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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57377804619518725632018-05-13T22:48:51.606-07:00Through Lynnie's WindowDevotionals for chronically ill sojourners...firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-1978965911019159172018-05-13T22:48:00.003-07:002018-05-13T22:48:51.602-07:00Thinking about Jesus, Creator of the Universe, being nailed to a tree He created.

I have seen Israel in the Spring, I will never forget the wildflowers everywhere.

And it makes me wonder.

Jesus had walked up and down its borders. He'd seen the gorgeous red poppies, the daisies, the obsequious mounds of mustard - felt the early rains. seen the Galilee perk up and be overgrown with tall grasses and peace.

And walked through them to the cross.

We know He expected plants to perform the way they were supposed to - and cursed a fig tree because it was not as far along as He expected. He compared the flowers' beauty to Solomon's elaborate livery and Solomon's beautiful embroidered Kingly robes, and found them wanting.

He created all this. He noted the beauty around Him. He knew this was Spring did he yearn to be on earth just a little bit longer? Or was He Homesick and ready to go Home.? In Mark 5:8, He is met by the madmen of the Gadarenes, so full of demons they called themselves "Legion".( a legion is a division of 10,000 Roman soldiers)

Mark is the only one who mentions that Jesus said, "What is your name?"to the ones in control of this man who needed to be free/.Did He notice a familiar gesture from deep in eternity pasr, when the angels were content to love God and enjoy a masterful universe, playing pingpong with the baby stars?

Was this one who had, at that time, been a companion of Jesus?

I haven't the faintest idea . That said, I wonder about it every once in awhile.

Did this fallen one remind Him of someone - Surely He knew who this spokesman was. This spokesman clearly knew Who Jesus was.

And that's all we are told.

I have been noticing that every time we try to do things our way and don't wait for God's leading, it pretty much explodes in our faces.

Case in point, Adam and Eve. Adam knew the fruit that Eve handed to him was cursed. But he ate it anyway. -

And then - gasp! - he discovered they were naked. ,,,,,Oy!

And then he had a scathingly brilliant idea:cover up with the big, soft fig leaves! BRILLIANT!

EXCEPT Adam forgot that when you plucked a fig leaf, a heavy white sap begins to oooooooooze from the fig leaves that is very toxic to human skin. if you get it on your face it bruises the delicate skin - and does the same for any delicate skin found elsewhere upon their bodies. Oy! indeed,

Man's plans without God's input continue along that line. We seem to consider problems and if they are at a certain level we think we can handle we say, in essence, OK, Lord, I've got it from here..."

;And after it has exploded in our hands we bring back the detritus and um we ummm drop the dregs at His feet, poke a toe at it and push it around for a moment, then finally say, "Ummm, it seemed to be going great and then, ummm, it blew up."

I've had more than a few things blow up in my face before - have you? We think we've got it right this time. And then...BOOOOOOM! And even then, Gog is already with the true solution.

HOW does He DO that??.....email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-6420253792358178812018-05-13T21:44:00.000-07:002018-05-13T21:44:00.140-07:00Layers upon LayersIf you are one of those who are ill right now, you are not alone.

Because I spend a lot of down time - literally down, either in bed or in my worn out recliner, which is about 13 years old, sort of shabby without the "chic" - I read a lot. I have a daily regimen of about 3 chapters/day, depending on how large the chapters are. As a result of this (and 45 years of reading thru the Bible in a different version every year) I'm pretty conversant with Scripture.

That is, the English versions.

And I am slowly beginning to recognize different words in the Hebrew as I read. I have been studying the works of Danny Ben GIGI and Chaim Torah - I highly recommend their work. They pull back the curtain a bit so one becomes aware of the difference in translation from the Hebrew to the English. There are currents beyond currents of meaning, layer upon layer, precept upon precept in the Hebrew that we simple folk are not taught as children. The Hebrew, being God's native tongue, has winks and elbow-joggles galore, things that bring it to life, from my point of view. It is amazing. and all encoded.

The ancient Hebrew sages used to say that everything that happens is in the Bible. and with the discovery of the Bible Codes, that's pretty much a given. They also used to say that there were at least 10 dimensions to life lived on Earth. Science is slowly catching up to them, only they are guessing more in the realm of 19 or 20.

We serve an amazing God. If you would like to read thru the Word in a year - or two 12 month intervals, go to the blueletterbible.org, and they have the amounts to read per day all figured out for you.

I have fallen in love with the memoirs of the old Testament - our God is an Awesome God, indeed. As I have aged, I have understood more of the subtleties - and now with Dr, Ben Gigi's insights and writings, as well as Chaim Torah (Hebrew for "Life Torah", I've discovered so many things that I should have been aware of just because of the things they did *not* say. Their teachings have exposed me to hidden meaning in some passages and Hebrew holidays and their importance to understanding not only the Torah, but the rest of the Word as well. Their works are on Amazon or other booksellers and are available on Kindle or other readers as well. (and no, I am not getting paid for telling you about them. get a free sample on Amazon and see if it is something you would be pleased with.)

And I will pray heartily that they bless you - every time I pick one of their books up, I know I will be blessed . No "hi falutin'" giant words or intricate webs that lead you in and out so much you feel upside down! I do hope you try one of rhier books - and if you do, please let me know what you think.

Their books are the culmination of years and years of work, and we get to learn more about the Love of God towards us And those thoughts had all been hidden in the Hebrew. Layers upon layers of meaning - no human could have put things together in the precisely elegant, eloquent way our God has.

La firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-12775741332515413162018-03-19T10:05:00.000-07:002018-03-19T10:05:02.143-07:00Thoughtful... What do they see?Thinking today about Jesus and His great love for us.

We receive His love 24/7 He knows when days are rough or difficult for us - He is using them to whittle us down, to conform us to His image.

That reality is difficult to imagine.

Me, conformed into His image.

Wow.

In American Sign Language, the sign for "Christian" is a combination of two components: the sign for Jesus + the marker for "person".

Literally, "Jesus person."

Am I living that way, tho? When folks are around me, do *they* see Jesus in my person? Do they feel that love that I receive so nonchalantly flowing through me to them?

Amy Carmichael, a missionary to India for more than 50 years, spent the last 10+ years of her life in bed, in pain from a fall into a covered ditch. How did she endure?

She once shared with someone who was feeling "put upon" at the moment: "See in it a chance to die."

Not an easy thing to do. I confess I am one of those who would like to live a Romans 12:1 life, but somehow I keep falling off of the altar. I am far from being perfect, as those around me can verify.

"See in it a chance to die."

Am I willing to do that? Willing to, in effect, *choose* the role of the foot washer instead of the one being washed? Not the poor, put upon, pitiful "saint", but a joyful and loving *chooser* whose 20/20 vision sees the chance to die to self - and does.

Oh please Lord, make it so.

Selah.

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-11965324264533494032018-03-06T18:23:00.001-08:002018-03-06T18:45:02.687-08:00A big thank you to Mr.web runner for unlocking my blog -I thought I'd have to start over and that was A very unwelcome thought, indeed.

So...what's going on?

In January 2017, i began to become very ill, an AB probably would have coughed once and been fine. But for me, life doesn't 'work that way . Because of the Myalgic Encephalitis, nothing is simple. And because I couldn't move around much,,It translates into into a bowel obstruction .and then unleashed pain everywhere.One delightful add-on from ME.

The bowel obstruction cleared fairly quickly.

Unfortunately, It stirred up my costochondritis, which is medical language for inflammation where the ribs insert into the sternum. This time, the sternum ( the "breastbone} pain went thru the roof. It felt like a power tool ripping thru my chest. All I could do was moan loudly, jt was embarassing and I tried to shut up, but the pain was so bad I couldn't. They were giving me the usual dose of morphine in my IV, 3 mg , and it did nothing. ONe nurse got an order for Dilaudid and gave it right after the 3mg MS. Finally,after 15 hours of moaning, it released. I was sooo grateful!

But alas, the next day it began again, once more reducing me to moans. All that existed was the pain and me. I was begging for "somedy, please!" to help, but after 20 hours of it this time, I started begging them to just let me die.

When my bloodwork came back, the chemistry showed I'd had a small heart attack. They wanted to do some cardiac testing, but I refused. I long ago decided to be a DNR (do not resuscitate) . As a nurse, I know that CPR doesn't give you miracles every time like on TV, and the last thing I want is to be a problem for my family.

So when I got to CCU I made sure they knew. The pain was still crushing. They shot in another 5 of MS and some Nitroglycerine to oxygenate the heart muscle. One of the nurses, on her own, God bless her, called a palliative care doctor for me. She came in and evaluated me, And ordered a dose of MS 5x nomal -15mg . "We might need to go higher, " she said. The nurse, eyebrows raised, said dryly, "Well, it will either stop the pain or put her into a coma."

It stopped the pain. Thank You, LORD!

The next day, an up and coming young cardiologist came in and tried to convince me to go thru the cardiac testing. He wouldn't give up.

Finally, I looked him straight in the eye and said:

"If I crash and you bring me back, I will sue your underwear off!!!!!"

l hadn't realized a nurse was in the room until she let out a guffaw. The doc laughed too and thru up his hands. "OK, OK1' he said, "I get it"

After 9 days in the hospital, I was really dizzy and weak. For every day you lay in bed you lose a week of conditioning They sent me to a nsg home to get back enough strength to be at home.

There went another 2 weeks.

Finally I was home! I coasted along slowly with a visiting nurse twice a week,

ON September 6th, my sil and I had planned to go out to dinner - It was my baby brother's birthday, who had died in 2003. I told her I needed a nap first. I felt exhausted, which is not unusual with ME.

About an hour later she was getting hungry and looked into my room. I was sleeping.

So she gave me another hour, until she was starving, and came in my room. When she couldn't wake me up, she realized I was in a coma.

She called 911, of course, and they checked my blood sugar.

It was 35 - a few above not breathing.

So I wound up in the hospital for about 15 hpurs. By God's blessing, I had no complications.

Then 2 weeks later, I fell and hit the door jamb. My sil came running, and when I started to sit up, blood was spurting everywhere. I had torn my scalp open on the jamb. Took around 13 stitches.

Since then, thank You, Lord, Ive been ok. (I'm hoping this year will go a little easier.)

The word I've picked for this year is "Savor."

Each moment, each day, each anything, I want to be fully aware of it. I realized That I've not been treasuring my days, and @ 70 this year, I have not-so-many left. If you are reading this, I highly recommend it - it's already made a difference for me.

May the Lord richly bless you this year. Savor each day - and, please, remember that we are not promised a tomorrow, As the Psalmist said, "teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." (I'm a little late putting this into practice - don't be like me!)
.email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-3342368184062951222017-09-16T14:14:00.000-07:002017-09-16T14:14:04.069-07:00Feeling Sad about JudasAs we draw ever closer to the harrowing last week and triumphal victory over death, I've been doing a lot of thinking about Judas lately. He's often seen as such a one dimensional character, I felt sure there was more to it than that.

He is so often called "Judas Iscariot" that people often think Iscariot is his last name, so to speak.

It's not.

Iscariot means "the one from Keriot," a small southern town in the lower part of the country.

And all the other disciples seem to have come from the Galilee, which is in the North.

Was it something they called him to tease him?

Did it grate on his nerves, as constant teasing tends to do? Make him feel "less than", not included? Did it stick in his throat and fester?

Things that fester have the unhappy attribute of spreading a bitterness in your heart that taints everything. Perhaps his heart became super-sensitive, taking offense at the smallest thing.

Is that why he stole money?

It couldn't have gotten him anything - Judas would know if he suddenly started throwing cash around, everyone would know exactly where he got it. So the only thing he could have done with it is bury it, or put it somewhere "safe" for use later, when they got to be big man on campus for the new kingdom.

And then there's the fact that Jesus, Who knew he was money hungry, had selected him to carry the funds.

I think He was giving Judas an opportunity to learn how weak he was, to choose right instead of false security.

I always wonder how 30 pieces of silver could have been enough money to buy a field. Did the money he pilfered go into paying for that field too? As a potter's field, it wouldn't be good for much else - the potter would have scraped every bit of useful clay from the topsoil to make his pots- if there had ever been any topsoil to begin with.

Perhaps he realized that Jesus knew every penny that should be in that moneybag.

And perhaps there should have been enough to feed the 5000 and then some. If he had piped up and offered the $$ to feed people, would Jesus have multiplied the money instead of the bread and fish? Or done some other miracle that would have blessed Judas and changed his heart.

Every phrase having to do with money became a billboard for Judas. Many times quotes are attributed to "Peter said" or "John said" - the words about money are rarely so noted.

And their inclusion in the Word is interesting. Nothing is there by chance. Every word is there for a reason.

Maybe Jesus was showing us that He warns us subtly when we begin making wrong choices. His response to remarks about money bears study. Was He speaking to Judas about his wrong choices?

And then there's the kicker.

When Mary of Bethany brings her precious carved marble bottle of nard to break for the purpose of anointing Jesus, Judas loses it. All that lovely money - wasted! He can't control himself. I hear him in my head, speaking in a derogatory tone - "this could have been sold for a hundred denarii (100 days wages) and the money given to the poor."

Those reporting this incident add as a side note (all paraphrases mine) "Judas didn't give a fig about poor people. He said that cuz he was a thief."

So they knew.

They all knew.

The question is, did they know before or after?

I can't imagine they knew before. Judas wouldn't have been a beady-eyed shifty character they could all recognize -or he never would have gotten the moneybag in the first place. At the same time, I can't believe that Judas was tight with the other guys. Did they trust him? Like him even?

Jesus was always taking Peter, James and John with Him for special things. To raise someone from the dead. To be transfigured. Always those three. Peterjamesandjohnpeterjamesandjohnpeterjamesandjohn. Never him.

So when the nard was poured out and he didn't have a chance at all that dough, he couldn't stand it. Jesus didn't seem to care about any of the things he thought were important. This wasn't working out the way he'd thought it would.

Jesus went up on that mountain and prayed all night and the next day He chose him to be one of His special 12 followers.

Him!

And Judas thought there would be a lot more...well...prestige in the position. But it was Peter, James and John who got all that stuff. He did get the moneybag. And he knew how to take the most out of what he'd been given.

And did.

So when he lost the money, his disappointment made itself known.

And what did Jesus do?

In front of them all, all the people at this feast, Jesus rebuked him.
Put him down.

And all because of a woman. How embarrassing!

He couldn't bear it.

The next paragraph always stood out to me in chilling tones. It reads, "Then Judas looked out for an opportunity to betray Him."

And even then, Jesus gives Judas more than one last chance.

He tells the whole group that one of them will betray Him. And they all ask "Is it me?"

Can you imagine how Judas felt at that moment?

Everyone was saying "is it me?" He couldn't say that, and he knew he had to.

I always thought they said it dramatically, one at a time. But thinking of Judas, I changed my mind. If they had, they all would have heard Jesus say "You know it's you (my paraphrase again). Instead it's recorded that when Jesus told him to do quickly what he had to do, they all thought he went to buy something needed for the Passover.

I think Judas panicked.

It is recorded that the Pharisees did not want to have Jesus killed @ the Passover.

Did not.

I think he ran out of the upper room straight to the Pharisees.

"We have to do it now! He knows! He knows! We have to do it NOW!!"

The pharisees must have scrambled to get enough people together to hold a "court" and a mob big enough to take Him from the apostles and disciples and all His followers, even if they wanted to fight to protect Him. How they must have celebrated in their hearts. "We've got Him now. We have the power. Not this ragged Galilean."

So Judas leads the mob to where he knows Jesus will be. When Passover came, the city grew to an estimated million or more people. Remember, the men were required to come to Jerusalem three times a year. And there were not that many places to buy lodging. Often the Mount of Olives was a camping place - the families would find a piece of ground to make a fire and cook dinner, to sleep - it lasted a week. And since Jesus didn't have so much as a hole in the ground to sleep in, He would take His disciples with Him to the place across the street from the Temple.

And how heartbreaking it is that Judas betrays Him - with a kiss.

And even then, even then, Jesus gives him another chance.

"My friend! Why have you come?"

Judas knew He knew why he'd come. He knew this was his chance to distance himself from this act of betrayal.

And then Jesus asked the mob who they were after.

When they said His name, He responded with "I AM." (the "he" in your Bible was added.)

And they all fell down.

Power went out from Him and dropped them all to the ground. All the cheap ruffians with their clubs and rough ways. All the guard from the Temple that had heard Him teach and yet could ignore the memories that had so impressed them.

What would you do if you were going to beat up on someone and they turned to you and whoop! You were laid out on the ground?

I should think you would pause and reconsider what you were about to do.

Then Peter chops off some one's ear and blood spurts everywhere and this guy is screaming and grabbing his head - and Jesus calmly picks it up and sticks it back on!

The screaming stops.

The blood stops.

The guy is perfectly healed - no muss no fuss. But with a soggy, bloody garment all could see.

Again, a subject to ponder and a chance to re-evaluate your plans.

But no one even seems to notice.

Doesn't this seem a bit odd to you?

It does to me.

And all I can think of is how Satan blinds you - the further off track you go, the less you can recognize things as being "a bit odd." And these folks were white-cane-and-dark-glasses blind.

I think Judas had a moment of clarity here..

I think he re-evaluated.

Perhaps he thought to force Jesus' hand and make Him declare Himself king - but surely he would know that his betrayal would disqualify himself from being a BMOC in the new regime.

Was it really because he got in a snit and had a hissy fit? Seriously?

We'll never know.

What we do know is that Judas, indeed, had second thoughts. I think he realized, finally, that Jesus did love him, that He was his friend. And that he had betrayed very innocent blood.

But, true to form, Judas never humbled himself. He could not repent. He felt he had to fix it himself. So he ran to the Pharisees and to show he was really serious, he threw the money at them. Money! He willingly threw it away. Perhaps he thought they'd let Jesus go, and he could undo what he had done.

"Sorry 'bout that Jesus. I don't know what I was thinking! But we're ok now, right?"

But the Pharisees laughed at him. "That's not our problem, buddy - you did it, not us. And what's done is done."

So Judas is left guilty. He couldn't undo it, though he tried. He couldn't fix it. And the ones he thought would value him for giving Jesus into their power laughed at him.

Everyone would know he did it.

Perhaps someone from the twelve would discover and spread it around that he was a thief, too.

There was no place to go, no place to hide. He'd done an awful thing that he couldn't undo.

Jesus would never forgive him. Never.

There was nothing left. He couldn't bear being exposed like that. He couldn't repent - he couldn't get close to Jesus to talk to him. Perhaps he tried. Another thing we'll never know on this earth.

So, he killed himself.

And suicide is always a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Satan whispers incessantly that it's the only way out. You can't endure it. Your name will be everywhere. You'll be laughed at and never trusted again. You'll have to do the meanest of manual labor just to survive. No new reign and no prominent position. Nothing. No way out.

And yet, when he died he faced something a thousand times worse than exposure. He sought out peace on his own terms. He didn't go to the Father Jesus had taught him about for 3 years and ask forgiveness. He remembered only too well Jesus saying the Son of Man would be betrayed - and woe to that man doing the betraying. "It would be better for that man to have never been born."

The evil one blinded him to repentance, stirring his guilt so much he actually thought it would end with death, and he would have peace.

And got hell instead.

In the end, I think Judas worshipped only himself. His pride couldn't take the blows he himself had dealt - he willingly gave himself to the love of money, which the Word tells us is the root of all evil. It puts you at the center of your existence, it gives you a false sense of power, it makes you think you need no one and nothing else.

So you do things that, at first, singe your conscience.

And then they don't.

So money, and the person behind it, become what you worship.

And salvation something you laugh at.

And you forget, if you even ever knew:

"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God."

Selah.

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-79794528958274197762017-01-03T13:02:00.000-08:002017-01-03T13:02:54.551-08:00The LORD be with youMy great-nephew left today.

He has been living with us the past few years, going to school, falling in love, making a life for himself. Within a short period of time, he had a group of friends from church that I called his "posse", and shortly after that, a girl that lit up his eyes and heart and became his constant companion.

And then he joined the army.

He is in love with helicopters, and can find and fix its problems. And the army needs men who can fix helicopters. Only two weeks from completing Basic, they got 2 weeks off for Christmas. He went to his sister's house for Christmas, and then spent the next week here.

His sister lives in Redlands with her hubby and 1 and 1//2 year old little son. They have always been very close.

Well, that's not entirely true. She did not like the little interloper to her family for the first 10 or 12 years of her life. One Christmas in particular, she was 6 and he had just passed 1 year old, he wanted to see what she got, too - with the endless energy of a toddler, he circled and circled and never gave up. She did NOT want his fingers "all over her stuff!"

After almost melting down with exasperation, she gathered it all together, to make it easier to guard ,
but still he could reach it.

So... she sat on it.

Mission accomplished.

But I digress.

At the age of 11 her girlfriends thought he was soooo cute - so she granted a truce.

And then the most wonderful thing happened.

She accepted Jesus Christ into her life.

And her heart grew 10 sizes that day (Sorry Mr Grinch - got you beat, hands down!) From that day on, she and her brother grew closer every day. They hung out together and she counseled him and they shared their hearts.

And still do.

So at Christmas she invited the entire family to come for Christmas dinner.

Of my original family of 4 kids, 2 parents and a grandmother , only myself and one brother are left.

And he, curmudgeon that he can be, refused to go to Redlands - a mere 3 hour drive.

And I could not find it in my heart to leave him alone on Christmas Day.

So my niece had one less person to bother with, and he and I shared a frozen lasagna for a few hours.

And after that I was alone.

But this kind-hearted young man called me on Christmas to tell me about a special present he ordered for his grandmother and me, checked how my day was, and then told me, "Everyone here loves you," ending with "Merry Christmas!"

Quite a lad.

Somehow, after his call, the alone feeling left me. (pausing here to clear my throat and blink my eyes a bit - think I got a piece of something in one…)

My usual New Year's meandering is spent deliberating on my word for the coming year, a thought to concentrate on, day by day.

This year, I've decided on "considerate."

I want to put others first with a heartfelt letting go of my "self".

To train my heart to walk with Jesus and pray for my Father's eyes to be my eyes, my hands to be His hands, my heart to belong fully to the love He offers to one and all, and to let it be poured through my hands and heart - daily, without a moment's hesitation, without withholding a second's worth of energy or a teaspoonful of affection.

I want an open heart, open hand, and arms open continuously to anyone who needs a hug - or can't move fast enough to escape one. I want to think up the small things that are really big things when put in the proper perspective, and make sure no one ever suffers that "all alone on Christmas Day" feeling on whatever day it happens to be. To look for those little things that mean so much to curmudgeons and non-curmudgeons alike. And to drop-kick that "me first" attitude that so easily creeps in thru the cracks in the walls of my heart.

In short, to have an attitude that says, "Everyone here loves you."

I'm gonna miss that email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-70014219100314647242016-12-23T15:32:00.000-08:002016-12-23T15:32:49.156-08:00A Boomer Christmas MemoryKids the world over are getting ancy.

BUT they are shining up their halos and trying to be "good" for only a couple more days.

In my family, the kids( of whatever generation) couldn't hack it. Time stopped. Presents under the tree, from relatives "back East," which, growing up in California, was the whole world, cuz West was pretty much water for a loooong ways away.

After the youngest sib found out the jolly old man wasn't really related and thus had no power over us, we began to celebrate the holiday the Swedish way, which is, to open presents on Christmas Eve, because Christmas Day was the birthday of baby Jesus.

heh-heh-heh….

No more running screaming down the stairs at 0600 (or earlier) - and altho the excruciating wait for the morning light was over, my dad, with a twinkle in his eye, found plenty of ways to keep "excruciating" in view.

After a dinner he ate soooooo sloooooowly, all the dishes had to be washed, dried and put away. No such thing as an automatic dishwasher in antediluvian days, my brother and I washed by hand, dried by hand, put away by hand - and, for one day of the year, no dawdling occurred.

None at all.

Then we had to "go get Grandma."

Now, my Grandmother was made of spun sugar - and steel. I loved her Swedish accent and ancient gingerbread cookie recipe, only concocted at Christmas, and decorated with little silver balls that broke your jaws with their rock hard exterior.

No one can make her gingerbread cookies.

All of us got the recipe directly from her.

And all of us agree: she didn't write down the entire recipe.

And no one has figured out what secret ingredient she forgot to include.

But I digress (a touch of excruciating here - just so you get a bit of the feeling)

She, of course, was in cahoots with my dad on the excruciating part. My normally spry, up for anything, moving right along grandmother was always having a bad day on Christmas Eve.

Altho her eyes were also twinkling, she limped her way in from the cottage behind the main house, accompanied by the traditional Swedish moan of "Uff da!" with every step.

Every excruciatingly slow step.

Offers of "Let me help you, Grandma" were met with brave refusals of help, and in that Swedish accent I so loved, she would say "no, no, I come. I come."

After Grandma was seated, my dad would say, "Where's Mom?" and the search would begin anew. My mother was somewhere upstairs, wrapping a last minute gift, or looking for one she had misplaced, or whatever ex-cru-ciat-ing idea she came up with.

FINALLY all would be assembled and one of my brothers would begin to read the tags on a present and pass them out.

Trying to add a little speed to the process.

Only to have one or the other of my parents say, "Not so fast! Not so fast! One at a time."

Which, of course, would be met with the traditional chorus of our long, drawn out, excruciated Christmas groans.

And so it would go, until we had turned the pile of presents into ripped off sheets of obviously not recyclable wrapping paper, drawing from my mother the perfected, sad Christmas sigh.

Because we were not a wealthy family. My father worked many Saturdays doing painting jobs for a bit of extra cash.

My mother would always wrap a new pair of sox for each of us 4 kids to make the number of presents seem more prolific. She never agreed with my ungrateful, indignant and disgusted comment of "Moooom! Sox are NOT a real present!"

She would calmly smile - and say, "Yes, they are." And that would end the discussion.

The next generation of kids had, of course, one parent that wasn't used to the Swedish Christmas Eve early-opening-of-presents dispensation, so the kids would come over on Christmas Eve and open their presents from the grandparents and assorted uncles and aunt, and then get a second gig on Christmas morning to open stuff from Santa and/or, depending on their ages, their parents.

The generation after that had yet another parent unschooled in Swedish ways, and this one adamantly against this Swedish hocus pocus…. but got bartered into the position of the kids being able, on Christmas Eve, to open ONE single Christmas present of their choice, but they had to choose a gift from one of the non-parent people.

Which never seemed to be a problem.

Ever.

And now another generation has begun to appear.

Another non-Swede has been added to the mix.

And it remains to be seen how this one will react.

The excruciating experiences of Swedish traditions 60+ years ago are now, seemingly, stowed away with the ghost of Christmas Past. I don't know if the barter will work with this one.

But I'm pretty sure of one thing:

I'll bet the kids growing up would agree with me 100% that sox are NOT a real present.

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-7714136039226527152016-11-14T21:11:00.000-08:002016-11-14T21:11:45.134-08:00Have you ever felt like ...…you fell off the edge of the earth?

No landmarks…
No footprints left in the dust…
No trails…
No sign anywhere that anyone has gone thru this desolate place…
Not even - thankfully - a dinosaur track…
No bloody trail - not as a Brit would use the b word, not as a medical person would use the word, nor as an unsuspecting explorer on the edge of a cliff carefully perusing his environment, but never
looking over the cliff, where he would no doubt find a swiftly climbing animal/aborigene/escaped murderer (and again, noting the absence of such a one with thanks!)

And noting, I confess, it sounds like a 1942 war movie filmed on some deserted island (like Maui) with Bing and Bob…….and if you don't know who this is referring to, I say:WHAT? you never took a basic B&B romp BW movie class or …ahem…WATCHED SOME CLASSIC SHOW IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT WHEN YOU COULDN'T SLEEP?? (or live in a cave waaaaaay more primitive than Maui?????)

OK, deep breath, tirade completed…

…for the moment…

If you are still with me after all that, I apologize, but when you have cabin fever, tirades, for some reason, seem appropriate - after all, people feel like you did fall off the edge of the earth where the sign is. (you know the place - that cozy little map corner that has a sign when that point is reached - any map worth it's salt has this sign - in flavorful script that flashes red when viewed from the correct angle…)

The sign reads :

"BEWARE...

"BEYOND THIS POINT THERE BE DRAGONS!!"

Now, personally, I have (thankfully, again) never encountered said dragons, altho I will confess, the people who live with/around me probably have (blush blush). And I agree that cabin fever is no excuse. I am trying to own my crappy attitude and not kick it away, as if to say, "How did THAT get in here?" and "No, it doesn't belong to ME, thank you for asking…"

But alas! The Holy Spirit of the Sovereign Living God has a flashlight in His pocket that is a little bright for fudging… and my fingerprints glow in the dark in neon colors even without it. So when He turns it on… let's just say, I have nowhere to run.

And I am tired. Bone weary, cranky, I-don't-want-to-thumb-in-the-mouth tired.

And the afore-mentioned HSOTLG crosses His arms and taps His foot a little…can the Holy Spirit tap His foot? OF course! He's God - He can do anything! So crabby me sits - pouting and shamefaced - before the tapping foot and finally get the guts to look up into His eyes, with tears oozing out of mine tho I am trying not to let them drip, and when my eyes finally blink the blurry stuff out of the way, I''m stunned.

Because the disappointed look in His eyes that I was soooo expecting, and steeling myself to accept - is nowhere to be found! Honest!!

All I can see there is Love. Capital L love.

And I feel myself being lifted to my feet, and in the tenderest of whispers, Love says," Let's try again now, shall We?"

Selah*

*In case the meaning of this Hebrew word has slipped your mind, "Selah" can mean anything from "How about that!" to "Sit quietly for a moment, and ponder that thought…"(I generally favor the latter.)

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-1858118474215181872016-06-06T20:17:00.000-07:002016-06-06T20:18:01.725-07:00I'm back again - for nowIt's taken awhile to get back here - obviously. My illness waxes and wanes, and right now it's very active. So I've not been posting a lot or doing just about anything.

No sketching - no painting - no blogging. Even tho the materials needed are right at hand.

I can't seem to gather enough energy for a simple sketch.

It's an odd situation. I haven't been this sick since it first started in 1988. I am surrounded with the tools of creativity, from pencils to watercolors to yarn. I usually have several projects started and ongoing. I've been borrowing gorgeous travel photos to sketch, of Italy and Hawaii and Japan - I usually keep them a week and sketch them out - this one, of Venice, I've had for a month. My perspective is wonky and the times I've tried to sketch turn out lousy.

It bugs me.

And now I think God is trying to get my attention.

He's led me to the book The Daniel Prayer, and there's a list of sins to consider prayerfully, quoted from "an old timer revivalist" that are forming a substantial burr under my spiritual saddle. Anne Graham Lotz shares how this old timer person listed these probing questions - essentially to draw a circle around yourself and make sure everything in that circle is pure. She shares how the first time thru she was a little smug. "I don't do any of those things," she thought. The second time thru she was uncomfortable. The third time thru she was on her knees, crying.

I've been thru once.

And that burr is digging into my heart and spirit. I can taste that smugness she spoke of. And I'm wondering where that list is going to take me.

I have a feeling I don't really want to try a second time.

Job says that "man is born to trouble as sparks fly upward."

And I agree.

I've set off a few fireworks in my lifetime. And they weren't the pretty kind.

I know somehow I've become so comfy in my "Christian walk" that I've probably rationalized some things - and refused to see others.

So, if you are a praying person, please pray for courage for me - the courage to comb my soul with God's viewpoint, to agree with whatever He shows me and to repent with my whole heart.

Because when I get right down to it, I want to know that inside that circle, all is well. That there's no grey areas, no spots where I have compared myself to another sinner and shined up my halo. I want nothing hiding in my heart, no barrier between my Holy Holy Holy Lord God Almighty and the deepest spot in my soul.

Period,

firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-24514850488958580572015-12-17T00:27:00.000-08:002015-12-17T01:29:50.130-08:00A word (or two) about Christmas
Haven't been here for awhile - ummm...that's sort of obvious, tho,isn't it? Sorry folks! My illness waxes and wanes, and right now, it's waxin'. Or, as those in the know describe it, it's in a "flare." That means that all my symptoms are doing a wax job on my body, too - I should be one shiny, slick human when this lets up. Plus, I've caught the local bug that's going around everywhere. It's been a week now, and shows no signs of letting go, especially the cough. Because my immune system took a hike 20 years ago, I get pneumonia a little faster than the population.

It's hard to be sick around the holidays, isn't it?

Since most of those who read this blog are chronically ill too, I think the LORD has us out in a lifeboat bailing water. It's hard to see all the excitement and busy holiday fun stuff 3 feet away and know it's too far to go. So many things I miss - making cookies, decking the halls , decorating a Christmas tree. I miss having Munchkins crawling around and laughing and big family dinners and family jokes - you know the kind, the ones no one who didn't grow up with you has a clue about - and the not-so-polite-loudly-commented-upon things that kids say at the precise moment that everyone in the room falls silent, only to be stored in the family memory bank and brought out at the holidays.

And when that child grows big enough to blush, their indiscreet moments are resurrected with teasing twinkles and general laughter.

In my family, out of the 6 folks we started out with, we have dwindled down to two.

My one remaining brother and I have buried all the rest.

And all in December except the one in January.

So starting on December 24, in 1964, my father died. The 15th when my mom was called Home in 1996. December 31st, my oldest brother died in 1997. And then my baby brother in January of 2003 at the age of 45.

My sister in law, who has been my bestie since we were 14 years old, and I have taken to going out for dinner on the anniversary of their Home-going,when possible, and toasting the coronation of our family members with clinking glasses full of water.

The absence of those cherished souls, their voices muted until we, too, fall silent on earth and begin praising in the midst of the angels, still makes the heart ache.We celebrate the annual event as a coronation day. It helps, but nothing can mend the hole in the heart upon their Home-going.

The sharp, jagged edges of the hole smooth out a bit, but nothing will mend it until we, too, wake up and breathe celestial air, no doubt to hear someone start laughing and telling all those stories of family folklore. Hmmm... I wonder if you can get embarassed in Heaven...

And, at this time of year especially, I think our hearts grow lonely for those who beat us Home. We see windows as out of a Kinkade painting, the warmth and light streaming out beckons us. Oh my - it looks so cozy in there... and snippets of laughter and joy slip from doors opened in welcome, of families safely in, of cold and loneliness kept out.

Then God had humans begin the tradition of the lovely decorations of Christmas lights, to remind us of the One Who is Light, and in Him is no darkness At All.

At All.

As the first night fell after my Mom went Home, 2 of my brothers drove me home from my 3rd brothers house. I sat in the back seat, watching all the Christmas lights on homes. It had been one of my mother's favorite things to do - driving around to "see the lights." It was something the two of us did every year.

Just she and I.

And at that moment, I almost couldn't bear it. I felt my heart tear.

So I said to Jesus, "Lord, she loved this so much, so very much. And I can't take her to see the lights, ever again, She'll never see them again."

Quick as a wink, His whisper came to me: "What your mother is looking at right now makes those lights so pale in comparison. She is so full of joy, she cannot hold another drop."

So...if you, too, are seated at a table with empty chairs and missing voices, with a fresh and jagged hole in your heart, or one smoothed out a bit, but a hole nonetheless, talk to Jesus about it. He lost His earthly father - He knows what that feels like. And He had the added pain of knowing He had the ability to heal Joseph, but His Heavenly Father said, "no." I cannot imagine having that power, and being unable to use it as that one you love slips away.

I have written a lot of Christmas poems - under the picture above is a link to the poetry page. The implications of that miracle are seldom talked about - how could God have slipped His great heart into a tiny baby? It always takes my breath away, to realize that Jesus put away all of His power, all of His ability to be omnipresent, not just for 33 years, but forever. In essence, Jesus gave away His freedom, so that we could be free.

How all of heaven must have held their breath at the moment He was clothed with a body, to see the actual heart of the Living God, wrapped in human flesh.

It gives me the chills
.
 Which is why I write poetry, and why a lot of it is about Christmas. Oh look! Here's one:

I find within a longing to return,

To somehow crawl back

To the Christmases of my youth -

To smell again the straw-filled manger scene

And hear the child-known lowing of the stable cow,

To have my eyes stretched wonder-wide

By magic lights and sparkling beams

From tinselled, star-crowned pines.

But more, I long for a toddling, trusting faith

To sense the Spirit-hush of birthing Gift,

To hear the God-babe's newborn cry,

To join the threadbare, trembling shepherds

Kneeling at His feet.

I want to lead the Magi in,

See their delighted faces glow

And watch tears stream down weathered cheeks

To fall on shimmering cloaks.

Oh! Let me bow beside them there,

Prostrate before this Promised King

And worship, filled with awe,

While angels sing.
-------------

If I don't get back here again beforehand, I wish you a Christmas filled with awe and email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-67352886963173817312015-09-07T21:44:00.001-07:002015-09-07T21:44:28.346-07:00I've not been around for awhile...my body decides to tank every once in awhile, and then God calms everything down for a bit. So I'm back from a recent calming, and enjoying just being here.

Autumn is showing signs of moving on in here in the desert. Not fully yet, but hinting at it.

I love this time of year. At sundown the thermometer sinks below the 100 mark, making the out-of-doors area a pleasant place to be. The sunsets are phenomenal, as if God were finger-painting in wild abandon. The clouds seem iridescent as their gray-feet blush pink. The hummingbirds take one last lingering sip and retire for the evening.

And then the bats come out to play.

At first they seem like just tinier birds - but no bird can stop on a dime and do a 180 to catch a moth who wandered into the wrong bit of air. They whirl and swirl and stop your breath with their acrobatics - I find myself whispering a "Yay!!" to the wheeling and diving dervishes. I want to cheer them on, these maligned animals who are simply doing what God created them to do. Especially when I remember that they are responsible for the removal from the air of my arch-enemy, the mosquito. Makes me shiver just to think about it. Go for it, guys, enjoy a great dinner tonight and suck those little guys up like a vacuum cleaner!

And then - poof! - all color is gone from the clouds - except the gray looks gray-er and the creeping deep blue of night begins to saturate the sky. Lights come on in houses, windows glowing with that amber light that makes everything look cozy.

My favorite aunt loved this time of day too, and I often think of her - and miss her dreadfully. When my mother died, she called to offer her services if ever I felt the need for some mothering. We slowly lost her to Alzheimer's - a horrible disease that steals the comfort from relationships and leaves the victim befuddled and easily frightened. She coped as long as she could, with a standard set of questions designed to carry a conversation as if she actually remembered who your were. It broke my heart to hear of her decline - a breaking I had endured several times before as I lost family members, one by one, to age and death..

But this one was different. It was a brutal losing. One inch at a time.

Her son cared for her to the last, as faithful a heart as ever was. He itemized her life, page by page, until everything was numbered and discarded and the important things saved as much as possible.

I have always thought that newly owner less possessions were among the saddest things left on earth. Objects of most importance to someone are suddenly, once again, just "things." They drift in the cosmos and eventually vanish - unless someone remembers their importance and out of a sentimental moment, snatches them up and again assigns them value.

I am so grateful that in my time on this earth I have been so very blessed with my family members. I have friends whose family ties are painful in the extreme. In contrast, I have waltzed through my life with wonderful people, kind people, loving people, who taught me that others were more important than the bug you have under your saddle. One half of my family were bitter and lonely - and heaven protected me from them by a few thousand miles, leaving all the warm, fuzzy ones to surround me with kindness, encouragement and love.

When my time comes to go Home and rejoin them, I hope what I leave behind will be a memory that cocoons the soul, perhaps a joyous laugh, an encouraging word in a difficult time.

The one Man Who ever said He'd rather die than live without us -and proved that by His death - with that death bought me as fearless an exit as is possible from this life. I am so grateful He found a way to push through my self-sufficient ego and fill me with Himself. He changed my life from black and white to color, changed my heart from having room for only me, to embracing Him and letting Him do any future driving to any destination He chose - and to my great surprise and delight, He chose joy.

In addition to which, He added hummers and bats and Quail and chipmunks and sunsets and cool evening zephyrs that dance in the branches of trees and swirl through your soul.

We serve an Awesome God.

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-16414191561894844772015-08-07T18:00:00.000-07:002015-08-07T18:00:08.847-07:00For Those of us Afraid of the Dark.I have been contemplating fear lately.

When I came to Christ - or, rather, when He busted His way into my heart, I was involved with the occult - and with an extreme sensitivity to fearful things. Movies, plays etc. And in the after-occult season the fear of darkness - actual and imagined - became a factor in my life.

He took the darkness out of me, washed out the remaining stains, but the fear has come to be one I have never conquered. I cannot sleep in the total darkness. I need some tiny bit of light to be able to sleep.

As a nurse, I became interested in the hospice movement, and one of the things it taught me was that dying patients almost always want to be in light, sunlight or manufactured, ss they leave this world.

I have health conditions which have placed me in that position a few times. And now a virtual friend is facing that challenge daily, as he fights a vigorous battle with lymphoma. And moments of fear overwhelm him.

It is a fearful thing, death.

Even though it is something we all will face, even though the One Who bought us with HIs blood has conquered it before us - and won!- even though we truly know, to the tiniest cell in our bodies, that we will be in His presence the millisecond we leave this earth.

Even though....

When I was standing on the edge of that cliff, gazing into the darkness of the unknown, the fear would not let me go. Would not.

Oh, I could vanquish it for the moment - and always with His Name on my lips - but when the thought came round again, threw another harpoon into my heart, breathed in my ear, it was battle time again,

It still is.

I can think of it from a distance, as though it was a far off event, but when it comes to REAL and TRULY, it takes awhile for me to call on His Name and claim His peace. And while I have made the provisions and protocols for this body my spirit dwells in, leaving this body - and thoughts of the actual process by which it will happen, are fearful.

Corrie Ten Boom, another heroine of mine, said that, as a child, she told her father that it scared her, this death that would, eventually, end her life.

He asked her, "Corrie, when do I give you your ticket when we take the train.?"

"When it's time to get on it." she answered.

"That is when Jesus will take away your fear. Right now, you don't need the courage to face it. When the moment comes, Jesus will give you your ticket and you will not be afraid."

And so it was.

And I trust it will be the same for me.

I don't need that peace right now - because it isn't time, yet.

But I trust, like Corrie, that when the moment comes, His joy will fill my heart, and my spirit will take flight.

And there will never be another moment of fear of the dark.

Until that day, or moment, or second comes, I will leave it in His email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-84079575127881809822015-07-13T23:05:00.001-07:002015-07-13T23:05:34.398-07:00Howdy, stranger!I've been offline off and on lately, sort of trying to get better and instead getting worse. So I haven't posted on this blog for a looong time. My apologies.

It's a funny animal, this chronic pain stuff. Sometimes it makes me withdrawn, and other times it makes me seek out books of folks who have walked this road - with discouraging or encouraging results, the primary requirement is that they have walked it with Him.

One woman I've been reading just recently lost her battle with breast cancer. The breast is where it started. She celebrated after she finished her first round of chemo and radiation, bilateral breast removal and reconstruction, followed by a total hysterectomy - only to find another tumor in her bones, then her brain. Round after round of pain and vomiting and pills and IVs and radiation, MRIs and chem panels, endlessly. At diagnosis, her youngest was a 3 yr old little girl. Her oldest a 13 year old.. And in between them, a boy and another girl. She lost her battle in March. Her hubby, a pastor named Jason, after 17 years of marriage is on his own, with four children and a church to care for. Please, if you are reading this, please pray for him.

When I got the news, it gutted me.

Through it all, she had a radiant faith.

Absolutely radiant.

Not to say she didn't have tough times. But her peace shone through it all.

And I sit here with my hangnail (in comparison) whining and wailing because I hurt a little.

Another couple, friends of mine, after 20+ years married, were just diagnosed with lymphoma in the hubby's brain.

Thru their entire walk together, they have dealt constantly with his type 1 diabetes, insulin dependent, that destroyed his kidneys. When the time came for a transplant, the wife discovered she was a perfect match, and instantly gave him one of hers, all the while raising their daughter and praising the Lord. He started having a loss of energy a year ago, he finally had to stop working. Then he began to lose his balance once in awhile. Then he began to have headaches. Then his short term memory got funky. An MRI of the brain showed several tumors. A brain biopsy, itself a dangerous measure, revealed the lymphoma, which has a notoriously bad prognosis. They immediately began scheduling radiation therapy.

When told of the diagnosis, Phil said, "Whether He gives me 5 more minutes or 50 years, I stand on the Rock. My life is in His hands."

They've had a lot of rough roads to follow throughout their marriage - this is nothing new to them. And their reaction is the same it has always been: to live in a way that glorifies God.

Seems like so very much loss lately. My heart aches for the pain they are enduring - at the same time I am in awe of the way their lives of faith glorify Him. And for sure it has driven me closer to the Rock they live upon. I so very much want to glorify Him the same way - and I see my failures in such glaring red letters - capitals all, that seem so obvious and avoidable.

Another recent loss was the author and missionary Elisabeth Elliot - a woman I have looked up to since I met the Rock for myself. I think I have read almost every one of her many many books. When faced with the loss of her husband in the middle of an Ecuadorian jungle, killed by cannibals he had come to befriend, she, too, stood on the Rock - with a 14 month old little girl in the midst of an alien land. She survived on the verse "underneath are the everlasting arms" and handled her responsibilities with the motto "do the next thing". And so she did. When she died at 87 she had outlived 2 husbands (her second husband died of cancer 5 years after they were married) and was suffering from Alzheimer's at her death. When she was diagnosed, she said, characteristically, "underneath are the Everlasting arms" and walked through her days doing the next thing. She never lost the wealth of Scripture she had memorized since childhood, or the old Scriptural hymns that have been replaced by "modern worship" songs. The old hymns taught doctrine to people that couldn't read, but could understand from the hymns what a life in Christ meant.

One of her heroines in the walk with the Rock was Amy Carmichael.

So, of course, her books are also part of my library. Another woman who lived as a missionary - in India for over 50 years, her main focus came to be saving the little girls who were sold to the temples to as sexual slaves of the multiple gods that are worshiped. Eventually her mission began to include the little boys as well. When faced with difficulties, Amy said, "See in it a chance to die."

And there is the heart of every difficulty we face on this earth: death to self.

Amy had an accident that left her in pain and mostly bed-ridden for the last 20+ years of her life - tho it was no accident to the One Who allowed it. The work she began is flourishing still, in India, mostly staffed by the women who were once little girls that were saved and placed in the arms of Jesus. She was beloved of the girls she saved, because they knew her love for them was an overflow of the One she stood on - this same Rock that connects all my heroines to one another. Her poetry, like that of Annie Johnson Flint - another chronic pain sufferer whose "little book of poems" have survived the years to still be nourishing to my soul and glorifying the same Rock.

So I trudge on. I am trying now to "do the next thing" and trusting Him to take care of the rest. He has kept me for 26 years of illness (and counting) and has never failed me, tho I have so very often failed Him.

My consolation is knowing that when He plucked me out of my black and white life to give me one of living color, He already knew about my future failures, and yet He still chose me. He's had to do all the giving, because there is certainly nothing of value I can give Him - except that which He values the most : my battered, stained, unreliable heart.

And my feet, standing, on that same Rock - the Rock of Ages.

There's plenty of room up here.

And He will welcome you, too, and help you to stand here, all with open Arms.

The Everlasting ones.

firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-8897516329939608722015-05-30T21:31:00.000-07:002015-07-13T23:18:53.661-07:00Trusting in the Dark...or not....How hard it is to trust in the dark!

Sometimes it seems like I'm finally getting the hang of this "trust" stuff..

And then....

When one of the nephews/nieces/family/friends has something going on in their lives that is harmful or hurtful, I pound on heaven's door, pleading continuously for God's will to be my will, when it should be the other way round

And that's the plain, unvarnished truth.

When it comes to them, it is so hard to put them where they belong: in His hands.

And then let go.

The "putting" is the easy part.

The "letting go," not so much.

I want them to be ok. I want the crisis to be over with. I want them whole and happy and blessed.

And to pray "As You will" doesn't enter my head, let alone my heart.

I know that's not where He wants me, or how He wants me to pray.

Recently another crisis popped up.

I was beside myself with worry.

I felt beaten, like someone had punched me in the gut. Hundreds of miles away and helpless - that's how I felt. I contacted every prayer chain and every pray-er that I knew and stormed heaven's gates.

And God, in His mercy and power, stepped in.

But I find myself wondering:

What if He hadn't?

I knew at the time that it was a possibility. My education was in this specific area and each report gave mounting stress and fear to my heart. I knew too many ways for things to go wrong, and I should have intervened.

I didn't.

As the news grew more and more grim, I didn't want to push them to a decision they were reluctant to make. I don't know what I would have done if He had chosen other than what my heart was pleading for. I feel guilty enough now - I can't imagine how I will feel if something worse happens because of my reluctance - which is still a possibility.

So I pray.

And strain with every ounce that's in me to trust.

I have a plaque which says, "Faith means going to the edge of all you know - and taking one more step."

It is walking forward in the dark, knowing that the edge of the cliff is in front of me - and being willing to step off that cliff, trusting that He will catch me,,,

Or give me wings.

And being willing to do it.

I find I'm not there yet. Every time I think I am, He shows me how far I have to go.

But this I know, with every cell in my body, I am His. He holds me in His hands in the dark as well as the light.

And though I still stumble around in the dark, and bump into walls and fall and bruise a knee here and there, He will never ever let me fall into the abyss.

For underneath are the Everlasting Arms.

His.

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-82045786306302843592015-05-29T20:41:00.000-07:002015-07-13T23:17:59.172-07:00Remembering the fallen...I have been thinking of Audie Murphy all day. Someone shared the memory of this valiant man who received every medal the US has to offer including the Medal of Honor, plus medals from France and Belgium - and he was only 20 at the time - and he has been here, in my heart, all day.

I say again to every serviceman who has ever served: thank you.

I've learned that many servicemen resent this, who think it is a non-military's way to unload guilt.

Not from me.

I say thank you for every sleepless night you have spent remembering, wanting more than anything to forget. For the nightmares, for the screaming fits, for the black depressions.

I say thank you for leaving a safe bed and the love of family and risking it all.

For me.

I say thank you to and for every buddy you saw die that you wanted to save.

I say thank you to every medic who served in a hot zone, a cool zone, a hospital ship, and remembers every GI your hands touched, who worked thru 36 hour and more shifts uncomplainingly, asleep on your feet with broken hearts, who still see faces and hear voices when they remember.

I say thank you to each heart that breaks when a car drives up to an anxious home and two men in full dress uniform step out.

I say thank you to each child that cries himself to sleep, crying for a daddy or mommy they will never see again this side of heaven.

I say thank you for the respectful hands who fire the 21 gun salutes and fold the flags with precision, respect, and sympathy. For the men who guard, thru summer heat and winter snow and driving rain, the tomb of some of the unknown who returned to the American soil they died for.

I don't say it lightly. I treasure one such flag.

So...

Sir, or Ma'am, I thank you for your service. I pray the Lord will bless you with a warm home and a heart that never forgets, but has been able to let the memories have their way and be gone, visiting less and less often.

We tell those who have left us to "rest in peace." The living deserve no less. Remember those who were lost. Then honor them by living long and happily for them as well as yourself.

And if you can't banish the voices and the faces and the sounds and the smells, you are not weak.

It is recognized now as PTSD and there is treatment for it. Please find some. There is no reason for your family to lose you, too. Audie Murphy never knew what he had was treatable. He tried to silence the voices and faces and sounds and smells and began to be disrespected towards the end of his short life. This to a man who fought off 250 of the enemy alone, atop a burning enemy tank loaded with explosives that could blow up any second - and he was seriously wounded at the time! Sad to say, but true: People forget. I give you my solemn promise, I will never forget as God lets me draw breath.

His wife and family were Christians - and, sadly, up until that last plane ride that crashed, he resisted opening his heart to God. His wife asked the old preacher Vernon McGee to preach a salvation message at his funeral - he said a lot of Hollywood was there, and it seemed every eye was steely and defiant and full of hatred as he preached. I hope he was wrong. I hope that souls were pierced and hearts broke open. And I pray that as the plane began it's fatal dive, Audie cried out to the God Who held him as he went to hell and back the first time, and kept him from going back to hell again.

And for anyone out there who is idiot enough to think it can't be that bad, get a copy of Audie Murphy's combat memories or watch the movie, "To Hell and Back" both of the same title - easily available on Amazon, even for Kindle. It will open your eyes and make the next time you thank a serviceman or vet come from the bottom of your safe little heart.If you would like a more in-depth telling, warts and all, of his struggles for the rest of his life, I highly recommend the book, "The Price of Valor", a well-researched and informative book, from his childhood on. To Hell and Back was written not as an autobiography, but as a way to remember his buddies that died - to the end of his days he said that the dead were the ones who deserved the medals, not him.

And so, I say again, I thank you for your service, from the bottom of my heart and tears streaming down my face. And if that offends you, I'm not sorry.

Because I will never stop saying it.

firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-23658698267729645332015-05-26T21:43:00.000-07:002015-05-26T21:43:01.433-07:00As I Was Saying...What a shock! To discover I haven't been here in almost 2 months.

I was stunned.

I knew it had been some time - as the body grows older, so do the opportunities for something to go wrong or be off kilter. Mine has been kiltering along, off key, for the last 2 months. Bronchitis used to be quickly treatable and then booted out of my body's kilter.

No longer.

This time, the bronchitis has been playing "Catch me if you can" and my doc has a catcher's mitt that has been growing larger and larger, to contain all the remedies we've tried. Meanwhile the cough had banished sleep and increased pain and wavered on pneumonia...then it seemed to be on the downturn, only to abruptly about face towards pneumonia, threatening, threatening...

This last antibiotic was the strongest one yet. After 4 days the cough has diminished in frequency and moistness and I've actually been sleeping - a lot.

And then, as all good things must come to an end, I hit a wall. Again.

The drug was so strong my body can't tolerate it, which, as many may know, makes for a weakened response in the body and gives bacteria enough time to figure out how to become antibiotic resistant. But my doc and I decided enough was enough.

The side effects had become terrific. I kept wondering why I had suddenly started experiencing very nasty new troubles. I tried to figure out what I had done/not done and when they had started and, wouldn't you know it, they all started when I started this new drug.

So, I'm back to square one. I'm hoping my imagination is the reason my cough sounds juicier again. It's still not as bad, I'm able to breathe between coughs and coughing spells that seemed to be without end are completely gone.

So far.

And it brought to mind again, the realization that at any moment I can be called into the presence of God - live and in Person - at any moment.

Actually, I look forward to that moment. For me, it will be the best Homecoming ever - I know my God, Who He is, How He operates, and He can be trusted. He is the One Who holds my every breath, and knows - to the last one - when it will occur. I am at peace about that. If you are not, please keep reading, and I will tell you how to meet Him - and how I did.. He is the gentlest of all the gentlemen in the world or out of it, and He cherishes you, even now, even before you choose Him. He has a wonderful plan for your life.

So you look at mine, and what is so wonderful?

All of it.

Yes, I've been in some sort of pain for most of it. I've had narrow escapes. I became too sick to work at my chosen profession, which I loved. From the outside looking in, I can understand the question marks in your eyes.

Doesn't look too full of adventure or happiness or excitement, does it?

Ahhh - but looks, as the proverb goes, are deceiving.

I was living a mundane life, get up, go to work, spend my time listening to music, hanging out, smoking dope. An average life for the 60's and 70's.

But in the late 60's I had almost bled to death.

Exciting, no? (Grin)

I had blood going in both arms, an oxygen mask, and lying on the stretcher, every time I moved, blood and clots fell off of it onto the floor.

Listening to the blood pressure results being called out I realized that if something didn't happen pretty dang quickly, I would be facing a just and holy God with not a single excuse to keep me out of a very painful and terrifying place.

When shock sets in, the mind becomes very calm, and your thinking seems to clear out the garbage and you are left with a totaling of the marks for and against you in the sight of God, whom you will shortly be face to face with.

So, I 'fessed up.

I spoke to Him and said that I realized I had nothing of worth to offer Him. It didn't seem like I could do anything, granted my condition, that would change that fact, and I told Him that I gave myself to Him, just the way I was, and hoped that was enough.

No, there was no light highlighting the person next to me, no confession that s/he was actually an angel, just a hurried consent to sign and a rush to the operating room.

I believe God accepted my paltry offering.

When I got thru all the mess and complications, I sort of forgot all that and went back to my totally secular existence and relegated God to storybook level, a fuzzy, friendly God with a white beard and grandfatherly heart.

Oh, I talked about Him a lot - with my friends, while high on marijuana, concocting theories galore - one friend came up with a computer in the sky, and it controlled everything you did, yada yada yada. All very intellectual.

One of my other friends said that kind of talk scared him, he didn't want any part of it.

And then a best bud was sent overseas and with nothing to do on the ship, fell in with a bunch of Bible thumpers and was drawn to a loving God that paid his way into heaven, and suddenly, life became complicated.

A complication I wanted no part of.

So, one evening, I sat down to write a letter, and intended it to be the last one.

Ever.

Meanwhile, my lifetime best bud's brother called. His wife, it seems, had a desperate desire to learn guitar, and could they come over and maybe borrow one of mine and learn the rudiments?

Of course!

Unknown to me, they had recently had the same sort of experience my overseas friend had had.

What a coincidence!!

If you are considering investigating this Christian thing, you will suddenly experience the same kind of coincidences.

You will suddenly be surrounded by Christians,

Everywhere.

At school. At work. The neighbor next door. At the supermarket you will run into old friends who want to tell you this exciting thing that happened to them.

You will NOT believe it. They will be everywhere. And you will fight it with every ounce of rebellion in you. You will pull out every dusty ol' excuse you have ever heard and none of it will be because you honestly researched it.

It will be because there is an evil presence in this world that wants people to believe he doesn't exist and he is the one reigning in your heart, and he doesn't want to give you up. And, so far, you're not unhappy with his reigning - yet- so you don't want anyone making you feel guilty or - how dare you! - a sinner, so you close your ears and cross your arms and shake your head no, no,no.

And the coincidences keep coming.

And on this night, it took the shape of the brother and his wife.

They arrived and we started talking about how it had been too long, we needed to get together more often, standard stuff and I got the guitars out and they saw the letter writing stuff on the table and asked if they'd interrupted something.

I said no, and, of course, explained how my friend had been sucked into this cult thing and it was about Jesus and how fanatical he'd become, brainwashed, and I'd had enough. He had sent me a tape (in those days there were no iPhones or cellphones or instant anything. It was write or make a cassette tape, period.)

So they said, naturally, that it was too bad, and, as a matter of fact, they had recently become Christians, although they were not fanatics or anything.

So, of course, I pulled out the cassette player and said, "Listen to this stuff! I'm a Christian, but this is waaay out of my range!"

And as the words left my mouth, the God Who had accepted my bargaining ploy 15 years earlier said, "Gotcha!" And took me up on it.

He blasted me with the Holy Spirit, and it felt like my life had gone from black and white to Color, with a capital "C".

And everything on the tape made perfect sense.

Every. Single. Word.

I couldn't believe it. I was stunned.

Deep in my heart, I knew I was forever changed. Every Bible verse I'd ever read made sense.

 I fell in love at that moment.

Completely, head-over-heels, eternal love with the One Who had created me to know Him, because He had loved me when I wasn't even a twinkle in my daddy's eye.

I knew I was a sinner already. (and so do you, even though you don't want to admit it.) - and when they left, I knelt on the hard wooden floor and gave myself to Him again, lock stock and barrel, and thanked Him for saying yes to me.

Then I finished the letter, praising God and quoting Scriptures I had learned as a child and told my friend I too was a Christian. Later I was told that, overseas mail being what it is, he got the letter a few weeks later and had spent the previous night in prayer for my soul. His friend told me he came running down a hallway with tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe God answered his prayers so miraculously.

Jesus has perfect timing.

People remark that it's all coincidences. But, you know what? Those coincidences only happen when I pray. And they fit, down to the last detail, what I prayed for.

And no, I'm not saying that God gives me everything I pray for. He doesn't. Jesus knows what is His best, and Jesus gives me what fits His plans for me. And He's always teaching me. I learn so much at His feet!

And for me, the best instrument for teaching happens to be pain, in the form of a chronic illness which is painful. I learn from the Teacher Who knows first hand what pain does to a Person, inside and outside. And how He lets darkness surround me sometimes - so I learn that even in the dark, His hand is there for me to grab. Jesus knows exactly what is right for me, and reveals His love through all of it.

Yeah, I know, I sound like a fanatic. Same ol', same ol'.

But it has been a true adventure. Jesus has held me through some of the most painful moments of my life. When He burst into my life, I asked Him to take me into the depths with Him. (Unfortunately, I didn't say "through the depths") I didn't want to be superficial. I wanted to know He is real and know He is truly there, every second of every day.

And one day, I read the life's story of Solomon, the wisest man to ever live. God told him one night to ask for whatever he wanted - anything. And being God, He could make that offer.

Solomon asked for wisdom. The essence of what he asked for was actually a "hearing heart" - so he could hear the hearts of the people placed under his rule. He wanted to follow his father's path (David, an man after God's own heart).

And then I read the line, "and it pleased God" - so I, in my hunger to please Him with my life, asked Him for the same thing.

I had no idea that the only way to hear some one's heart is to have gone through the same things. So I began to walk the path of sorrow and pain, to learn how to hear, and He brought me people who needed someone with a hearing heart so very much. He taught me how to listen, and guides the words I say, and blesses them to others. He uses the words that come out of my mouth to teach me as He lovingly reaches out to that hurting person. It's an amazing thing to walk with the Living God.

I highly recommend it.

If you've read this far, you may be wanting to know how to do this. You don't have to go to a church to reach Him. I do recommend that you kneel before Him, as He is the King of the Universe and there is no one else, no Being as powerful in all the Universe. Think on that for a moment, then bow your head before Him. Tell Jesus you know you've sinned. You know He is holy and you aren't. And You know He became a Man and died on a cross in exchange for your soul - He bought you. Every ounce of His suffering on that cross was for you. He in reality died rather than live without you And you are asking Jesus to come in and take possession of your heart and all you are. Thank Him for His Holy Spirit and for answering His prayer and coming in.

What will happen?

Maybe nothing. Maybe an explosion of joy inside you. Maybe you will feel like everything is new and in living color. For others, it comes on gradually.

I highly recommend you get a Bible and read it. Daily. If you're a Shakespeare buff, get the New King James version, it is in Olde English. Otherwise, get the New International Version, just ask for the NIV.
These both are interpretations by scholars who tried very very hard to present what the verses actually mean. Some of the "New" translations that say they are simply easier to understand, are not sticklers for interpretation. They paraphrase and add subtle bits of New Age thinking that turn your heart in those subtle ways to think of a New Age God, not the Living God. Find a church that teaches verse-by-verse through the Bible - the Calvary Chapel Churches are good at this, to find one near you go to Calvarychapel.org. Wherever you are in the world, there is probably one near you - and meet with other Christians (yes, you are now "one of them") and learn the joy of fellowship as well as friendship. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them - click on the comment option, below (hold your mouse over the icons below and it will reveal a comment option.)

And welcome to the family of God! Adventure awaits email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-72655880279470846802015-03-28T20:21:00.002-07:002015-04-02T04:27:43.241-07:00Oh! How He loves you and me....Still thinking about pain.

But not mine.

His.

I remember way back when I was in high school, I found an essay on the medical description of what Jesus endured on the cross. I don't remember the details, but I remember the horrified impression they left.

Now, as we approach "Holy Week", the last 7 days before the crucifixion, I have been praying to understand more of what He went thru.

I am a nurse, so just thinking about the nerve endings tortured (there is no other word for it) for 6 hours on the cross, is daunting.

For most of my life, I thought He had spent only ("only?") three hours on the cross. But if you read the time of crucifixion carefully, it occurred at 9 am, not noon. The last 3 hours, from 12 to 3pm, were in utter and complete darkness - of the soul as well as the body.

The first 3 hours were all the Father could bear to look at.

When He withdrew, He took the light with Him ("In Him is light, and no darkness at all",) and His presence as well. In order for Jesus to actually become sin, Jesus had to do it with a totally human perspective. He chose to be separated for the first time in all eternity (and the last) from the Father God.

I have thought of this quite a bit.

What a choice!

That means that He put aside every iota of knowledge He has as God. He became like us - in the "dark night of the soul", where we don't have a clue what God is doing in our lives, and must choose, like Jesus, to trust in the darkness.

But not without pain.

Pain is an integral part of the process of faith.

IN spite of not having a clue, in spite of that feeling of "alone-ness", where the voice of God is silent and we feel abandoned in the universe, in spite of the pain and fear engendered by that feeling of wondering if we really do belong to God and if He really does love us, in spite of allll of that, we choose to believe He is Who He says He is.

And Jesus, "being tempted (tried) in all points, even as we are", chose this unimaginable separation from all that is holy, pure, and true.

Think of it! He Who is light itself, chose to endure darkness, evil, the depths of depravity, so that He could redeem us.

Chose it.

As I mentioned in the last post, it is easier for me to endure physical pain than the pain where the soul itself is twisted and torn and stretched out of shape and tortured. Physical pain, however it governs our physical bodies, will end with this body, this "tent," as Paul calls it.

Tents are temporary, fleeting. They can be destroyed by a strong gust of wind, hail, fire, just about anything. They are flimsy. The strongest tent is still flimsy. It is a very temporary entity - and we do not even expect it to stand the test of time. It will wear out - day by day the elements will ravage it. It is doomed from the start.

Altho heartache, if we accept His sacrifice, will also end with the body, it is another animal completely.

I believe that is why, that last night in the garden, He sweat, as it were, "great drops of blood."

That, by the way, is a medically documented process caused by great suffering.

The pain of the cross, after all, was not an exclusive method of punishment. Legions of felons experienced it. So what made this particular crucifixion worthy of paying off our sin debt?

It was this separation, this contamination on a level we can only imagine! A 100% pure soul (not 99% - 100%) Who had never contemplated committing a sin, Who lived - really lived - a life in the presence oF His Father - this pure soul would become, actually become, sin. One by one. Filling His being. Tasting of it. Each breath, which was pain in itself, for He had to push up with His nailed feet and pull on His nailed hands to be able to breathe, each time, with His newly scourged back dragging on splintering wood, each nerve ending screaming with the physical pain, each breath He drew contaminated with evil thoughts and pictures and sensations until He reeked of it. Every cell full of sin.

My sin.

Your sin.

Every angry thought. Every rancid deed. Every wish for someone else to be destroyed for what they did to you. And the doing itself. One by one. Coming at You. Sliding down Your throat. Filling You with bile. Every cruel deed, every perversion, every horrific act devised by man in conjunction with satan.

In the darkness. Alone.

No refuge. No cleansing.

No Father.

Filled to the very brim.

I believe it was the contemplation of this that made His very blood want to run away - please Papa (the word is "Abba", used today in Israel, meaning "Daddy") if there is any way, any way, any way - three times He begged: don't abandon Me, Daddy! If there is any other way. Please, Please, Please.

Until He wrestled Himself into submission. He "set His face like flint" and never wavered - altho the evil one would be whispering, enticing, trying every trick and seduction he could draw on to cause Him to call legions of angels to free Him.

Even now, He said, Do you not think I could ask the Father to send legions of angels to rescue Me?

A legion was 1000 Roman soldiers. And He had plural :legions at His disposal.

Even now.

Yet, with the picture of my eternity laid out before Him, He chose to endure.

We were in His heart.

He chose us over freedom from an experience so overwhelmingly painful that His very being shrank from it.

So during this last week of His time on earth, I think He was savoring those He loved, those Who loved Him. Looking at them, His poor, confused, sheep, bleating on the precipice. And knowing - knowing beyond anything that we can even imagine - that He would still have to chose His answer. Knowing that He would have to agree in every detail. Whispers,whispers of safety surrounding Him as the time approached. You don't have to do this, You know.

All You have to do is say no.

And it was really that simple.

It was really all He had to do.

Just say, "no."

"Oh! How He loves you. Oh! How He loves me.

"Oh! How He loves you and me."firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-23017119637510142922015-03-22T18:34:00.000-07:002015-03-22T18:34:07.787-07:00the never ending adventure...I've been thinking about pain today.

No big surprise - it's pretty much my daily companion.

But today I've been thinking about the varieties that the evil one has devised for us.

God had pretty much safeguarded me from mental pain - for which I am deeply grateful! I have dear ones who fight depression, Bi-polar and SAD, and the suffering they endure can not be called anything else but pain. And it breaks my heart, because I fight with my heart, and their hearts are so battered and worn by the type of pain they experience, that they feel inadequate and weak.

And they are anything but.

I so admire them. I've had my heart stabbed a few times (figuratively ) and I almost couldn't bear it. I am not strong enough for that kind of pain. And I so respect those who fight that battle - and I cheer their victories and the beauty that comes out of them.

Give me physical pain anyday. (I mean, instead of mental/heart stuff) Not that I'm asking for it. I've just pretty much figured out it's gonna get me sooner or later in my daily life.

I was in a pain study once, and the cartographer asked me how I could laugh and still say I was in a high rate of pain.

He was probably thinking about sharp pain. I am a wuss when the pain gets sharp. I don't handle it well. At all.

]But my pain is the deeeeeep ache that seems to settle in your bones and scream at you from just beyond your reach. It's the kind of pain that sucks the energy out of you like a 5 year old with a straw and a root beer float.

I didn't know how to answer him that day. I'd only been sick for a few years, and didn't realize that I was starting to learn coping.

Coping is a big part of pain. I feel like the pain wins if I let it dictate to me - something that has gotten me in trouble a few times. So, after 26 years and counting of pain, I know the answer now.

Chronic pain is like no other. When it's constant, day in, day out, and the only thing that varies is where/how strong, you can take pain meds and bear it. You can focus on other things that are enjoyable and get those endorphins humming, and yes, even tho the ache is bone deep and the black hole of energy, you can laugh and make light remarks - often because it would be useless to do otherwise.

I routinely tell people I'm ok when they ask how I am.

It's not true.

But unless you have experienced pain in that way, for that long, you would have no clue what I was talking about anyway. And worse, you wouldn't know what to say. It's a guaranteed conversation killer.

Aren't you worried about addiction? that's a frequent question. And my answer is no.

There is a light year's worth of difference between addiction and dependence.

Addiction seeks drugs for the high. And because your body gets used to the dosage you are taking, to get that high, you need more and more as time goes on. And to get that high, you would do anything. And that is what you think about and plot about and designed your day around

Dependence doesn't produce a high. No weirdness or dizzyness or wiped out-ness. Just a decrease, deeply welcomed, in the pain. I've been at the same level of narcotic for almost 10 years. And one of my problems is, I completely forget about taking my pain meds.

So by the time I realize "Oh! This is getting nasty!" my pain meds are less effective, and I mentally kick myself for it, and remember to take it the next time it is due.

I have partially gone into withdrawal twice. And I do not want to go there again. You cannot stay still. You feel like your legs will walk off without you if you stop moving. You can't think. Your pain becomes so obvious that suddenly you realize, "I'm in withdrawal!" and mentally try to figure out the last time you took your meds and promise yourself you will never ever do that again.

And yet I did. One more time.

I've discovered I can't go longer than 24 hours without taking it. In that respect, it has me bound. But it still is not even a blip on my consciousness for most of my day. In addition to the regular, on going pain I have severe arthritis in my neck, which makes a lot of things difficult.

And yes, I can still talk and laugh with people, even when it's bad, even when there's no relief for hours after I take my meds, and I know it's because I'm not alone in this.

I serve a God Who has measured out my allotment to the last bit of dust there is in me. He walks through it with me, and teaches me a lot about what I can do and what I can't - and Who holds each one of my breaths in His hands, and has measured them, too, down to the last O2 particle I will breathe out. He knows the kind of pain I can't tolerate - that sharp, suck the life out of you pain that comes with nails in your wrists and heels and your back torn to ribbons and rubbing on the rough splintery wood each time you take a breath that in itself is agony.

And I am keenly aware that He did it for me.

And no, I don't know why He chose to give this to me. Or the mental agony He chose for some of those I love.

But this I know:

He can be trusted beyond my capacity to imagine, and His motive is love for me. And if I can submit it to Him day by day, it will be the greatest adventure of my life.

Selah

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-47985449837984518582015-03-14T21:43:00.001-07:002015-03-14T21:43:31.000-07:00Our God is an Awesome God! He reigns from heaven above...Another sleepless night last night.

I am prone to bowel obstructions (BI) due to several abdominal surgeries and the scar tissue they left behind.

So when my abdomen begins to hurt, that's the first thing that comes to mind. And last night, it hurt. Badly.

So then I take pain meds - which is another factor in BI's - it hurts, you take meds, it slows the bowel moving things along in the intestine, which makes you at high risk for a BI and causes so much pain you have to take the pain meds, which slows things down yada yada yada - the most vicious of cycles begins, again, to steal my sleep and increase my fear.

But then again, it knocks my soul to its knees and draws me to prayer.

And so, off and on, thru the night, I prayed. A lot.

Because today, no excuses, I HAD to drive a fur piece to Costco, one of those ginormous airplane-sized hangars stuffed to the gills with giant-sized packages of, well, just about anything. And on a Saturday, it was a mob scene, even bigger than the regular-sized daily mob scene. Even tho I was sleep-deprived, I had to go there. Had to.

 Because I was completely out of a very necessary heart medication that can itself cause a heart attack if you stop it suddenly.

So I asked my Papa to please arrange for me to 1) find a parking space and 2) find one of those put-put thingys they have for those of us who are physically challenged to even contemplate walking the mile and a half way to the back of the said plane hangar to pick up my Rx.

Wellllll perhaps not a whole mile and a half. Maybe just the half. Altho, when I am walking it because all the put-puts are occupied, it sure feels like a mile and a half!

And both of those things that I prayed for? They are few and far far between on a Saturday.

So I pulled into the ginormous parking lot and just (mentally) shook my head in defeat. I gave up. Because cars were circling all around the parking lot like sharks, looking for a spot they could do battle over like a scene from Jaws.

So I turned into the handicapped section.

And there, smack dab in front of me was .....an empty parking space! Astonished, I told my Papa thank You. And kicked myself for being astonished.

He does that frequently when I really need it - and every time I am astonished. Why is that? He is the Creator of the universe and I don't think He can provide a puny parking space? In the handicapped section that never has an empty space? Close to the door?

Shame-faced, I am astonished every time.

So now I looked for a put-put - the place where they should be was, of course, empty. And on top of that, the other kind of shopping cart was waaaay far away.

Then one of the shopping-cart-rounder-uppers came trundling towards the warehouse and left a line of shopping carts right by the entrance - and they sort of sat there in a flock as people came up and grabbed one. And front and center, camouflaged by all of the shopping carts was.....

Guess.

No, really Guess

Yup.

Good guess.

You are correct.

A put-put.

Waiting. For. Me.

For me. The astonished one. The I-can't-even-muster-the-faith-to-believe-You-can-find-me-a-parking-space one.

The help-me-I've-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up-one.

The one to whom God says, oh so gently, "Don't you know by now I love you anyway?"

And then (oh, come on! You knew this wasn't over yet didn't you?)

And then...I stepped up put-putted to the Pharmacy and:

My med wasn't there.

"Not for two more days" said the lady.

"How can that be? I'm not just low on this med - I'm out of it. None. Nada. Nothing. And it's a must-have medication."

So she sent me to the drop off window and said to talk to them.

I did.

And the nice wonderful go-the-extra-mile-lady at the window said, "We can do this. Come back in 30 minutes and it will be ready,."

So I came back in 25 minutes, 5 minutes early even - and there were no lines to wait for, nobody in front of me, step right up and there it was.

And my heart was face down on the floor worshipping the One Who holds my breath in His hands.

And I was astonished - and humbled and in awe and full of gratitude.

And, wonder of wonders of all wonders, He still loves me anyway.

Sigh.

We worship an Awesome God.

firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-86652301015900800542015-03-12T22:22:00.000-07:002015-03-12T22:34:11.264-07:00And then the Sky puts on a Show For Free...I drove home from chores late this afternoon - and happened upon my favorite time of day.

The sun had begun its lingering slide down the sky, stretching to kiss the mountaintops and move on to a morning in someone else's day. The sharp blue shadows on the hills grew inch by inch, wrapping the cliffs and rocky outcroppings in a dusky blanket, tucking them in for the night.

Driving into the sun was at the perfect spot in time - high enough that my visor could block out the brightness so I could see, and low enough to outline the grey, dirty-footed clouds in silvery backlight - while in between was the deep turquoise sky of the Southwest.

My heart was face down in worship as I drove. The spectacular colors and variegation splashed themselves on the walls of my soul and I felt something ease there, like a sore muscle with a healing warmth settling around it, in the exact spot to bring the greatest comfort. Thank You, Papa!

And again, not for the first time, I thought how sad it is for the people who depersonalize creation into a vague imaginary evolution - for which there is not a single fossil of verification, by the way. (Surely there should be at least one.)

But I digress.

The One Who formed each and every ray of light, arranged for those rays to lengthen and bend each evening, turning the sky into wild splashes of orange and purple and flaming reds. They all melt and blend into an ever-deepening dusky blue that settles on the dimming bits of gold with a kiss.

What glory and honor is due to such a magnificent Artist!

It is full night now - and yet the colors and swirling sensations are with me still. I see the silver outlines, the lengthening shadows, the steadily decreasing glimmer of the sun as it sets.

And, as always, in spite of the pollution and destruction and degrading of His crowning creation, I think to myself :"What must Eden have been?"

firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-41673610129867170222015-02-16T00:20:00.000-08:002015-07-13T23:23:38.333-07:00The answer to the question is....My reading today encompassed Numbers 9, and I have been contemplating the Shekinah glory, the cloud that led Israel for 40 years.

Including women and children, there were approximately 2 million people wandering in the desert for 40 years - and all of them had been slaves. They had the slave mentality - they wanted everything provided for them, they wanted to be protected, they saw themselves as weak. I often think that is a perfect picture of us as Christians - we have the slave mentality. It is not for nothing that the Word tells us we were bought out of the slave market.

We want clear direction from God, none of this trusting in the dark business. We want to be provided for - our bodies well, our monetary needs taken c/o, protection in our weaknesses. When we come to a place where we get thirsty, or hurting, or worried about money, we react the same way the Israelites did, altho we seldom put it into words: You brought me here to die of thirst? Why couldn't You have left me alone? I was doing well, feeling good, had my plan all set to go and then blam! You threw a gigantic, overwhelming roadblock in my path? Why, God? And we whine in our hearts and wonder what the heck is going on - as though God can't hear the murmuring going on in our hearts: I want meat. I miss the garlic and onions. This manna stuff is boring. Same thing every day: manna for breakfast, manna for lunch, manna for dinner. This stuff gets old....and on we go.

But the Israelites had the visible presence of God with them.

In the hot, dry, parched desert, they had a cloud covering that shielded them from the worst of the heat and burning sunshine. A cloud big enough to cover 2 million people! A personal appearance of the God that busted the Egyptians in the chops and opened the gates to set them free. So out they went, following the 80 year old guy who says he hears God talk to him and give instructions.

This God is a new guy, too - they had gotten used to the Egyptian gods - a god for every animal, a god for your shoes and clothes and to give you money and keep you well and now they have just One God. He showed them He was stronger than all the Egyptian gods rolled into one, but the only one who actually sees Him is this Moses guy.

So they whine to the Moses guy - every time they stub their toe, it's Moses' fault. He takes too much on himself. He doesn't let anyone else say anything - he's the big Kahuna and that's that. "I'm just as smart as he is" they say to themselves. "Why do we have to obey him - we can't do all the raucous promiscuous stuff the other gods let us do - if we mess with this One, He kills us outright. It's Moses' fault. He's the one that made us leave our safe homes and all that good food - we didn't know how good we had it."

And while we don't go that far, our bottom lip sticks itself out there when things are rough or our feelings are hurt by someone, or we get sick.

And we excuse ourselves, sometimes, because we have to walk by faith, and we don't get to see the One Who bought us.

But lets look at what the Israelites saw:

This ginormous cloud that shielded them - one day, our of the blue, it would rise up and the trumpet would blow, telling them to get ready to move out.

The first time, they had been in their spot by the mountain for a year and one month. They had settled in: ready water supply, a place for their livestock, the tabernacle all set up, their tents had accumulated stuff and now they had to pack it all up and get ready to trudge who knew how long before they could rest again.

"What's going to happen to us? Where will we be going? Will someone attack us? Granny will have a hard time keeping up. So will my little ones." and so on, their hearts full of fear and wondering if that "horrible manna" would follow them as well.

And taking it for granted.

And then, at night, the cloud became fire. The flickering lights were scary. This was something they understood, the dangers of fire. Only this fire was alive!

The flame must have been unbelievably high for the last of the 2 million on the fringes of camp to see it. Just imagining setting up camp for the evening - when did the cloud begin to glow? to turn from a hazy protector to this dancing, radiant tower of light and flame? And that flame would call Moses into the tabernacle and when he came out, he glowed with this same unearthly light.

Creepy.

So I wondered how that would translate to us, in our present state of walking by faith.

We do have a Shekinah glory, only this one is within us. He shields us from seeking things to satisfy our thirst - and if we come to Him daily, He gives us manna. We have to come to Him daily - the manna can't be left overnight or it rots and gets stinky.

Boy, is that a picture of backsliding! When we expect Sunday's spoonful of preaching from the Pastor to last us all week, we can pretty well count on something rotten and stinky showing up in our hearts. We quietly slip something that is not God onto the throne of our hearts, and think it's ok - and suddenly we find ourselves stuffed with garlic and onions and it's rotting and smelling and we wonder how on earth we ended up this way.

So God lets us stumble on our own for a bit - in a long, dark night where something hard blocks our way and we feel abandoned in the darkness.

If we come to our senses and let Him cover us with His wings, the Shekinah fire, which was there all the time, suddenly warms us and encourages us and helps us to humble ourselves before Him. We may not have a Moses to blame, but if we don't bow before Him, we'll begin blaming anything that moves. Our pride of life is always ready, eager and waiting for the chance to jump back on that throne and start ordering us around, and in our panic for something visible to follow, we welcome this chance to devise our own plans for getting out of this mess, and blam! Another roadblock slams down right in front of our path - again.

We chafe and complain and want this over with - now! And it never occurs to our enslaved mind that perhaps, just perhaps, the hedges that have boxed us in are for our protection. That plan we devised leads right over a cliff and yet we cannot comprehend why God won't let us implement it.

So we immediately bow before Him, confess and receive forgiveness, and get back on the narrow path immediately, right?

Perhaps you do. I tend to mutter a bit and ask why and stumble around in the dark for awhile until, in His mercy, God nudges me in the right direction and I have an "Aha!" moment.

Because the simple fact I have come to discover is, we all have that slave mentality in our heart of hearts.

We want things clear, the path clear, the reason for the fly in our ointment clear, the pathway fulfilling and spiced correctly and provided for us with no muss or fuss. We want to waltz out in front of the unbelievers and have water parted for us right in front of them and find our streets made of gold right now, thank you very much. And most of all we want to have a simple concise answer to that question.

You know what question.

The one that everyone asks: "Where was God when...?" fill in the blank.

When all along, the answer is "right there".

He is shielding us by day, glowing in our hearts when the night is long and dark and the pain is fierce.

And we don't realize that trusting He is covering and glowing without the seeing is our privilege. In all of mankind's history, the church is the only entity that has the Person of the Holy Spirit within us, sealing us, walking alongside of us,

And it is that very indwelling that is ready to take us out of slavery.

Because the only thing that enslaves a child of the Living God is the chains we forge ourselves.

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-51295166060927562572015-01-24T20:46:00.001-08:002015-01-24T20:46:35.182-08:00I love You PapaMy pastor is over in Cambodia, so our asst pastor preached on Wed night.

He shared how, throughout the day, his little 4 yr old granddaughter would come and find him, just to say "I love you Poppa."

It really made his day.

And an arrow shot right into my heart.

Quietly, the question was asked, "How often do you do that?"

And with my head hanging low, I said, "Sorry Papa."

Because I knew that the answer was "Not very often."

How is that possible?

Here my Papa had given me everything - including eternal life in a kingdom where the streets are made of gold.

Gold!

And I blithely slither on my way, never taking the time to tell Him how much I love Him.

It's not as tho I don't talk to Him - every day I'm in the Word and learning and treasuring His often repeated sentiments of love and caring. Yet seldom do I think of telling Him what's in my heart.

Since Wednesday I am trying to remember that little thing that means a lot. I asked the Holy Spirit to remind me about it.

And what an amazing change it's made in my day-to-day doings.

He is the reason for the season - in whatever season I am in at the moment. We box that phrase up with the Christmas decorations and feel so righteous when we say it in December. But He is the reason all year long, not for some misaligned date we've chosen and said, "Here You go, Lord. This is when You were born."

I don't know about you, but I didn't even say Happy Birthday on the 25th of Dec.

Did you?

We talked the talk. Where did the walk go?

Of course, it wasn't His birthday. But where does it say we can't tell Him "I love You" because it's not Dec 25th?

And where did all the "Peace on earth, good will to men," and "hosanna in the highest" go to?

I want to unpack all those Christmas boxes and praise Him with love every day. I don't want my heart to get packed away with those boxes and forget He is the reason for my heart beating. I want Him to hear it, many times a day, from my heart remembering and being grateful and thanking Him for the roof over my head and the pillow I put said head down on to rest.

How hard is it to say those three words, anyway?

We know how it makes a difference in our own lives - how nice it is to hear, even a hurried "love you," as someone goes out the door on an errand.

How much more it must mean to the One Who died for the air we breathe and the food we put in our mouths( after a hurried "thanks for the chow" prayer that can quickly get so routine we don't even hear ourselves say it anymore.)

And all this after I chose "love:" for my one word this year.

Already it's an abysmal failure.

So, Papa, just for the books, I. Love. You.

Forever and and ever and ever and ever.

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-14063264400351435752015-01-01T23:01:00.001-08:002015-01-01T23:01:24.768-08:00PonderingThe first day of the year.

Always a time for pondering.

What will this year hold? Good or evil? Pain or joy? Life or death?

I have reached an age where, even more than the usual, every day is a gift I dare not count on. I have buried every immediate family member but one - out of the 7 that made my original family circle.

I am the child of 2nd generation immigrants.

My grandparents on both sides immigrated at the turn of the last century.

Their speech was thick with the accents of "the old country." They spoke of it often - I can hear them still. The lilt of Swedish is so musical, falling gently on the ears and alive with memories of growing up .

My paternal grandparents lived with us from the time of my 3rd year. My grandfather was 6 feet tall, and our first meeting began with him snatching me up and tossing me in the air.

To say I was terrified would be an understatement.

I can still see through my 3 yr old eyes, can still feel like I was 20 stories up - and being thrown higher - by a stranger. And one who talked funny at that! Yikes!

Of course, we made friends. I was only to know him for 2 more years before a stroke stole him away. but I remember him well, and with affection.

He was a painter.

He painted houses to make ends meet. And he painted his heart to keep his memories alive. For my grandfather was a whaler.

This was back when the whales had a chance, and a whale run was 50/50 - the men were at as much of a risk of dying as the whales.

He sailed on windjammers - the many-sailed boats with 2 or 3 masts fitted with 3 large square sails. Most of their down time was spent repairing said sails. Or the nets used to catch fresh fish for food. To the end of his life, his best times were on a charter, doing deep sea fishing and hopefully returning with a gargantuan tuna to feed us for a week.

He would clean the fish, which became my job as I grew up. I loved to watch him, loved the process from start to finish - first the scaling. Only when the skin was super smooth did he remove the head just below the gills, remove the tail - and here's where it got really interesting - slit the belly and remove the guts. I remember asking him "what's that?" over and over - patiently he would point out the liver, the air sacs, the intestines, and, if we were lucky, the roe - the eggs a female carried hidden in her body. I think this is where I became interested in nursing - by being a 5 yr old fascinated with guts!

My grandmother, 11 years younger than he, was made of spun sugar - and molten steel. She cooked the tuna as a roast, basting it with butter and love.

She was from Sweden, my grandfather from Norway - at a time when the two countries were not exactly friendly. Mostly, sons grew up to farm, in both countries, and daughters grew up to be farmer's wives - or nurses. She had 3 sisters, and all grew up to be nurses. she herself was in nurse training when she left Sweden to marry my grandfather. Sadly, she never was able to finish her training - in those days, married women did not become nurses.

Her home life had been rough. She was the Cinderella of her family, with no fairy godmother in sight. She never figured out why her parents used her as a drudge, to do all the cleaning and cooking. Part of her task was to make cookies for her 7 siblings - and she was not allowed to sample even one.

So, at the tender age of 16, she and my grandfather had saved enough money for her to join him in America. She bade her family far vell (good bye) and set sail on the sister ship to the Lusitania. The ship would be sunk during WWI, as well as the more famous Lusitania.

She was, of course, in steerage - the below decks accommodations of many immigrants in that day. - small rooms were fitted with 2 bunkbeds, leaving scarcely enough room to move between the beds. When they hit rough seas, people were too sick to run for the primitive WCs, and would simply vomit over the side of their beds. My steely grandmother, not seasick but getting sick on the smell, had brought lemons with her to fight off scurvy. She took one of her lemons with her to suck on, and snuck out to the deck as the ship tossed and dived with the rough sea swells. Water would flood the lower decks and she wrapped an arm around the railing and held on - she thought the danger preferable to the smell of the unventilated steerage quarters.

Only she found, as she hung on literally for dear life, that the fancy patrons above her hung onto their rails - and vomited over the side, which the wind blew backward to fall on her and the steerage deck, making it slicker than the blasts of ocean water did. Yet still, she clung on, sucking her lemon to help control the nausea of being doused repeatedly with vomit.

She said she didn't know how long she'd been there when a crew member noticed her below. He ran down to her deck and told her she couldn't be there - it was too dangerous, he said, she could be washed overboard. And while she knew what he said was true, she couldn't stand being shut up with all the vomit in steerage.

But the steward pulled her arm from the railing and forced her back inside.

And she endured.

Eventually her baby sister Judith and husband John, also came to America and settled nearby.

Sweden is big on elves and trolls and folklore. The deep snow and dark winters leave plenty of time for storytelling while the work is being done. Perhaps they missed it.

Because one year my uncle John made a little house.

To my 6 yr old eyes it was enchanting.

Log walls with snow on the roof, dainty lace curtains - and through them, hazily visible elves at work could be seen. Light glowed from the windows, and you could see the elves at their chores - and one was warming his backside at the blazing fire in the fireplace. It was enthralling.

My 2 brothers (a third would come when I was 9) and 6 boy cousins were all mesmerized, too, and it was rare for the little house to be unattended for any length of time.

I found a photo of it when I was grown up and was shocked to find the walls were corrugated cardboard and the snow was rolled cotton.

I was astonished.

As a child at Christmastime, it had been pure magic. And in my memories, it has lost none of its authenticity - and never shall.

My memories of my grandparents are among my most precious - I look at kids today and feel sad that children are so isolated from the older generations. I think God designed the nuclear family as a gift - for a child to know how to communicate with older generations, hear stories at their knee, be cared for when the parents are busy elsewhere, know there are open arms to run to, and learn that death eventually claims us all. It taught me to cherish memories - and thank the God that built me with memories to store and savor.

My grandparents, uncles and aunts, brothers and parents - all are still in my heart. I expect most of us wish we had paid more attention to them, made more time to listen and visit and love. I wish I had written down every word, to better remember their wisdom.

But I look at the world today, and I am filled with gratitude. My King and Lord blessed me with a life surrounded by caring and love - which, I suppose, makes it easier to know the love of my Father in heaven.

So, thank You, Papa. I'm so grateful for the love and the accents and strong faith that is my inheritance - thank you for the parents you gave me, and for their parents - and for Your plan for my life. Every good gift, and every perfect gift, comes down from the Father of Lights, in Whom is no changeableness or shadow from turning. (James 1:17)

Thank You, Lord, from the bottom of my firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-1295727725065135022015-01-01T03:14:00.001-08:002015-01-01T03:14:50.314-08:00Happy New YearIt has officially been 2015 for 2 1/2 hours here. the house is quiet, the neighbors have stopped setting off fireworks ( a tradition here) and the snow flurries have all but disappeared.

The weatherman was wrong, once again.

We'd been promised 3-5 inches but nothing but flurries arrived - and with it, a biting cold air that seemed to turn coats into crepe paper.

Brrrr.

We usually get snow about once every 5 years, and we're 2 years overdue.

Usually it's not an issue. But this year, my nephew from California is living with us to go to school - and he has never, in all of his 21 years, seen it snow. He's been in the snow before, but never while it was actually coming down, and he would love, just once, to see it.

So we will keep praying.

Meanwhile, I have been pondering my word for 2015.

Last year's was "notice". It kept my attention - here and there. I must confess that certain periods of time were consumed by other avenues.

This year I am praying my one word will be much more prevalent in my thoughts.

Because this year the word is "love"

And hopefully, it is of the agape variety.

I want to let my heart be a conduit for Jesus. To notice the calculating stare of the person on the corner with the sign begging - and love him anyway.

To take the insults and demeaning comments and let them flow past me, not responding in kind.

To find ways to bless others with words, deeds and prayers.

To keep my heart and hands as open as I can manage.

To make people feel loved - from my cat to anyone I bump into.

Yesterday, in the grocery store, several people went out of their way to offer assistance, as I was in the putt-putt the store offers to those of us with mobility issues. One woman offered to help me reach something - out of the blue, because I wasn't even looking at anything - she just saw me and offered. It left me feeling blessed and not handicapped.

And that's what I want to give others. I want to be more aware of them and less of me. I want to bless them.

I want my friends and family to feel loved and cared for and doted on.

When was the last time you doted on anyone?

I've been doting on my nephew today. He and his friends gathered here tonight - which is a big relief, because here on the outskirts of Vegas, on New Year's Eve, the LVPD says that probably every other car is being driven by someone inebriated. I really didn't want to think of him out there with his friends. And so when he asked to have them here, it was a great relief. Every one of the folks he hangs out with are kind, funny, good-hearted people.

I hope I made them feel welcomed and cared for - before I discreetly absented myself from their get-together.

(And after I told them if there was no designated driver, they would be spending the night here.) In capital letters I said, "NO ONE WHO IS EVEN SLIGHTLY IMPAIRED WILL LEAVE THIS HOUSE TONIGHT".

This is my nephew's first NYE of legal drinking age. He bought some champagne to share with his friends. He is a responsible guy, as are his friends.

But sometimes, the law needs to be laid down, just in case.

And that brings me back to my word for the year.

Loving one another is, actually , the only new law that Jesus laid down. Hopefully I've complied with it - but I know, to my great shame, I've never concentrated on it.

So I want to make 2015 the most loving year of my life heretofore.

In doing so, I want there to be less of me.

Less of me complaining. Less of me getting irritated. Totally less of me getting sarcastic, which happens in less than the blink of an eye, especially with store people and/or faulty merchandise.

So you can see why there needs to be less of me. Cuz the me that's mostly in evidence is the sin-nature me. And I want to boot her tush outta here.

And in her place, perhaps, some shining little puddles of God's love flowing through me to bless and comfort others.

So if anyone has taken the time to read alllll the way thru this entry : May God bless you with a knowledge of His loving kindness and delight in you this day. Not because you earned it, because you couldn't. Not because you were "good" today because you weren't.

God loves you just because you are you.

The same way He loves me

Just imagine that! It takes my breath away each time I think of it. The Creator and King of the entire universe actually loves us - He knows us by name, by DNA, by all those besetting sins we wish weren't part of us - He knows about each one - and loves us still. And that love led Him to the cross - because He'd really rather die than live without us - sinful, surly, complaining ol' us.

And with His help this year (and hopefully every other year as well) I want to love you the exact same way.

Happy New Year!

email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-5737780461951872563.post-84082292309584022014-12-24T20:57:00.000-08:002014-12-24T20:57:15.252-08:00Merry ChristmasDriving home under an eyelash moon, the streets aglow with twinkling lights, I couldn't help but think about the reason for the season. Our church's candlelight service tonight was perfect.

To hear again the old old story, to realize anew that He came for all of us. To know that tiny Baby born - probably in June - came knowing that those tiny baby hands, so captivating, would one day be pierced by a nail, his feet also destroyed and crushed by a mallet driving metal into it. To have that wee tummy pierced by a spear. To be nailed, naked, to a piece of the wood He Himself created. And to be bled by that spear, as befits a Paschal lamb.

Knowingly, a Being so immense He filled the universe, pledged Himself to be forever held captive by a human body. Think of that. Never again will His spirit be free to fill all things with Himself. He will be walled in. Forever.

And the reason for this?

So that you and I will never be walled in by flames and darkness and suffering - our spirits will expand to fill a body that can walk through walls and will never ache or falter ever again.

It amazes me, over and over, that He loves us so - and chose us before He ever created the first man, knowing that that choice would cost Him everything.

It's hard to imagine myself making such a choice. Loving THAT much.

But He does.

And what great feat do we have to do to qualify for this greatest of all possible gifts?

One thing.

Say yes.

So, on this day we celebrate this choice becoming flesh and blood and marching inexorably to the cross, if you haven't said it yet, please accept this most magnificent of gifts ever given.

And all you have to do is:

Say yes.

Merry firstname.lastname@example.com