidewalk. But sometimes it is less obvious, like the water glass on the edge or even middle of the counter. With the narrowing of the viewing hole, many things just go into oblivion. Thus, when the dog decided to haul if with my latest new crochet work, the string follows it. I found the work, but the hook was “no where” for me to be seen. My anger was just boiling.
I had played with Kona. I had cleaned house and found toys and threw balls for him to fetch. I had taken care of all of his needs. It was time to move some laundry. My return to the living room found the work across the living room floor. But no hook could be found. I have even changed the hooks that I am using to the original boye metal hooks that my Grandma gave me. No foam or plastic nylabone for the dog chew option.
How can the past stick like glue so well? Everyone else is loving the fall decor. Bringing out all of the leafage and pumpkins. There was a little saying when I was a kid. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” that is so not true. Words ring in your ears for decades. When I was fourteen and diagnosed with RP, the doctor wanted to protect my eyes, by putting me in orange colored lenses. He felt that keeping the UV rays out of my eyes was so important. I had never worn sunglasses. People just did not do that back then. Halloween eyes, pumpkin face and other such bully talk became the normal poke fun and Yvonne. I do not remember anyone ever asking me about why I was wearing the orange lens now.
Sticks and stones, right.
Both of these projects survived Kona stealing the hook and dragging the partial out into the living room floor. On the left the ombre and yellow shawl. On the right the brown wool remake from a project my mother returned to me when she moved out of her house.
I learned that hurling words was just as harsh as hurling stones. The rock that found my eyebrow when I was a toddler left a visible scare. The words that my school mates used stuck like sticks in the eye that would never be removed. Words do hurt.
There are people who push you over the edge into the black abiss. I remember in my early years of marriage how my husbands family liked to go up to a local steak house to eat. The building had two doors to enter through before getting into the dining hall. It never failed that others would try to hold the door and try to push me into the dark room. I can still “feel” the panic rise up in me when I think of this. I learned that some people do not know how to lead. It is just not in them. While serving can be a natural tendency for them, leading does not come naturally. Some are often better at pushing than leading. I leaned that you can never “push” a blind person.
So there are genetic tendencies in all families. Genetic blessings and curses. There is the genes for diabetes, the genes for cancer, the genes for arthritis, the genes for blindness. And we could go further into the genes for higher cholesterol and strokes or dementia. When we looka t our relatives we can pretty much see ourselves in the mirror on the wall. The future is right in front of us, so to speak.
This past week at my little kiddos table, their sweet moma began the Bible lesson for the morning with a big word. “Immutability” she explained is the character of God and His never changing personhood.. God does not change. He is always the same. The little two year old dropped her head in her hands and said “I don’t like that big word. It’s scary!” Of course my thoughts went to the smiling Heavenly Father trying to help this little mind grasp such a large concept. I considered my ability to maintain emotional calm in my own life as the table moment suddenly turned chaotic.
God never changes. He is always love. I heard a sermon the other day about the fact that God is not anger. He may respond in anger, but it is always His Holy response to sin. God is not the emotional uncontrolled feeling. He is just, loving, merciful and compassionate. His is not wrath. We look at love as an emotional reaction to a moment or a way of being treated. Love is a choice, and action, a decision one must make when an otherwise inappropriate response could be made. God is love even when he responds to evil and sin, and that is what paves the way for forgiveness.
Charlie is finally “coming” to me after a year or so of independent guard dog work. He highness loves cookies. Kona is still a W.i.p. = work in progress.
After five days of stay-cation I’m finally wrapping up this thought process. There is probably a lot more that could be said. But for now it fascinates me how people slowly rot. There is a lot of Bible verses about that. Understanding our worlds’s laws of composting material is happening right within out very being is not pleasant. I don’t want to think about the day when I can no longer see anything at all. But having the insight to realize we look at our own future when we look at our aging parents is important for how we choose to take care of ourselves at those we love.
When life is constantly changing and shifting beneath my feet I am glad to know that God never changes. James 1:17 is the the Bible verse for this weeks’s focus writing. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, down from the Father of lights, with whom these is no change like shifting shadows.” I’m not sure which version my daughter is using to teach her children that verse, but I do like the shifting shadows part. The sun that casts a shadow and makes us feel long or short by the gravity of the day, the sun does not seem to change. The shadow does though. And God does not change. He still loves us the same whether gravity has little affect on our body or much like in old age.
Hymn “Til the Storm Passes By…. Is the best humn for this season of our lives. Keep me safe in the Hallow of Thy Hand, O Lord. Just as we get one parent settled into senior living apartment, another parent calls in distress from the floor in the garage. How, Lord, are we to navigate this season of fall?
The song makes it seem so harmonious and peaceful, but the crashing thunder and the cloud of nerves and rain showers of tears are not pleasant at all. It’s hard to imagine that this hurricane force rain can produce any crop at all. Except perhaps maybe a catastrophic flood..
There is one word that I remember from childhood that through my little mind through an unknown loop. “Sure…”. Yep, I remember as a little girl loving tootsie roll candy so much. Whenever I was offered the candy it was so pleasant. Once when asked whether I wanted the candy, the comment was made, “Are you sure?” My poor little brain had never been asked such a thing before. Usually, my ‘yes’ was sufficient enough. Being asked this puzzling question was night to cruel. I just shrugged my shoulders in response. I did not know what SURE meant. My name was Yvonne. I was a little girl. I was with my daddy. I did not know SURE. This stumped me. From that day on the meaning of words became important to me. Of course, now I know. Yes, I am sure. I still want a tootsie roll candy please!
Last week while with my grand children, they were arguing over some trifle. I was near enough to hear a portion of the disagreement but not near enough to hear the beginning of the squabble. The six year old with a better grasp of language was asking the four year old about telling the truth. “Is that a lie?” No was the response. “Are you telling the truth?” A non committal shoulder shrug response. “Then you are telling a lie.” I am NOT!! Well, if you aren’t telling the truth then you are a liar.” I AM NOT! (You can see how it goes, a negative answer negates the correct response.). Well, sir, that’s the truth of the matter as I heard it. Poor four year old. The meaning of words is tough to learn.
When little kids argue, sometimes it is best to just let it all play out and see where there little minds are at. Of course that does not mean Oma will let them duke it out all of the time. But sometimes it’s good to see if the compromise will happen on its own. Often I hear a parent intervene while I am present. I wonder if they think I am just not being the adult here. Well, sometimes I am trying not to laugh at the expense of the possibly hurt child. Parents get involved quicker because of irritation and keeping peace in the presence of outsiders.
My children would go play with the Pastor’s children when they at about the six and four year old stage. One day while saying at the parsonage for an afternoon, the younger child and her age relative playmate got into an argument. The Pastor’s wife related the incident later to me. “Those aren’t letters, that’s just scribbles.” My daughter said to the playmate. His schooling as a boy was a little behind hers. And unfortunate for him, she was already reading and shaping her letters. “Are you calling me stupid?” Asked the youngster of her. His mother had to excuse herself to the bathroom to laugh abnout it.
Learning how to use the Entrelac Crochet Stitch is part of my “reading” time. I made a mobias shawl out of some repurposed yarn.
Finding balance during this working phase of “parent sitting” and grand kid sitting is hard. How do you spend time with all the right people? Who needs my attention the most at this point in life? And then there is the question of the needs of my own “sleeping” place. Right when you think the balance is being acheived, there is not an inch of TP in the house. Where did all the rolls go?
This past week we finally got the floating shelves up above the piano. After Painting a few years ago, we took the pictures all down and just never got anything put back up. Of course when I look up at the display, the first thing I notice, is that each shelf needs a plant. Only me would think a corner is incomplete without green! So I have another plant to find! I have an ivy or two outside right now that might work. As fall turns cool, they will be collected. Treated for bugs, the little plants will be just perfect for the top shelf.
One of the arrangements on the shelves over the piano. I will probably rearrange many times before I really like it and leave it alone between cleanings.
This week is significant in several ways. Just before school the rummage sale world has it’s last hurrah. Little girls are planing their last lemonade stands. Mothers are collecting bargains to outfit their kiddos. And fathers are busy gaining knowledge to propell their careers. And some children are planning how to keep parents in their home as long as possible. So many changes. Ramps, sinks, toilets, flooring, grab bars, and a flock of caregivers are being collected. I’m not sure fall will ever be the same again.
Right at the moment the clouds are threatening to loose their raindrops. I feel about the same. The damn holding back the tears is about to burst and a flood of new emotions will soon take over the once fertile plain. Here comes the darkness, the storm, the thunder… Lord HOLD ME FAST! I’m not sure I can stand up under the deluge.
Flat on my face is how I feel most days. The goals I set for myself rarely get accomplished. This week, I really wanted to get the plants that I picked up last Friday into new homes. That’s all. There were about 2 dozen that needed to be planted.
So on Monday I got right to my chores. I watered the existing plants places, found new homes for about nine or so and tried so hard to get after some weeds while I was at it. By four pm the bugs had won. The gnats, mosquitoes, flies and beetles were so bad that I was in an epsom salt and baking soda bath trying to recover. By midnight, I knew I was sick. The antihistamine overload gave me a regular stomach ache and I felt like I had the flu. West Nile? No, but I had to stay home from visiting the little people. I slept until nearly noon.
That evening after numerous attempts to do anything, I looked in the mirror and said, “wow-you look sunburned!” Nope, just totally ate up by bugs. The hives were up and down both arms, across my shoulders, and all over my neck. I was surviving on Benadryl once again. Something had to be done about the bugs.
So my wonderful hubby got after them. Two evenings of tanks full of garlic oil and bug-be-gone later, we can now be outside for more than fifteen minutes without getting carried away to the next township. We also put out a few fly traps. And ordered one of those bug zapper machines. Being sick was not much fun. Even two days later, I would work for fifteen minutes and pour sweat out of every gland. Then have to go lay down for an hour.
Falling from grace as a gardener means that I can’t handle the bugs or the weeds. How is one to even keep the garden looking good? By Thursday though the bugs had taken quite a dive in population. So I spend the day planting and weeding the hydrant flower garden. The Hydrant Bed had not been touched in over a month.
Little by little I began designing the “Be Glad” garden that will surround our new little statue that we named PollyAnna. That is still my most favorite of all childhood books. So it seemed most appropriate to name her that. Of course, she needs a little clean up after falling on her face.
My hubby decided to put out a sprinkler to keep the cat out of the area. And sure enough the top heavy stature fell over. I have some work to do next week to paint and seal her before she sits out in the weather for the next few years. So I am watching a lot of youtube videos again on statue care.
We named our girl on the bench “PollyAnna.” The picture I took after the plants were in the ground and the sprinkler made her topple from her place of grace.
The other set of plants that will mirror this garden will be planted behind the bridge. I hope to get them placed today. And I did! Still have to move some of the lilies from the vegetable garden.. The whole vegetable garden will get an update this fall also. A couple more boxes to grow veggies and more rock and edging to finish it and make it less weed prone.
On the left, the plants behind the bridge waiting for their lily sisters to join them. The middle picture is the front step with the blackened edges or borders painted on. And on the right, the lily in the Hydrant Garden thanking me for removing the bind weed and giving them some fertilizer and water.
So my daughter tells me that my little grand daughter had quite the spill the other evening. While sitting in the potty before bed time child number three fell flat in her face on the floor. Mama was in the room and did not catch her. But mother giggles are some times hard to hold back. . Because mommy thought it was funny the little girl did not cry. She is just such a little clumsy but oh so curious and courageous. We all love her sweet nature and love of all things little like animals and such. One day she was pretending that her little hands were holding a baby hedgehog at the noon meal. It was a grape. “Sheh, “ she said, “You’re scaring my hedgehog!”
I hope that’s the end of the “face plants” for the week. I really don’t want to experience it myself. So I am glad to have the black line painted on my steps edges to define them better. My sister was the first to put blackened edges on the top and bottom step. Of course it does not help at night, but during the bright daytime house it is amazingly helpful.
The best Bible story I can think of is when the Philistines took the Ark of the Covenant and placed it in the temple of thegod Dagon. The man made idol fell on it’s face day after day until the head actually fell off. I Samuel chapter five tells the story if you’d like to read it. The point of the whole story is that God is real and man’s imagination is God given and no image can bear the presence of the awesome Creator of the world. I thank God that my little PollyAnna is just a cement replica and only a type of an Ebenezer stone to remind me of the “Be Glad” game. Being Glad that God has given us so many things to remind us of the One who is the Beginning and The End. Alpha and Omega.
Today’s hymn study is “At the Cross” by Isaac Watts. Some one such as I could have no idea what it means to grasp the Cross as the only hope in this life. Yet I must embrace this one and only Hope for it is the only way to remove the burden that weighs down my heart for those whom I love and perhaps NOW I can be happy all the day for Christ truly is the only true weight lifter in this life I live.
Coping with going blind often has its challenges that lead me to have nightmares that I do not understand. Sometimes having to be a statue in the midst of the moving storm about me is the best option for navigating the day. Like the recent Christmas during the summertime. The constant ebb and flow of the people that are there often lead to to feeling much like a log jam on the river as it heads to the sawmill!
Preparing for life changes has led me to learning how to “give up” things that drain my energy. Being the sit still person in the crowd use to make me feel like I was alone in the crowd. There are moments when I feel perhaps the Lord is rather teaching me how to be the lighthouse on the rocks for others. A person to come to who will listen and empathize and give the Hope of Jesus into their lives.
Then there is night. Where I have this recurring dream. One in which I am standing amidst a pile of logs that need to be stacked. Organized into size appropriate piles. Stacked neatly and ready for use. I feel lost. I feel overwhelmed. I feel like the whole lot will crash about me once again and I will never escape the never ending pile. No matter which way I turn the logs are all in a jam.
Psalm 61 is a prayer from the depths of the pit. So is Psalm 42. But today all I can thing is “How long? O God? How long?” My very soul is weary and sad. I am utterly disheartened and lost.
Depresson is settling in again. The nightmares about stacking logs of all various kinds and sizes have returned. Along with the constant over riding feeling of anger at everything. The headaches are back. The sleepless nights. The old enemies are here to ruin me.
Trying to do anything is like working with an elephant on my chest, a bear on my back, an alligator in my brain, and a Tasmanian Devil running circles about me and a hyena laughing constantly in my ear. The high pitch whistle of the dryer does not help any of these things.
Kona is just a week away from being one year old. His therapeutic nature is thriving. He is becoming such a good boy!
My dogs did not make me happy. They became more and more work. And they wake me up out of my sleep just when I finally get some. They bark at nothing just to irritate me. Charlie does not make me smile when he refuses to even come when called. Honey rolled in so much awful stench this previous month that we shaved her to nothing and then I didn’t even want to look at her. Skinny doodle is not pleasing to my eyes at all. (Well she is gone now.) Kona has decided to keep getting into things just to get bad attention and then never gets any good play time. *note the whole dynamic of my household is much calmer without a hyper golden doodle. Resolve that we will never have a hybrid man made disaster dog again. And so I decided to re-home Kona. Only to realize that it was Honey that had to go.
Life feels so hopeless right now. Food is not even fun anymore. It is so much work to cook when the eyesight is not there for the recipes. I get so dizzy that the turning around in circles is awful.
Becoming… use to be about someone’s beauty…. We would say “oh, she is so becoming!” Well, there are days looking in the mirror is avoided. I don’t find myself so very becoming. Especially when…
Becoming blind…
My two grand daughter’s becoming good little artist at their activity table.
Going to my daughter’s to help only lends to making me feel more helpless than ever. The meal prep is impossible for me to help. The house is so kid cluttered that it is a nightmare for a blind person. All of her chairs are so uncomfortable for me that it does no good to go to the chiropractor just to have my tailbone go out by the end of the day. My enjoyment in going to “watch” kiddos is hampered by the fact that the house is so dark I rarely can really “see” them anyways.
God, how long? Do I have to keep trying to do what fails and does not bring me joy? How long do I have to keep pretending that happiness is something that can be grasped. My life feels like a grasping after the wind. My hands want to hold water that satisfies and my cup is empty.
Must the nightmares go on? I am standing within a stack of logs that need to fed into the stove. Some of them are the wrong size and only let the stove billow out smoke while I try to push the logs into it. Some of the pieces can be pulled out and rearranged to fit properly. But many of them are ashen and on fire themselves. I sweat and scream as I try to desperately get the logs back into the hot stove. My eyes are burning with sweat and tears. My lungs are burning from the smoke. Soon my lack of air makes me pass out and my empty cries wake me up to the “real world” where I am still going blind. Still can’t find my way out of the stack of logs and still can’t figure out which way is the bathroom without using my hands to tell me where I am.
How long O God?
Must the nightmares go on? I am standing in a long narrow hallway where there are log stacks on either side of me. Somewhere near both ends the wall of logs has fallen. I am desperately trying to put the stack back so that it will remain upright. Suddenly I see my family in the chasm below and while I stand with one leg on either side of the pile of logs, they begin to fall. I begin to fall. I scream at them to get out of the falling timbers and begin crashing to the ground. The logs are hitting me everywhere. My head, my back, my arms and legs are getting pinned by the logs. I am screaming and still falling. Suddenly I wake in pool of sweat and try to find the bathroom nightlight. It has moved again out of my line of view and I panic as I try to put it into my eyesight.
How long O God?
Until my eyesight closes in and what will be the last thing that my eyes will make out for my memory to see? Why must I have such a vivid imagination and the nightmares keep me up at night?
MONDAY MORNING
This morning I am pulling the log out of my own eye. Yesterday I experienced something emotionally that made me feel literally sick to my stomach. I will try to tell the story as briefly as possible.
While I was away and at church with my mother and sister’s family, I had asked a neighbor to care for my puppy. I forgot that perhaps my daughter would have been available. It probably would have been all avoided otherwise. And of course this neighbor had an eventful day in an of her own. Meanwhile, she and a friend did come over and proceed to help themselves to some of the plants in the greenhouse. All good I had said they could. When I realized however that the beautiful propegation “mother” plants in the clay pots had been removed. I began, my emotional being was scarred. First experience for me was trying to figure out how to handle this. And then I began to recall all the things that my mother has been through this past month. Especially her wondering where something was that we had removed from her house. My remorse and full emotional impact of evertyhing that has occurred flooded through my mind.
Doily on left made by my mother’s Aunt Gertrude. Two of the many white milk glass dishes. The china “ash tray” that was in my mother’s grandma‘s collection.
My mother’s sense of abandonment, her feelings that some are treating her roughly, and her confusion about why they won’t let her have her things if she wants them. Most people do not understand the work involved in propagation of pelargoniums or geraniums. It is a long wintering project of mine that gives me something to do and to get out of my lazy crochet chair. The value of the plants to me is more than five of ten dollars. Let alone a mother plant that has been in the same giant clay pot (which itself is spendy). The whole weight of my mother’s heart seemed pressed upon me and they care of her emotional well being was heavy upon my own heart.
While my mother had some strokes and lost some short term memory connections for cooking and feeding herself meals, the long term memory about things and even the family genealogy and history is very strong. And she still knows the heart of her children sometimes better than they know themselves.
How can I express to my siblings that she knows who has disrespected her life work. She knows who honors the value of each item that she worked hard for all of those years. She was a lowly bank teller, and budgeted for her every spending penny. These were her things and she has the right to them all. Anyone who thinks that “out of sight” is “out of mind” on the elderly is fooling themselves. Long term care is often for those whose long term memory is still quite vivid.
And it’s time for a fruits of the Spirit checkup. While I am becoming more and more like my parents as I grow older. The real question is -Am I becoming like Christ?
Love… sitting at the table with my older sister we made the conclusion that our marriages are truly based on love. There is no score keeping or reward system. We do for each other (our spouses and selves) what we can out of LOVE. Joy can be found if you pick up the rocks that are often in the way. Sometimes the joy is found under the the toughest search. But if we lift up the leaves on the bushes, the berries are there. Peace often eludes me for sleep. But sometimes a night without air in the airbed reminds you just how peaceful and comfortable your own bed is. When patience is no longer part of how we handle the over flowing cup of life, it’s time to step back empty out the “busy” and take more time for Jesus one on one time. Gentleness can return to our normal conversation language when we fill up with the right stuff! Goodness is all around us. Even when the physical buildings and bodies we watch are crumbling down, it’s the indwelling Spirit that shines forth. Faithfulness is so hard to grasp when life seems to close down on me with all of it’s ugliness and suffering. But God is ever faithful and supplies all of our needs in Christ Jesus. Meekness is not something anyone knows thses days. I pray that God will allow me to use the wisdom and insights that He gives me with meekness that empowers others to Hope in Jesus also. Self control is lost among all of the bitterness and strife that people through away at each other’s feet. If only we can hold our tongues when those edges creep in and learn to hand our trials over to the Savior instead of lashing out at other’s like the venomous being that so easily deceives.
Lord, Help me to do more things in my life by heart… like playing the piano by heart. When it feels so natural to grab some lady by the hand in the nursing facility and say, “Come let’s play piano together.” And it is so natural to play piano by heart. Loving, talking, and showing Jesus to others by heart. Let it become natural for me to share my insights and the reason for the hope that lies within me.
