Tag: grieving

The last time

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The first time I had an allergic reaction to a food is not a memory that I can track down. May is allergy awareness month. So I thought I’d take a trip down the memory lane of food allergies in my life. If you are not someone with food allergies be thankful. But since I do have them, I am thankful there is a little pink pill that can help. Today we understand more about the allergic response at the cellular level. Whether it’s old fashioned hay fever or a deadly peanut allergy, we have medicines to counteract the bodies negative reaction. Thankful to be alive in this day and age.

What Blueberries have added to my life? Well, another allergy listing. The last time I ate certain foods really sticks in my mind for some reason. And yet, while dwelling on the past is one of my “brain trains” that I am trying to wipe out, the memories we have are what makes us who we are today.

The last time I had a buckwheat pancake was when my daughter was in college and we joined her at the college cafeteria. I remember trying to choke down the dry cake like I had always done all of my life. Pouring on the syrup never seemed to help.. My mouth feels dry and chalky, my throat begins to swell, and while I do not regurgitate, the memeory still comes back like it was yesterday. What were we doing that day? Why were we there? What time of the year was it? Nope, can’t think of any other things except her happy go lucky cheerfulness and her many friends greeted in passing.

The last time I ate potatoes was a church supper gathering. We attended perhaps a fall festival or something with a concert afterwards. My second daughter was with us and my husband also. We went to visit the in-laws for a bit after the event. My head hurt so bad, I was soon on the floor curled up in a little ball. I used my inhaler, but did not know any other options for this horrible debilitating headache that existed for some unknown reason.

The last time I ate frenchfries was in my daughter’s back yard on lawn chairs. We had picked up a meal from the local drive in. Burgers, fries, and sodas. At the time I thought the reaction of throat swelling and asthma was from the mayonnaise on the burger. I had no clue it was actually the french fried potato that was giving me this scary feeling.

The last time I ate a banana was many years ago, and the reaction was only minutes after the second bite. That time I actually did go to the sink and try to throw it up. Not very successful, I then called my mother-in-law to ask her in my dazed state, where she thought I might have the Benadryl at. She was right, it was in the silverware drawer, and she stayed on the line until I felt I could breath again.

The last time I encountered Habanero was the homemade refridgerator pickle jar. The were so spice and ymmy. My husband and I were cleaning out the fridge and he wondered if the pickles were okay. Without even thinking about all of the contents, I grabbed a pickle and ate it. Yep, they are good, I said. Then immediately started swelling up, getting hivew all over my lips and face. Benadryl to the rescue once again.

The last time that I had almond milk was in my coffee at my daughter’s house. I was so sick by mid-day that I called her dad to take me home. I don’t think I understood what was bothering me that day. And using my nebulizer did get me through the worst of it, but I felt pretty awful for nearly a full 24 hours.

The last time that I had papaya, was it’s “gut health chewable” in a pill form I did not even know the papaya was in the pre-biotic vitamin supplement. There were quite a few tropical fruits in the highly processed vitamin. The reaction was quite swift and I barely made it through the morning with the Benadryl and inhaler support. I looked up the contents of the bottle and found papyap to be in the latex family with bananas. Bother.

The last time that I ate sesame seed was in the those lovely garbanzo beans dips from the store. I was eating a lot of such thing through the summer with veggies et cetera. Until the day I had an instant reaction. Again, at home, by myself, took a Benadryl. Suffered the headache and effects for nearly a day. Finally looked up the ingredients and found sesame seed to be high on the “next” list for my full Immune system dysfunction allergy response. Oh, dear. At the time I was not really aware of the whole next concept in my diagnosis.

The last time that I had hazelnut coffee was inadvertently. Having been at my mother’s with my sister, we both figured out she had mixed the grounds and neither one of us could have the coffee. She was the first to spend the whole day sputtering or wheezing from the mixed grounds. Then I thought the coffee had been cleaned out and remade with safe stuff. My brother made the pot that morning, and while I was trying to remake the bedding and do the laundry, I blacked out. I was able to tell my daughter what happened and she found my purse with the Benadryl in it. Thank goodness it was only a trace of the old coffee. The pot just did not get cleaned enough. No more hazelnut grounds for me.

The last time that I encountered a trace of barley landed me in the ER. The little dog’s food has barley in it. I had been washing my hands very thoroughly. Until one day I encounted his treat, and my cookie within the same fifteen minute window. Apparently his treats had barly and I did not wash my hands good enough. This is also the ER visit that earned me a slap on the wrist from my doctor. Next time, she said, just call 911 then administer the EPI-pen while on the phone to the operator. Okay. I mean it was plenty scary.

The last time that I had “egg” noodles in canned chicken noodle soup, was also the first time that I ended up at the ER. I had a bad day altogether with the Canadian fires smoke in the air and the wind during an early May allergy season. Then we ate some soup thinking it was an easy alternative. Not so much. It was also the day before my granddaughter’s birthday party the next morning. We don’t know for sure if it was just the egg noodles, or if the wheat flour was tainted with barley by chance. Not fun. Since then egg noodles are off my grocery list.

The last time I was in the same room with peanuts was in the hospice room with my father-in-law. My brother-in-law was snacking on them and when he began talking behind me, my nearly blacking out, brain warning to move across the room saved me from having to find all over my rescue items. I have had not direct contact with peanuts for many years. And only my sister’s sudden allergy response at adult allergy onset told me to start being careful.

The last time that I reacted to nightshade weed, was in the butterfly garden. It was the first full year into trying to get the flower beds established. And the weeds had gotten out of hand during the heat of August. So I tried to clean them up. Well, I had a full body hives reaction for nearly a full week. It was the year we celebrated my dad’s 80th birthday. All gathering for the first time in many years. It took the full week of around the clock Benadryl to get over the hives. Thank goodness there were no other problems. But it was the height of fall allergy season. So there’s that.

The last time I was around microwave popcorn, I nearly passed out. So there’s this highly processed oil or something that they put in the microwave bags and it is equivalent to the aerosol poisoning that happens for some people. I am one of those people that cannot breathe when the particles enter the air. I’ve known that aerosol sprays are dangerous for me ever since the old lysol sprays, and the bathroom scent sprays. Those have not been in my home for decades. But the popcorn in the microwave caught us a little off guard that last Sunday evening. I have only had a few close calls with popcorn. We have been able to stop the bag opening before I suffer an asthma attack. It’s not fun to be so sensitive to such things. Really I don’t like calling attention to myself. One time, I just made the excuse the dog needed a potty break.

The last time I ate blueberries was in a smoothie that I fixed for myself. Asthma had been haunting me for a few days. I had a couple close calls with corn syrup in Dorothy Lynch, and something was just off. The morning was touch and go with my asthma. But the afternoon smoothie took me out. Half hour later my nose was completely plugged up from inflammation. I took one Benadryl and one Pepcid AC and was lying on the floor in recovery mode. My daughter called face time and told me that another Benadryl was needed as she could see the swelling over the video call. We had to look it up, as I really did not believe blueberries had become a “next” allergy item. Wow – really? Blueberries. Yep. It could be all the pesticides and the preservatives, or it could just be the mold. Either way, I’m done eating blueberries.

The last time I mentioned my allergy problem to someone, I was shot down by words. Words telling me that there are detox options if I would just look them up. Words telling me we have all been poisoned by vaccines and germ warfare. Words telling me perhaps I think to much of myself and my “brushes” with death. So I decided to write this journal entry. Telling about the last time I encountered these toxins in my life. I know the temporary fix for allergies. My father-in-law experienced it after his chemo treatments. I know a few others who have had remission of cancer, allergies, and other immune disorders with the medical use of chemotherapy. No thank you.

So there is always a last time for everything. Some people don’t have to keep track of every item they put into their mouth. Some people don’t care to hear about other’s difficulties. Some people just want to talk about themselves. Some people don’t care that others think before they act. Some people don’t have allergies and refuse to acknowledge that for some people it is a matter of life and death.

I’m glad to be alive. Even if it means attending church where there is a baked potato feed could put me into an asthma attack right in the middle of my playing with the praise team. Don’t worry, I managed to get my inhaler, ask my husband to guard the sanctuary door to keep the smell out of the gathering room. We left through the back door of the church and did not say anything to anyone. But it’s still scary, even if no one wants to hear about my daily struggles.

So maybe the next time someone mentions allergic response you will acknowledge that we are rare folks. Less than one in a million people actually die from an allergic reaction and most of those is an unknown medicine allergy. While food allergies are rare less than 1 percent of people have peanut or potato or barley or nightshades allergies, having a long list of allergies is also rare. I would suppose that makes me special. Just so long as I don’t become one in a million, I’m doing okay.

Code Name Message

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I recently came across some studies about the coded messages in Scripture through looking at the names in the genealogy lists. There are several available links on the web if you just search it. The Messianic Message encoded in the Genesis chapter five list of names was the first one that I looked at. Then there is Matthew chapter one and others. It’s kind of fun. So I thought, why not loopk up my own family heritage and their name meanings.

So the first task was to find all of my mother lineage or the matrilineal. Somehow I could only go back four generations. My great-great-grandma Helen was a school teacher in Nebraska. And I did not find any information on her mother or where she came from.

While sharing all the facts on the web, and putting myself out there in care of identity fraud scares me some. So I’ll do my best at encoding. Haha If you read my blog all the way through maybe there is something to be learned.

Beginning with Yvonne a derivative of Yew wood. What? The Yew wood evergreen tree in Europe is an enduring long lived tree of short stature. Yep, that’s me the shortest one in the family. While long lived is yet to be seen, endurance doesn’t seem as far fetched. When I was able to run track in junior high, I ran the last and longest leg of the relay. So for a short time I did have endurance in my running ability. But longevity in my ability to play piano has proved true. Even though I can no longer read the music, I am graced with new listening skills every year.

Recently listening to the songs of faith in relation to Holy week, I played “The Holy City” for the first time with no music. It was always so hard when I had to read the music and figure out all of the symphonic rhythms and such. I was quite pleased with myself for learning the new song and just have to work on the third verse yet some.

My middle name Annette means “God gives favor or grace.” And I think I already heard that before. My maiden name with all it’s connections to my father gets into being “high born” or “breeding stock.” Which is kind of funny when I think how important my Grandpa’s cows were to him. He had more pictures of his cows than any other thing. I like to think of the meaning more about the mercy God showed me in leading me to be born again through Christ. And finally my married name meaning scholar or scribe, brings me to realize yet again just how much writing means to me. God gives me endurance, grace, a higher calling to write what will matter to the next generation.

Llangernyw Yew Wood tree in Great Britain. Looked up history of oldest Yew tree and found this wikipedia link! Fun Facts!

Now to the matrilineal message God has given me. Helen who was a milliner means “bright and shining one.” I know that God is the true Light. Helen’s daughter Marie was a school teacher, homemaker, and mother. I wore her wedding dress at my own wedding. The delicate hand stitched roses were so pretty. Marie means “beloved.” And that’s truly how I felt that day and ever since. Marie’s daughter Mildred was her second daughter. Mildred means “gentle strength” and that is truly how I view my grandma. She was verbally abused as a child for being a girl instead of a boy and did not let that affect how she treated her five children or 18 grandchildren. My mother’s name Sharon means “a fertile, level plain.” I think of my mother as being the one who cultivated each of her children to accept the seeds of eternal life. When the whole message is put together I see God’s handwork in the message of love for me. God the bright shinng Light calls me His beloved, giving me strength and spiritual fertility in my soul for endurance.

The surname message is almost the same. Yahweh the Gracious God is faithful. More faithful than the rising sun, the Lord of the morning is Lord of the harvest. He who made the seed, plants the seed and harvests the seed gives life. God planted eternity within my heart. Born of the Spirit into a Higher calling to write and study His ways! Yes God is the gracious, faithful, morning star, planting and reaping the souls of hearts whom He has written eternity upon. I love that verse in Ecclesiates that says that. Ecclesiastes 3:11. “God has put eternity in man’s heart.”

Names do have meanings. And many people name their children sill alphabetical names without thinking of the future implications. Both my daughters were named after pretty flowers. So there’s that. I did not look up the grandmothers names on my paternal set. But I did do the full sentence of surname and first names.

Yahweh, the Bright and Shining is faithful to His beloved. The Warrior (Lord) of the morning is gentle and strong. The Reaper will sow an enduring forest! Another sentence says “The enduring words sown in the fertile soul will be a harvest. Like the strength of the morning sun overcoming the cold of night, God is gentle, faithful to His Beloved the Lord Yahweh shines life through every breath that I take.” There are so many ways that God speaks to us. Are we listening?

This week is Holy Week in the Christian calendar. The weather is giving us another roller coaster ride. One day we wear t-shirts and the next day dig out the winter coat again. Preparing for Easter for me will be cleaning up that first bed room again. And making a menu for my grocery man.

We got my mother moved back to assisted living after her rehab stay. That was exhausting. So much. Just plain much. I hope we can do some more to make her rooms more accessible in the next visit also. So perhaps that’s what I ought to be focusing on here also. It’s just so much easier to to sit and crochet.

Enough of my field entrance ramblings, the topic at hand is names. I took a look at the names of those mentioned in the Gospels who stayed with Christ beneath the cross. John 19:25, “Now there stood by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene.” (Also His disciple John). Mary has three or more meanings. And there were three of them there, so Beloved, bitter, and rebellious all seem appropriate. Magdalene means woman from the high tower or watch tower. Yes, she did certainly watch her Lord until the end. Cleopas means “Glory of the Father”. And yes, that fits also as Jesus was the Glory of God come down to earth. John means God is gracious, or Yahweh is gracious. And yes the emblem of the cross has become synonymous with God’s grace. The interaction at eh foot of the cross between Jesus, John and His mother Mary has been repeated often. For in this directive, He commanded John to take care of His mother. It is an intensely private and special moment.

Perhaps it resonates so well with me after having watched three of our four parents enter into eternal rest over the last year. There were not a whole lot of commands or directives at the last moments. Except for my father-in-law’s statement “I’m not worried about tomorrow.” There was nothing else said that really sticks in my mind as a directive or command. Yet, I watched my husband taking care of my mother this past week or two in the same manner of love and care that he did with those who have gone before. We do what we can while we have them.

The generations that have gone before us are God’s message to us that He provided for us. The generations that come after us are those to whome we have the chance to write on the tablets of their hearts His grace and mercy. And another small bit of wisdom I heard this week: the meaning of our life is to find our God-given gifts and the purpose of our life is to give those gifts away.

Final thoughts on names. You might remember my name when you meet me. But there is one name that is far more improtant to know. Proverbs 30:4 says, “Who has ascended into heaven, or descended? Who has gathered the wind in His fists? who has bound the waters in a garment? Whao has established all he ends of the earth? What is His name, and what is His Son’s name, if you know?” Jesus means “savior of the world” and He gave His life away so that we might know Him. Do you know His name?

What did you think was going to happen? 

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Going to church for children’s message is still my thing. I get so much more out of the little happenings in those five minutes. This past Sunday it was the orange that sinks or floats lesson. The seal of the Holy Spirit on our lives is like the cloak of the orange peel. When we listen to His prompting to obey the Lord and ask for help from the Father when we are treading water. So the object lesson is a pitcher of water in which first the orange peeled gets dropped in the water as we try to do everything on our own. But when we put on the life vest of Jesus Christ, we are saved. Pastor put his hand into the pitcher to retrieve the sunken orange only to have water go everywhere. One little child repreated his parents words in automatic response, “What did you think was going to happen?” As the congregation ripples with laughter and the water spill requires a towel, the lesson continued with the orange keeping it’s cloak of peeling and floating on top of the water just as it should. Two lessons or three in one! Don’t sink and drown wear you life vest. Don’t try to do things on your own, ask for help from the Lord. And Don’t fill the pitcher too full, because you will soon need a towel (helper) to wipe up of the spill. And maybe, think before you act, so that there is not a mess in the first place.

Changing weather is so hard. It’s like a roller coaster of wind, warm, and cold as we head into spring. The first day of spring here was Friday. And Saturday the alarm in the greenhouse went off at 99 degrees Fahrenheit. I rotated all of the fans and worked early in the morning repotting some of the geraniums. The Mother’s Day starts are all ready now and will just require water until the day. Maybe flower clean up every two weeks. Then on Monday morning, (today) the alarm went sounded again as the temperature in the greenhouse dropped to 39 degrees. Bother it’s hard to keep up with this pendulum swing.

I have always known the weather to be hard on the animals. A few years ago just about Easter, our little rescue Eva found the end of her days. Tabitha was her buddy cat. They had slept together, shared the dog hut, and generally layed around together for two years. When Eva was getting her last loves, Tabitha came over and rested on her legs one more time. It was so sweet to see them caring for each other. I cried much over that parting. Tabitha was mad at me for three days after that. She wouldn’t even return to the porch. Finally though she did, and spend many of her best days as our favorite porch cat ever. Way too many ways to say goodbye. Tabitha developed kidney failure in the last month. I knew she did not feel well the last few days, because she was one of those “potty trained” cats. When I took the dog out, in the morning, she had to go do her thing on the edge of the grove also. It’s always hard to say goodbye to pets.

Best front porch cat ever, Tabitha had her faults as a kitten, getting stuck in the mulch bin with another cat Boomerang. And she spend two or three wellness spa visits in the greenhouse recuperating from double respiratory infection, and then a sinus infection, and then skin tears from a mean male tomcat. She was on medicines more than any of our other cats. And she was also in the house more often on my lap than any other cat. She followed me to the greenhouse until she did not. We thought maybe she had lost some hearing from the sinus infections. She just did not choose to leave the porch very often. Tabitha found refuge in the boxes that we put out on the porch.

Maybe some cats are angels. You know there are some people that really don’t think cats are good. They do tend to cut you off at the top of the deck stairs many times as if the joy of watching humans tumble to the ground is in them. But then there are the cats that give people new leases on life, and a purpose for living. These cats could be angels in disguise. Tabitha was so good with the kids also. She just put up with so much.

Then there’s the morning greetings that constantly change throughout the years on an acreage. Missing Cocoa’s whiney or snicker took nerly two years to get over. Now it’s Tabitha’s morning perch on the porch deck box as she waited for us to come out. As soon as my feet hit the floor in the bedroom she exited her little warm box, and sat in the deck box waiting for a morning pat on the head. It is the one thing about daily duties that makes life worth living. Daily greetings form a dog, a cat, a horse, or any other such vocal being reminds me that the Lord walks with us and wants such close relationship also.

We were made to be in relationship with others. From pets to people, God reminds us that He is very creative in reminding us that He is real and true and loving and faithful. I will miss Tabitha’s daily expectations.

“When we walk with the Lord, in the light of His word, what a glory He sheds on our way….” Lyrics from the song “Trust and Obey” by Don Moen

About My IF

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When I was a very, very little girl – and that is a true understatement – I had a stuffed pink puppy. In my mind the puppy was bigger than I was. My mother says I weighed only fifteen pounds at two years old. That is the same size as my little black dog now.

I have memories of riding this little pink stuffy like it was a horse. It solidified my love for dogs over that of horses at an early age. Though I thought I still liked horses, because my dad trained them, that like was turned to “dislike” until I was a teenager. The love for dogs stuck a little more, even though I cannot recall that the pink fluff ever had a name.

Imaginary Friends are for little kids who have no one to play with them. So I used my stuffy’s, dolls, and other such toys to entertain me until my baby brother came along at six years old. Then in another year or so I developed the management tools that I would need for the rest of my life while bossing him around.

I don’t remember of the little pink fluff had a name. The color was much like Cotton Candy. And though I did not know about such when I received the doggy, later years, I always gravitated to the fair cart for some of the pink fluff. Having it melt in my mouth could transport me to worlds of imagination. So perhaps the puppy’s name was Candy.

About my IF, that is Imaginary Friend from years past. Mine was a magic carpet puppy that I rode like a horse. My little legs hugged the dog and my fingers gripped his ears, and I ran and slid across the floor countless times. In my mind we flew around the room hiding under the table and landing on the sofa. It must have been my constant companion because looking at it in my adult years I noticed the faux fur was completely worn off the fabric.

Another strong memory from those wee bitty years, is of someone asking me if I wanted a piece of candy. I would nod my head vigorously only to be asked once again, if I was “sure.” My poor little brain did not know what the word “sure” meant. I remember doing a circle with my head from no to yes, not knowing what the correct answer was. I hated the question “Are you sure?” I was not sure, I was “Yvonne.” Did my Imaginary Friend have a name? Could it really be imaginary if the puppy was a stuffy that I rode around like a magic carpet?

This past summer when we cleaned out the old house, I found it in the “keepsakes” box. I took a picture of the pink rock and then threw it away. The stuffing in the doggie had turned into a solid mass of something. Not sure why, but the foam innards had hardened into a solid beast. The little puppy did not look near as comely as he had while I rode him across the hard floor of the kitchen as a toddler.

Through the years that followed my toddling days, I turned from this carpet puppy to horses during my play time. But it was not long until I felt the thump of the heart and warmth of live fur baby more comforting. I had a cat in middle school and high school named Mittens. Mittens was grey with white socks on the fore paws. He was such a quiet cat indoors that I snuck him up to my bedroom a lot. The comforting feline pur was so addictive. It was so sad when he had an accident and had to be put down. I cried a lot. Thank goodness he had to go shortly after one of my paper route friends lost her husband. The value of “soul” was not lost on me. I knew someday, maybe, I could have another cat. She would never get another husband.

Today, nearly two score of years later, I still prefer a puppy over a horse. Even though a week ago, my grandson asked if “we could get another horse.” What is this “we” thing, I thought. I already took care of Cocoa for years while taking Benadryl just to be around him. And I know that a cat would make my hubby do the same thing. He is so allergic to the “dusties” that a cat produces with it’s constant shed. That is one of the reasons we now have a Shih Tzu in the house instead of a constant shed dog.

We watched the movie IF (2024) in the fall of 2025. Yeah, we’re cheap and usually wait until the movie is released from theatre and can be seen at home. Once in a great while, we do make it to the show house, but this one escaped our knowing. I really enjoyed the whole concept of the film and thought about my pink Cotton Candy puppy right away. Who wouldn’t remember riding through the house on a pink fluff?

I don’t need an Imaginary Friend when I have a real fur ball. But I do still love the addicting sound of a good motor. I do have six cats outdoors yet. Tabitha and Kramer are probably my favorite right now. Though Kramer won’t sit still very well. Zuchi has followed me around the most, like to the greenhouse and stuff. But Kona does tricks! And though I can’t ride him around like a magic carpet, his greetings and energy are fun and contagious. He does make me laugh with his funny jump-fly over the steps into the living room after a fetch session.

Kona on the daybed after a fetch session.

While I began this writing back in October, today seemed a good day to complete it. I was suppose to visit my little people (grandchildren) but my daughter now has the tummy bug the two youngest shared with her. This winter has been full of immune building experience for them. My last visit to their house was punctuated by a little girl finding the scissors to see what was inside her favorite stuffy. Mommy was pretty upset for having to do surgical repairs once again. Some children are so attracted to the hand held cutters. My mind immediately returned to all of the toys that we repaired for our fur ball Furbie. He wanted to get to the heart “squeaky” and we let him. Then we saved the rabbits, squirrels, skunks, and socks for further demolition. It’s hard to imagine what this little girl might do someday and what this “knowledge” will help her learn.

Meanwhile, my mom took a tumble and aafter a brief hospital stay is now in rehab, riding a bike and learning to use her new “walker” friend. No imagination needed here. Just some hope to get better soon. And not the kind my husband mentioned. One of his coworkers needed a “get better soon” card not because he was ill, but because failure had marked every attempt to teach the kid something new. Some people have no imagination.

A lowly friend

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“There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus, no not one, no not one… “. The classic hymn by Johnson Oatman Jr. has been running through my mind for nearly a month now. There are days when grief stricken and sad the tears come unbidden and beg though I try, they will not return from whence they came. There is only one thing left to do. Have a good cry and tell Jesus. He’s the only one who can truly understand my lowly state.

This morning my overnight vigil of sleeplessness hit me rather hard. I had not spent the night crying for “Our Father’s will” to be done. I had really just wanted to sleep. Every hour as my book ended it’s timed reading, my hand would reach for the smart book, and poke the 60 minute timer once again. This happened so many times that by seven a.m. when I hit the “timer” again, it really felt like 3 a.m. and I marveled that the light from the day was now invading my sleepless night.

“No One else could heal all our destress, no not one, no not one.” The morning did not begin so wonderfully. While the AI weather report boasted of a warm sunny day in the first week of February, my spirit was brooding over the lack of sleep, and the tears that were on my pillow all night, continued to spill forth. Really, why was I so crestfallen and despondent over just one night of lost sleep?

All my life I have set separated somehow. Either in a room or class of my own I’m not sure but togetherness has been a hard concept to grasp. Some call it sanctified to be set apart. First as a little tike, it was my size, my deafness, then my eyesight, then in a community where I was an outsider because I had entered the grade school later thatn the other. My “different” -ness kept me just outside the circle or comradeship. It just seemed to continue on all of my life. Through my school years I was the only one that whent home for lunch. Always looked at as a “goody two shoes” my mother even chose to take us outside of the town for church, setting us apart once again.

I finally felt like I belonged in college during the Inter-Varsity Bible study days. And when we were first married, I belonged to the family through my proximity to my husband. But then through the years, we chose a different way of bringing our kids through school. Home Schooling our girls all the way through high school, set us apart once again to be different. And thereby the lack of “friendships” occurred.

I never felt so alone while my girls were with me. I worked hard to think of the years as “preparation” for their futures. And I never felt so very poured out and empty as the year my baby-second daughter went off to college. There seemed to be nothing to keep me afloat anymore.

How could this new set apart feeling be “sanctified?” I wondered at times how I could make it into the next day let alone year or decade. Then I lost my drivers license because my peripheral vision had reached the point of legally blind. The pain that I felt in my aloneness and empty days was only filled once again, by hours of book reading and escape room lifestyle.

“Jesus knows all about our struggles…” In the days after empty nest syndrome, the realization that Jesus was the only one who really knew my day to day struggle became apparent. I tried to call my mother-in-law only to be laughed to scorn with her daily reports of who stopped in for coffee or where whe was at now. Some days it just hurt so bad to hear the report, I did not call. So I began calling my father more. He seemed to get me better.

So this morning when I finished my coffee and the tears were still rolling down my cheeks, I just wanted to talk to my dad. But I cannot. Because he died eight months ago. Four months after my mom-in-law, who died four months after my dad-in-law.

Even one Sunday morning when I found myself sitting alone at church, It occured to me how much of an “outsider” that I felt. The morning fellowship hour, or gossip hour feels so exclusive. Though our beliefs are community and togetherness the gossip hour can be so un-sanctimonious..

Where have I gone wrong? Have I gone wrong? Am I just meant to be seperated out from the mainstay? Am I registering a feeling that is not there? Am I taking too much stock in the “gossip” of others about others and not participating due to lack of knowledge? Or am I destined to be set apart as I have been all of my life because of uncontrollable circumstances…

“There is not an hour that He is not near us, no not one, no not one.” While I look at the past through my sleep deprived filter and consider being set apart due to my deafness, my blindness, my constant thrust into unknown community, my choices in life that poured me out into void and loneliness….. I am glad Jesus has been more constant that the weekly phone calls to my dad. Jesus has been more near that my mother-in-law’s daily visitor report. Jesus has been closer to me that the timed out book reader in the wee hours of quiet loneliness.

Being set aside for a purpose is the definition of sanctified. The Lord chooses whom He may to scrub down, clean up, refine, and move from ignoble to noble duties. Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true.

Yesterday afternoon one of those God moments happened to me. I had such a rough day, with my lack of sleep and tearful remembrances that I thought I should probably have tea in the afternoon. So I dug through the tea box and found one that seemed good for the soul. “Ginger Turmeric Honey” just sounding soothing. I made the tea, sat down with my snack near to hand, took a sip of the now cooled brew, and the floodgates were opened. There before me, was my father, tapping his annoying cane between his legs and telling one of his much repeated tales. The tears just would not stop. I ended up calling my husband at work to help me get through the grief stricken memory. The last time I had that particular tea was at his house and Wally’s wife had bought him some, for herself to drink while there. Oh, but the tears would not stop.

It’s crazy how certain things just take you back to a particular memory. Certain foods, teas, drinks, sounds of Wheel of Fortune wheel ticking, or whatever it is just surprise the mind into memory. And there you are, right back in the moment as if the past five years have never happened. Reality hits you smack in the heart and the spirit bursts forth like a waterfall.

I always liked waterfalls. Until it is tears and emotional remembrances. Yet I am so thankful that I have the memories. There are precious pearls that are not to be traded for the world.

My deafness as a child encouraged my parents to introduce me to music. And though the deafness set me apart within my school mates, (any time someone whispers in public I think it’s rude) it sanctified me in my ability to sit at the piano and focus on my lessons. And though I often feel separated from the fellowship of others, I feel sanctified when I sit at the piano and lead the congregation in praise and worship.

I am learning to look at this feeling of separation from the status quo as being “sanctified” rather than feeling “left out” all of the time. Feelings are not facts in spite of what these young people nowadays might think. Feelings are fickle useless things that often lie. And it is often the enemy of our spirits within to use feelings to trip us up and keep us stagnated self centered and judgmental of others. Somehow, we have to move from the lie of separation to the reality of togetherness.

One day while thinking upon all of this alone set apartness, I came across a video online about connectiveness. The phycological and spiritual explanation was that truth and reality is that we are all part of the “whole” not a singular drop can make up the ocean. One drop of salt water when in the ocean is part of the whole ocean. We as people individually make up the whole of human existence. It’s so hard to explain without the visuals. But with the fact that our community has lost three young lives due to “feeling alone” (suicide) made me rethink this feeling and reality truth.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

Provocations

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Don’t take the bait! This is the best advice that I have ever had or given when it comes to provocations. Whether intensional or exceptional malevolent another’s actions or speech can often drive an emotional response that even surprises the respondent. And yes, unfortunately I have been on either end of the action or spoken misstep. Yet, afterwards it’s my own emotional anxiety that is the temperature gauge that tells me, I took the bait. How did I fail so miserably with this recent provocation.

Letting go of intended or unintended sins against my personhood is part of the constant “forgiveness” lifestyle. Because whether people know it or not, feelings are fickle things, and words often hurt more than they are ever meant too. Forgiving current happenings are often easier than putting back the old dry bones in long lost family closets. Yes, Great Grandma Millie, everyone has skeletons in the closets. It’s those old wounds that fester and turn into anger cesspools when the cisterns are not properly dealt with and dug up when there are least expected. Just when you thought the gravel pit had filled it all in, suddenly there is a leak in the storage tank that was still there. Bother, here we go again finding another painful memory to rehash.

While dealing with the wills and trusts and those left behind things of deceased parents, much has come to mind of the fair treatment or unfair treatment that each child receives. Of course each child probably always thinks that another has the “favorite” treatment.

From the book “Anne of Green Gables”. A quote from Marilla Cuthbert while discussing the bringing up of a girl to her brother Matthew, “I’ve never brought up a child, let alone a girl, and I reckon I’ll make a fine mess of it, but nevertheless I will try my best.” Indeed every parent has made a real fine mess of parenting I dare say.

Lots of flowers in the greenhouse but these two get my attention most. summer gardenia and yellow kalanchoe.

So I suppose it best to take the advice of the old minister, unless you are a parent yourself, don’t give parenting advice. And of course, I have one daughter in the woes and bliss of parenting and the other in the woes and bliss of people management. Two entirely different occupations but nonetheless difficulties of relationships that arise regularly upon which advice is sought.

Being the peacemaker in the family is not my strong suit, but yet being in the ministerial position of come to terms with the moment’s of life is part of what I feel God has tasked me with. Or rather, maybe, finding peace with the life that God has dealt to each of us. I often see people in their moment of difficulty grasping for the answere that is only answered by our Lord.

In the middle of the “chips ahoy” remake. Not sure I like it, but the fabric is so wonderful. It’s the dark nature of the color combination. So even after a remake, it’s not what I would choose. Gavin helped with the color sequence.

I remember distinctly when my father, with a tear rolling down his face, admitted he was having trouble being patient. The only answer that I could give him was Jesus. God is the supply of our every desperate cry. And so, too, now when my family has arrived at a conclusion that is unexpected, some of us must look to His aid in our time of need. Keeping the peace and not letting this moment become a wedge that drives us apart is the battle cry that I have taken up.

Disillusions realized can be quite disheartening. Every adult-child finds themselves at one point or another in the understanding that a parent they thought was invincible or perfect, has toppled from their pedestal. I remember when I first realized that adults could be untrustworthy. At the age of sixteen or so, I was sexually assaulted by an elderly church member. Perhaps this is telling too much. My father stood up for me a resolutely refused to attend the church ever again, if there were no disciplinary steps taken. The church did not remove the elder’s status. My father never went to that church again. He took the opinion that church was full of hypocritical child molesters from that point forward. And to my dismay, my mother continued to attend the church freely forgiving the person who so dismantled my innocence. I never told the rest of my siblings that this was part of the larger puzzle that helped my parent’s marriage fall apart.

I saw this happen. I did not blame myself. For our family had done many a winter puzzles. I knew it was just one piece. But I found that I had not fully comprehended the battle that was going on between the two until decades later. My dad felt that just as this man must of abused me, perhaps my mother’s “spiritual” loyalty was in fact adultery or some other sin. He could not understand her choice to attend the church of an elder whom had so abused his daughter. Of course we won’t discuss his own abuse to he children and wife, that was family and his “right” to treat them as he did.

A small note about family genetics here… My father received the retinal disease RP from his mother, and he in turn passed it on to three of six children. Some find the possibility of blindness absolutely frightening, while those of us with the reality see it as just another part of living. Being legally blind provides a chance to understand that is okay to ask for help, because it gives another to discover the gift of giving. While one may find it difficult to ask for help, a blind person must. This character change moves one from blindness to discernment and those who are honest and helpful rather than seeking a reward for their labor are discovered. Discernment in personal character is not just gifted to some individuals. This “seeing” of another’s motive is learned by trial and error. My dad learned to “see” through people in a way that many people never can. Blindness is not always blind!

So there. The truth or some of the truth has been spilled. Provocations whether purposeful or not happen. Emotions and natural responses happen in the heat of the moment. Decisions are made that ripple throughout the decades. Just like Sarai’s choice to give her servant girl to Abraham, generations pay for the sins of the fathers and mothers no matter if restitution is paid. Choices have consequences.

While this is the most abstract painting that I have ever written, I hope that it has not provoked someone to anger or revenge. I have no desire to take on more than what I am responsible for. We alone can control our own actions. It is not up to us to judge or decide what another’s appropriate or inappropriate actions ought to be. Always and ever the only person we can control is ourselves. And so now in the light of past actions that have been revealed, once again it is only my reaction and my response to this moment in time that I can control and prevent a ripple effect that does not create a tsunami of emotions from others.

I pray for our family that we never led the past of the present divide us. God wants families to stay together, to work together, to love on another and be His voice to the world. Satan wants to steal, kill and destroy and I will not let him get a foothold in our family during this unsettling time. We will not make decisions in the heat of this difficulty that change the outcome of our togetherness over the future decades. Choices have consequences. And I will not regret my actions. I choose to love, to forgive, and to keep peace in the family.

Yearly Yarn About 2025 (crochet review)

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January began with the leftovers project. This beautiful Entrelac stitch blanket is one that I like so well that it sits on a rocking chair as the cushion. I don’t think at this point I will ever give it away, unless of course I decide to make another that is more keeping to our new / old house in it’s farmhouse style. Luxurious creamy earthy colors minus the browns, haha.

February was such a hard month. Saying goodbye to my mom-in-law while crying over my crochet hook. This flower motif turned out so pretty even though it was leftovers. Maybe the new year has a brand new flowers from the Wild Things by crazy crochet cat lady.

March came along with a new pattern purchase again. This time from Tinna from Tinna’s Crochet Club. The hearts are so versatile and so many different ways to do them. I started off with two pillows for our everyday use. And the obsession continued throughout the year.

April found me making a crochet afghan for the tenth anniversary of my nephew and his wife in honor of Valentine’s Day weddings. It was a real blast to make and buying all new yarn was also fun.

May found me going back to an old stitch standby. This is the larks-foot stitch. The two skeins are supposed to be reverse image colors. I thought this prayer shawl rainbow effect was pretty. Much to pray for as my dad entered his hospice care.

June was more like an end than beginning. So I started the thin flowers with ends from the Wild Things collection. It would be for a random person that I met while shopping for yarn. It was a great challenge for me with it’s color choice, but doing it for an “order” was so enjoyable. Saying goodbye to yet another parent, my dad, would make me glad I was giving the project away.

In July I found some baby fleece yarn to make a couple of blankets for the new expected one in August. Though it was not my original idea for a baby blanket, it is so soft and useful!

August came with it’s heat and not much time for crochet. So the only finished project was this little sweater stitch scarf. It is super soft and comfortable. While it is warm, it also feels cool to the touch because of the rayon yarn.

September found me finishing the made to order strings of flowers. It turned out beautiful. It was my most difficult project to date. I was so proud of it, but happy to share the joy and give it away.

October brought me down to size a bit. So I came back to the Freyja pattern by Tinna. This beautiful prayer shawl is part of a do-over. I am quite pleased with and it really needs to find a home.

November found me stuck on the Freyja, and I did another prayer shawl only with a red brick background. I love this one too. And yes, it has not found a home yet.

Finally, December arrived and I needed some small projects that I could do quickly and feel accomplished. These little ornament wreaths were just the thing. And it is totally my own design. I used the reverse crab stitch to make the wreath part. The center is a chain that used single crochet stitches around to create the interior of the wreath. Pretty easy and only took about an hour to complete.

And now it’s time to count the wrappings. I have a bag of them somewhere, perhaps I’ll be able to find them. There were forty seven wrappings in the bag. There is a slight chance that a few packagings were misplaced. So I could safely say that I crochet a skein of yarn each week, 52 skeins of varying sizes and styles. Some are small like sock yarn balls, while others are giant jumbo supersized skeins. All in all that’s a lot of yards! Looking back over the year sure makes me want to begin a new project and buy some more yarn. Oh, dear this addiction is getting out of hand!

Ordinarily

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Remember that silly little song “The Cat Came Back?” Well, it wasn’t even five days after saying goodbye to Crush that the black cat that I brought home from Colome two summers ago came back to this place. Had he really been displaced by Crush and stayed on the outskirts of the property until now? We think it might be Zucchini as sister Pepper died on the road. Enough of the cat saga, it’s time to fill in other details.

Another ordinarily is that I would put a picture of Zucchini her to show you how he sits on top of the kids swingset, but my blog says my data upload option os shut off because my media storage is full. I’m a blind person and have no idea how to fix this problem. So there is the mental picture you figure it out.

Ordinarily, I think of some little story of the kids to tell. One day each week with the grandkids fills the love tank and gives me all kinds of little happenings to tell the greats. There’s only one great left to tell- my mother. And since she is at an assisted living facility it is awful hard to get ahold of her. So then, I would save the stories for the greats at the church coffee hour. But now even those have dwindled in number, as we say goodbye to another one today.

A new month brings with it the hopes for the future. And some more goodbyes also. My hubby’s birth month ends with his mother’s birthday. Not having her will be bittersweet as we take hold of new memories and hold a new little one in our arms. August is full of possibilities. But today we remember one of his mom’s dear friends who just passed away.

When we say that the “landscape” is changing we think about the recent storms and the loss of tree tops and structures no longer here. But in our lives the look of persons no longer sitting in their places at church is also part of the landscape change. We have lost so many giants in the faith at our church this past year. And the deaths of so many parents in the 80 something years makes the stream seem bare. Oh Lord, that my roots stay deep into the living water during this vast changing season of our lives.

Ordinary days have taken on an emptiness that is hard to explain. Si many days I want to make that call to my dad or my mom-in-law and it’s just not possible. I added some siblings ti ny favorite call list but there are times no one fits the “tell”list fit what I am thinking about.

The song “ I must tell Jesus” goes thru my mind frequently.

And then like some nightmare, I come across a secular song that has all the wrong thought processes. “Immortality” by the BeeGee’s and a guest singer, talks about following the path that lies ahead as we walk without the loved one who has gone from our lives. They try to say that “We don’t say goodbye”… but we all know better. While the memories live on, and the things that the person said and did still echo in our heads, our hearts hurt and the goodbye is still there to sting and bite like an unknown bee in the flowers that we grasp unto each time that we call them to mind.

Echoes in the mountains only last for a short while. Echos of loved ones gone before the fullness of time are the hardest to handle. Echoes of genetic trace within the family carry on into the future beyond our comprehension.

Ordinarily, I would sit in my chair and crochet while the stories of others carry me through the stitches. Perhaps today it is time to take up another pass time. Telling the stories of the people that made me has always been one of my “dreams.” While there are books, movies, experiences, and occupations, it is the people that surround us that make us who we are.

The song begins “So this is who I am / And this is all I know / I must choose to live / For all that I can give…”. There are two kinds of people in this world, givers and takers. And it always fascinates me that the takers are so confused about true giving. Being a giver is taught. And oh the job of the mother to teach patience in the taking, and to teach love in the giving.

Another ordinarily is my Reading apps. I first used the Google reader. Then they removed the “free” option. We tried Envision, and now they dropped that reader and changed it to “Ally.” I think the next one I use will be be ChatGPT or something like that. So at the moment my reader is all garblety gook and very frustrating. The software changed so frequently, it does not even know who she is when she looks in the mirror. Ordinarily I’d say something kind, but right now I’m a little frustrated iwth software updates.

And one final note about roadwork, changes that lead to dead ends…. My daughter’s new house is causing me quite the meantal battles. The flooring is all the same. And the walls are all the same colors. So finding my way through the house often leads me right into a brick wall. Well, okay maybe it’s just the fact that the hall ends with the wall on angle and the door protrudes out from that. It is a light at the end of the tunnel nightmare, because the end of the hall is dark. I have found the door, the wall, the china cabinet, the wrong door, the chair, the corner of the doorway and many other objects except what I was looking for. Ordinarily using my cane would be a better way of finding my hoped for path, but I am stubborn about using my cane in the house where it could make children trip. So I stuggle on.

Threads of Faith

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Guest Writer Renae Kampa. Introduction by myselfl- Yvonne Annette. Phillipians 4:6-7 “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”

Trust God during troubled times is somewhat easier than during seasons of no wind. The last few months after my dad’s hopitalization and subsequent hospice care, some days it really did feel like God was literally carrying us in the palm of His hand. After the gatherings and celebrations, it seems harder to cling to the memories and know that God is just as close as He was then. Faith in the Father of Lights means that even when we are struggling with the dark thoughts of abandonment and feeling forsaken by our physical, earthly father, God will reach down into our dark feelings and remind us that He is still the Lord of all.

My father’s family has a history with the church that is typical worldly. The church is there in the early years, and used at the end of life bit presence during the in between years a bit lacking. Was God there during all the “dash” years? The Alpha and the Omega certainly does care about the middle years doesn’t He?

During the middle years, I spent many years trying to have an “Adult” relationship with my dad. For much of our history I had to hang up the phone or walk away from our visit because he would return to his old ways of behavior or speech. I spent twenty years trying to teach my dad that I was an adult, and he could not used language with me that was essentially trash. I am so thankful that I worked hard at those margins and asked God for patience.

My husband’s family was the example for me in service and gifts of grace and mercy towards others. So when my father-in-law and mother-in-law passed away, one of the third or fourth phone calls that I made was to my dad. I did not hold back the faith filled moments that God graciously gave to us as we parted from our loved ones. It was after one of these calls that my dad offered up his first “I love you” that was not prompted. Of course, it was also during this time that my dad made the decision not to pursue more treatment for his cancer diagnosis.

This past month my family said goodbye to my dad. This is the third parent funeral in just nine months. Typically that’s not what one thinks of for nine months. Yet another descriptive phrase is fullness of time. The full measure of a persons life is not something often thought. Yet again God knows the “handbreadths” of a person’s life. And once again another parent (of my sister-in-law) has now passed on to eternal life.

When we know the end is near, we often cling to that mortal life, clasping hands and wishing for their suffering to end. But the battle for the soul is paramount and must be fought while the spirit, heart, and mind can still accept and choose Life in Jesus. So that’s what we did. We went to visit regularly and during the battle moments, to help our dad choose the peaceful process of letting go into God’s hands.

Photo by my brother Wade. This double rainbow was a beautiful ray of hope for my brother the day after the funeral. (Our family does not believe a rainbow has anything to do with pride but rather the rainbow is God’s promise to care for His creation.)

The following is a written testimony that my elder sister shared at the memorial service for my dad. I have changed nothing. So this week my guest writer is my sister Renae.

Threads of Faith – Love in Action

Threads of faith – God in His loving mercy created us to love and serve him.  We are called to love, to be love and to show love to others.  A thread, small and insignificant in its own way may seem useless, however, when that thread is applied skillfully together it becomes a master piece – a cloth useable for many things.  Such is faith.  It too, starts out simple, small and may seem so insignificant at times, yet, God in His wisdom created us to trust, to believe, to cry out when we hurt and seek His help.  He lovingly takes these threads, the times of our lives and creates his tapestry of love in our hearts because of His great love for mankind.

God created us to return His love, he willed His only begotten Son to share in the trials, temptations and cruelty of all life offers.  Why, because the Son Jesus Christ so loved us, he wanted to share our burdens; He shed drops of blood during the Agony in the Garden before his death on the cross where he willingly died for our sins and offered His salvation to the world.  He died that we might live eternally with Him in the beautiful Garden of Heaven.

Threads of faith – We learned that cancer had returned in our father’s body and began to pray for his eternal soul.  Yvonne so eloquently said that: “Dad is a soul beloved by God” that we needed to witness love, faith, forgiveness, patience, and salvation to him.  I began to pray that there would be a thread of faith in his heart.  A thread planted into his soul many years before that he could now hold onto and that God would use to bring him to a place of accepting God’s gift of the Savior and His salvation, forgiveness, and love. Threads alone are fragile but when woven by an almighty God they become strong.

I prayed that these threads would be used by God to comfort him in his suffering and be the strength to guide his soul to Christ.  I prayed that each time someone would be present to witness love, faith, and prayer that he could adhere to its truths daily and find what comfort he needed in this trying time.

As he lay in his bed, Yvonne, Gavin and Valerie as well as others, would tell him stories of Jesus, read scripture, play music, and pray which are all threads of faith in their own way, threads that Jesus could use to lead his heart daily.  What we witnessed is a testimony to this prayer.  There was peace, calm and even acceptance during the last month knowing that his life on earth was nearing an “I love You’s” said and then repeated to each family member was God’s way of telling everyone he found peace with his Creator.  He knew love, God’s love and those threads of faith began to weave the beautiful cloth of love given and received.

God’s Mercy knows no boundaries.  Those threads – the things once heard are used by a loving Savior.  The wisdom and guidance of the Holy Spirit convicts and comforts us to accept God’s ways.  God’s Mercy reaches the depths of the soul that seems unreachable.  The beauty is witnessed seeing lives that are touched and changed.  Miracles happen right before our eyes, prayers are answered.  Jesus is Lord and Savior.  God is Holy.

We children felt the love of our father when we needed it most and he felt the love of his children and an Almighty God in every breath he took those last days.  

The final thread was woven out of faith and love; we give our father over to the creator of all the threads in our lives and let His love heal our hearts.

From the Diary of St. Faustina of Poland:

“Let every soul trust in the Passion of the Lord, and place its hope in His mercy. God will not deny His mercy to anyone. Heaven and earth may change, but God’s mercy will never be exhausted..” —Diary # 72

Psalm 100:5 “For the Lord is good, his steadfast love endures forever, his faithfulness to all generations.”

Thanks again, to my sister for being the guest writer this week. I hope this small story from our family’s love in action will bess someone today.