Tag: grieving

The Crochet Corner

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Today the moment of complete disrepair was my loss of a crochet hook. And I’m pretty fussy about changing hook brands during a project. The length of the shaft from hook to flat makes a big difference on the stitch tension. The whole item can get crooked or simply loose it’s comfort or softness.

This morning, the day after my mother in law’s birthday, I thought that I was doing okay emotionally. Until… until the I lost the crochet hook that I was using in my current project. After tearing apart the basket of yarn, the corner compilations of things, the blanket on the sofa protecting it from the the visiting dog slobber, and gernerally moving everything to and fro, the hook is still not united with the project.

The Hammerstein Cinderella movie from my early childhood was not something I ever saw as a child. My girls were gifted with the VHS cartridge of the movie and we watched it nearly as many times as they did Mary Poppins. The song, “In my own little corner” could easily have been my theme song from childhood and through adult years. I find the comfy corner in just about any setting I find myself

At church, it is generally at the piano, and yes, it is nearly tucked into the corner, only just displaced by the drum set next to it. Many times throughout my life in significant events, I was the one who used the piano in the corner to “entertain” or lead the singing. Growing up church, I was just stage left of the pulpit. Only because the back office and old stairway were far left, did the piano not truly sit in the corner. In high school, I found myself also often tucked in the stage left of all of the happenings on the stage, pounding out the accompaniment for the choir or the jazz band. Then on I went through college, playing for the interfaith fellowship weekly, local church choir, or other happening. After marriage, my placement did not change much. I did try center stage music ministry for a time, but it was not meant to be. The music that I composed still floats about in my head often crashing upon the shoreline in a tidal wave of memory and private worship times.

Crochet pattern kaleidoscope shawl just looked up a tutorial video and followed the pattern

My daughter’s growing up years found me also in the corner on the sidelines of their accomplishments at the piano. That also eventually failed, as their ability soon became beyond mine. They had other hands at the piano and I was happy to hear them become such very good musicians. I also had a chair or two that kept me “cornered” through their home schooling years. It was my “old school ma’rm” chair and I really have not sat in it much after they went to college and got married. Though it is comfy for me, I do not move my crochet projects about the house to sit in different chairs.

So in my own little corner of the living room, I set up a work station complete with baskets for devotional time, pottery cup with hooks and scissors, table for drink cup, and anything thing else that I might desire is within reaching distance. It’s not that I can be anyone I want to be there. I pretty much feel like “ME” most of the time. It is my creative corner both to use my hands and my brain and stay active in my sedate position!

The phone rings and from my corner I am still a wife, a mother, grandma “Oma,” a sister, a daughter, a niece, a sister in law, a crochet artist, a writer, and so much more. God has gifted me I know with a creative spirit. Sometimes, the old projects are ripped apart and made new. Somedays my ideas of who I really am get ripped apart also as God works on renewing my heart to be His child.

Today as I moved all of the items in my corner searching for my hook, I wondered once again…. What lesson is God trying to teach me in this?

The hook and project are still not united. Our family going the grief process in our recent loss of my father’s brother is also not united in physical form. Though we are united in our wonderment of why 66% of people do not have a will when death is such a guaranteed outcome of living? Yet there is the statistic and we all fall into it. Most of us do not plan for our death.

Okay, maybe these thoughts are all too morbid, but why do we ignore the inevitable? Meanwhile, loss and grief are all so common to us all. Yet some people take it upon themselves to think they are somehow “special” in their own experience and believe that no one else could ever have it as bad as they have. Really? Yes, everyone has their own set of life’s experiences, but should not these help us to relate to others going through similar life happenings. Death is not a singular event. We all have the loss of loved ones, parents, siblings, or children. Living involves loss.

The crochet hooks is still no where for me to find it. I finished one lovely kaleidoscope crochet shawl last week, and enjoyed the process so much I started another. There it sits. Without the correct size hook, it will be left alone for the day. When I have nothing other than crochet I literally feel LOST. I run about with my head chopped off wondering if cleaning is all there is to life I’d rather not live. Okay, it’s not that bad. But my husband would say “Yest it is.”

Books are my imagination escape. If it weren’t for books I would also be lost. I subscribe to an audio book app and that keeps me occupied most of the time. I finally got the BAARD set up on my phone also, and those are free. Then I can download four or five books, and just keep trying them and deleting until one peaks my interest. Sometimes I am not so discerning and pure entertainment is preferred to somehting more historical or educational.

This past month I came across “Mrs. Pargeter’s Mysteries.” While I do not give the books high marks, they did keep me entertained while I crocheted for the better part of two weeks. The final thought that I had after considering why I had spent my time listening to criminal mafia type comedy mysteries was – so that is what a “docier” is… french word maybe for keeping a list of someone’s wrongs towards a person or group that when reaching a certain said sin load would result in the call made for a hit or death wish. I decided that indeed a docier is what a lot of people keep for other’s whom they hold life long grudges and family enemies. I refuse to hold a docier of anyone in my mind or in my heart. Forgiveness has to be the rule in my relationships.

While maybe we are human and we have a difficult time forgetting how others have wronged us, If God can forgive me through Jesus, surely I ought to forgive others. Perhaps forgetting is not always wise, if we can remember without animosity and let it spur us on to be better and do better, that is good. Remembering the past mistakes of others is a lesson learned. And it should make us want to repay evil with good. So that was how listening to those books helped me. And when I mention things my moms said to me, it is so that I can respond with empathy and compassion to my daughters when they tell me things.

It’s been a rough day, but once again I am reminded of my own mother’s “someone always has it worse” stories and bad news reports anytime I felt like I had a bad day. She could always find some negative news item to make me feel like my day was sunshine and roses. Comparing my own happenings to the floods in Napal or the Grand Canyon, or the fires in Nevada just doesn’t make me feel any better, mom! Yeah, I know someone else might have it worse, but could you just say, “I’m sorry, you are having a rough day?” I learned at an early age that my feelings would never be validated. If I was ever looking for someone to weep with me, laugh with me, or just care I best be going to Jesus.

Oh, and the crochet hook is still lost. I have spent well over three hours moving things and looking for it. At this point in the day I am about to say the devil ate my crochet hook. I mean, he probably does not like my crochet and pray hours. So unless I go and buy another hook, the current project will ramain unfinished.

Conclusion of lessons learned from my crochet corner hooks and books already accomplished. However, today is another rough day for some of my people. So many prayer requests laid down at the foot of the cross, it is time to start the praises for what great deeds God has already done in our lives. The first being that I found my hook! I dug through my hook collection and found that the size I needed was “I” not “H” and begin working. I finished one color addition and grabbed the scarlet skein and there was the I – hook that I lost, embedded in the center of the skein that I handled nearly four times trying to find. Wow! Now Lord be the provider in all of these other prayer requests that I lift up to you now, and Thank You for being our supply!

The one uncle

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Sometimes it feels necessary to sum up one moment in life with a statement or feeling, or overwhelming conscious thought. This past week is one of those moments in my life. A dear uncle of mine passed away rather expected but shockingly so it happened, alone and without the knowledge of anyone in the family for a matter of days. The week for me began with a rather inconspicuous heartburn problem that seemed to have no digestive cause. The “heartburn” lasted until exactly the hour that I learned of my Uncle’s passing. Why was my spirit so vexed within me?

I was on a ten day streak of shortened sleeping hours for no apparent reason also. Some nights no more that two or three hours of actual sleep found me wondering just what really is going on here. We had a lot of phone conversations among family for the first week of the news until the decision was made that some of us do feel the need to honor his life and the contribution that he gave to each of us in our life’s journey.

Just because someone does not ever acknowledge the Maker of heaven and earth publicly, does it mean that we should no less be thankful to the maker for their influence in our lives? Or rather can we be thankful for the the difficult people in our lives just as we are grateful for the everyday people that help the world go around? Yes, scripture tells us that we are to be thankful in every thing. In all circumstance’s giving thanks always for all that God does in our lives and through the people around us that we might give God the glory. Even if they do not.

Before I share some of my favorite memories, I first want to share some of my dad’s favorite memories that he shared with me those last weeks before his passing.

Once when he and his brother were just pre-teens, they and a couple of neighbor boys were put in charge of driving some cattle across a number of miles to new pasture land. They seem so young to be on such a big mission, but for both of them it was a real highlight of their growing to manhood. At one point, my dad fell asleep while telling the story again, and then began muttering that he was trying to find his brother. They would often be out all day on horseback bringing cows home, or moving them to different pastures. They truly were the American cowboys that one sees in the picture books.

Another story is about boxing gloves that one of their friends or cousins was given as a gift. There was many a rowe with their friends as the boys dug into each other to beat one or the other in a boxing match. At one point, one of the older boys goaded my dad into fighting him even though there was quite an age, height, and weight difference. My dad was fiesty enough to land the boy a hit to the gut that took his air away and he caved in letting my dad take the win. Hearing him tell the story was quite hilarous as the exaggerations improved upon each telling.

My earliest memories of my Uncle were as a little toddler standing up on the seat of the pickup cushion with my arms reaching out to touch either shoulder. At one point I could hold it in no longer and my dad says I rubbed my Uncle’s head and said, “You don’t have any hair up here.” He replied as always on his baldness, “Hair is like grass, It does not grow on a busy street.”

My uncle had a self confidence that outshined his stuttering speech. His ego and male magnetism was not always a positive trait. And it often rubbed people the wrong way. Late in his life many of the relatives believed that he may have had autism or some other smart brain social disfunction. But for those of us that did visit with him occasionally his intelligence made for easy conversation.

Of all my uncles, my dad’s brother is the only phone number in my phone, in which HE actually called me. That does make it seem rather special that we have this ability to honor him with a memorial service and spend some time celebrating his life.

My Uncle was an engineer, a wood working hobbyist, a distance range management land holder, a political activist, a writer (dropping lines to new paper editors frequently), and so much more. When I was a little girl all I new was that he helped build airplanes. To encourage my love of math in early high-school years, he gave me a photo of prototype Boeing 737 and signed the back of it for my birthday.. I am rather sad the picture was ruined by weather a number of years ago. But I remember it clearly.

My Uncle was also one of the few people of my relatives that seemed to really enjoy asking me about my greenhouse and how things were going with it. We could discuss herbs, plants, bugs, and soil content with ease and it was always a stimulating conversation. He also loved music, and thoroughly enjoyed hearing about my daughters and their accomplishments through the years. I remember having a discussion about the purchase of their instruments and the makers of each after they acquired the violins, cello, and viola each. He was so well rounded in his knowledge.

My Uncle’s wood lathe hobby was also an inspiration to my father in law. And sharing some of the items that my uncle made often inspired my dad in law to try his hand at certain toy making and kitchen utensils. The coffee scoops that my Uncle turned out of cherry wood or apple wood are some of my favorite. I use them every single day.

What I learned most from my Uncle was how to encourage young people and listen to what they are interested in. I enjoy asking my grand kids or other children “intelligent” questions and getting them to express their thoughts in more than just one word answers. While there were times my Uncle seemed overbearing to others, or a little fixed on a particular subject that i knew nothing aboout, the good that he taught me out weights the bad. And while I never heard him acknowledge that the Supreme Intelligence is the giver of all knowledge and wisdom, I know that God is Him who makes one smart and another not so much. Yet we can learn from every day people just the same as we can learn from those far above our station.

In my coffee grounds jar there lies a scoop, a measure for my daily portion of caffiene allowance, it is the gift of my Uncle’s handiwork and I shall treasure it as I treasure the memory of his input in my life.

One cannot ever really find themself, one is only found by the Great Shepherd. We are all at our core lost sheep. Only by the grace of the Holy Spirit our ears are opened to hear the voice of the Shepherd calling out name. Isaiah 53: “All we like sheep have gone astray, each of us to our own way.”

Hearing that my Uncle was found a day or so after his summons to death was so sad to me. His spending so much of his life alone, and knowing his eyesight loss was similar to mine, it pained me to hear that he was discovered deceased by his good confidant and cousin. How hard it is to go through the personal belongings and try to find all of the important documents and such. How hard it is to make those calls to the officials and the relatives. In the face of death, life marches on and so much has to be accounted for.

What truth does God have for me in Christ during this moment as our family makes the transition to life without my uncle. Of course those who had daily interaction and weekly phone calls, and monthly business dealings, all find themselves making changes.

My life at such a distance will only be affected in the memories and the planned gatherings, and the many phone calls remembering. What matters most I think is how I feel like I did not get to share the truth about God’s gift of my Uncle, to him. I never told him that I believed God gave him an intelligent mind to stimulate those around him to do more and be more. I am also sorry that our visits never got into the spiritual side very often. It just seemed the moment was never right for me to share things along that line of conversation.

I am not without hope, though, as my Uncle was the one who orchestrated both of his parent’s memorial services, with daughters and I providing the music. Both of the services were Christianity based and the gospel message shared. He also attended my dad’s memorial service and told me how pleased he was of his nieces and nephews aftewards.

Burgundy or Chocolate?

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The last three weeks have been the start of many writings. My journal entries are so scattered. Pinning down an over riding thought or lesson in what the Lord has been teaching me is difficult to grasp. This past month marked the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing. So much and so little has changed since last year. All the days that I thought about telling him something so that his mind’s eye could see what I was describing to him, all the days have passed like a blur. And yet, I still want to tell him, or my mom in law or dad in law something funny that their great grand kids have done. I still hear their voices in some odd everyday happening sharing their bits of wisdom and truths.

Today, struggling to see the difference between burgundy and chocolate I once again wondered how my dad might solve this dilemma. Of course he never crocheted, but he did with help color code his closet of shirts. Red and one end and blue and the other. Funny that while helping my mom put away her laundry after a recent hospital and rehab center visit, she too had some system of color coding in her closet. I feel rather foolish that I have not done the same yet. Especially with my failing eyesight. It would be quite helpful. Why had not I put the burgundy ball of yarn in a separate basket?

We are getting a rainy day for the first time in a month. It is cloudy and overcast with just enough moisture to make the surfaces wet. An actual rain dropping sound would be amazing, but we’ll get what we get, right? I remember clearly my mother in law telling me about the year that the corn still put on a crop just by pulling moisture from the air all season. Wow. So grateful for every “wet” day that we get.

The attempt at making baskets was successful. I actually got three done. They are about four gallon size, I used a five gallon pail to stiffen one so far. One cup of wood glue in two quarts of water, Soak the basket, then pull it over the up turned pail with a plastic bag to keep from adhering to the pail. Drying took about two days. First in the sunshine then in the house because it decided to rain!

Our rule is leave the windows open and pray that will bring some rain!

Well, I lost half of my blog by using the update on a secondary device. Bummer. The large tote of yarn that I bought of market place had some real finds. One was a skein of Alpaca Denim Gold for worth nearly 60 dollars. I made a dragonfly shawl. It’s pretty. I spent the first two hours sorting all of the types of yarn. Also finished a kaleidoscope afghan with some number six yarn. That was a real slippery thread.

My book reads this month worth mentioning are “Theo of Golden” and “My Brother’s Keeper” a civil war diary. Both are middle school to early adult reads. The second was one my mother found at the library in her Rehab Center library. The first a media recommend. I liked them both but did not immediately repeat.

The gardens have been weeded and preen spread. I was so tired of the chore. A box of preen was well worht the effort. The rain has been wonderful as I don’t have haul watering cans those days. The front boxes look lovely this year and the begonia’s on the front dect look amazing after i found a shady spot for them to live. The fig trees are on stuggle bus fashion as the spider mites and aphids are hard to keep at bay. I need to feed the soil I think.

Meanwhile, keeping track of colors of yarn continues to be a challenge. I use my phone apps frequently to tell the difference between colors when there are no wraps on the skeins.

There might be some grand lesson to learn over the last moth, but for the most part I am just struggling to breathe. My nebulizer and I have become well acquainted even though I loath sitting still and not doing anything. Books or videos keep my brain occupied while I puff away on the necessary medicine.

My favorite Bible verse this month is Psalm 121:5, “The Lord is your keeper, the Lord is your shade at your right hand.” It has been excessively warm this past couple of weeks. We had heat index over 113 degrees, feels like an oven out there.

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.