Sparkle

I grew up with 3 siblings, all older than me.  My interests were different than all three, which meant I spent my free time alone in my imaginary life, feeding my dolls, mothering, teaching.  For the first 8 years, I had few friends, and none who lived nearby.
A spike in building took place in my neighborhood which brought a change in my friend status.  Girls moved in all around the neighborhood, turning quiet days alone into days filled with knocks on the door, cartwheels in the yard, performance competitions, singing, games, gymnastics camps and slumber parties.
I fulfilled my dream of motherhood right out of high school, and in fits and starts, established myself as an adult, not knowing what direction I was best to go.  In eventuality, with a psychology degree, a certification in special education, and a family complete with yours, mine and ours, I stopped teaching after 7 years to homeschool my "ours." This included managing an interdenominational choir for middle schoolers, complete with musicals and traveling concerts.  I led worship, secretaried, media'd and kept books in church for 10 years, while raising children to love the Lord.
My children have all moved on, 3 moved off to other states. I now spend my days singing oldies, playing games, planning art workshops, hosting coffees; I play pool, Bingo, Pokeno and have poker nights.  I dance in the dining room before dinner to the music from my upbringing and that of others, who delight in their "youth."  I arrange Powerpoint slideshows of smiling seniors enjoying - again - interests from their lives past.  "You have so much energy" they say, some standing up from their chairs to dance with me, beaming, with their feet safely planted on the floor, their arms moving wildly. For those moments, for both them and me, we are not an age. We are simply ourselves, delighting in doing what, in our past, gave us joy.  It's what we love, and if our bodies allow us, we will spend our days wringing life out of every moment we are given.
Mine is a life carefully woven, by a masterful hand.  I have joy unspeakable, which I'm allowed, paid even, to carry out daily with my people.  The smiles on their faces feed my desire to help them find quality of life.  I was led to this moment, beginning the journey, at 8 years old.  The music my father and mother played on phonograph records - Harry Belefonte', The Tijuana Brass, Limelighters, Mahi Beamer, Andy Williams, Beethoven and Bach - all now delight these individuals I have the pleasure of nurturing. The singing - we croon together, and we know all the words.  They pick themselves up because the music and their memories demand it, and they obey with only a bit of hesitancy, a sparkle, and then triumph.
I have come full circle. One would think I'd dutifully resign myself to the next 'stage' of my life, of an empty nest, slowing down and preparing to sit and watch as others dance. Well, no. That is not the way I was made, and I will regale my seniors up to their ends and myself to my end.  The gifts of God - music, movement, art, poetry, socialization - they are to be enjoyed while we have life, and we do.

O-Dark-Thirty with Nonny

My mom and I are not good sleepers. Well, lets rephrase that:  My mom has a terrible time - we've been chasing a solution for several years, and now she's doing better than ever before, but still, 5 hours is a good night, and she's up with coffee by prob 3am daily.
When I was teaching special ed, in my 30's, I would do  the wake-and-worry thing. I'd go ahead and get up and grade papers or plan.  These days, I have figured out how to go back to sleep until I'm up to see Dan off at 5:30.
But then, there's coffee with Nonny.  I almost can't wait to text my mom after Dan's breakfast and lunch are in his backpack and I hug him goodbye. It's my morning Mom-ritual.
I take a pic of my coffee and text it to her. Then we pick up where we left off yesterday. She tells me what's on her mind, how her sales are doing at her shop, about the stuff she's going through in her space so she doesn't leave it for us kids to go through.
My mom is 82. She is relatively high-tech, so we text nearly every morning at 0-Dark-Thirty (thanks, Mabee!)  Sometimes I wake at 3 and FB tells me she's "active," so we'll text a bit and then go back to sleep - I will anyway. Mom might dose.
I realized this morning that will be a ritual that I'll miss.  I accidentally woke up my sister by cross-texting my mom in a thread that included Mabee (sis) and Jack (bro.)  I realized my mistake immediately, but my sister began to comment.  It occurred to me then that once my mom goes to Heaven, I'll have no one to text first thing, or during the night, or to send coffee pics to.  Mabee renamed the convo "O-Dark-Thirty" and went back to sleep.

Because the world revolves around us, I imagine everyone loves my mom like I do, prob like everyone thinks about theirs. Only I know I'm right. Haha.  Everybody loves Nonny. She's fun, she's cute. She's smart. She LOVES and loves and loves.  Knows everyone. Says what she thinks, and there're bits of wisdom mixed in.  She's everywhere at once - still. If I chance to pop in to Goodwill, I can pretty much bet she'll be there.

Every teen goes through a period where they think they're smarter than their mom. Mine lasted maybe 5 minutes. My mom is amazing.


Gail: I'm running out of creamer.
Elizabeth: I have none! And it's yucky....and ice cream is not covering it!
Snow coming! Tuesday
Gail: I have coffee! Come over!

       

Gail: Think God will let you text me from Heaven in the mornings? I love our conversations. <3 I'll think about you every single time I drink my coffee.
Elizabeth: Every time I find this stuff, I just can't bear to pitch it.....so I'll put it in a safe place.... I don't even remember most of the stuff!
Gail: Ok, but don't put the totes in the attic yourself.  Stack them up and wait for Andre.
Elizabeth:But it's dominating my living space. You'll have some laughs. A bargain at $5 a tote!  Yes, God will let us text... He's used to us....and when folks hear about it they'll think you're nuts!🤣

Oh, if only it was easy to keep all these conversations.  What can I say. I'm loving my mom.  And I want to keep her forever.  But someday, to her delight, she will fly just like she and Daddo have planned.  And I will have to figure my morning out.  There will be a missing puzzle piece in my life that will only be replaced when I follow her Home.  Mom, I love you. Text me if you can.  I'll pay attention. It will be my shell, my penny.

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My Tool-less Hands

I am faced with a task for which my hands have no tools.  Attempts to complete it would be futile - like the bird who tried to flap himself through my garage window last fall.  However visible the trees, he was not going to flap through to them.
But the bird did succeed in getting my attention. I, who opened the door, set him free from the futility of his attempts. He might say that his attempts were successful. So might I, indirectly.
When I face a dilemma for which my hands have no tools, my voice must take over.  I must get the attention of One Whose tools are sufficient. And if it is His Intention to open that door, He will.  Then again, he may intend to open a window.  Or, it could be that there is a plan I couldn't possibly foresee.  I won't know until it happens.
But I can trust Him, as He's responded repeatedly to the voice of His helpless child.  It's often in a way I could only marvel at afterward - a way I in my finite mind, would never have predicted. And so, He gets the glory - for how could I possibly assume it?

You Can Do What You Do - Part 2

In 2016, I'd become fit over several years by losing weight through eating right and running -- yes running.  I had been focusing on the lives of my children while neglecting being physically active, for maybe 15 years. My last two kids were fairly self-sustaining, in college part time, and having assessed my state, I decided running would not kill me, and that I was healthy enough to give it a go.
This blog from 2016 chronicles my conclusion (http://faithinfusedlife.blogspot.com/2016/02/you-can-do-what-you-do.html) that what you practice you become better at, and that it really can be that simple.  For me, at that time, though not what I'd call "easy" (it surely was a commitment,) the relationship between determination to keep placing one foot in front of the other, and health was simple. And it paid off. I was running for several years, had a new outlook, chased my grandbabies without issue.
Then injuries set in.
The one that took me down was Plantar Fasciitis in both feet.  PF is, in my case, an overuse injury.  I ran too far too abruptly.
I tried the various approaches to getting better, but it got worse. Running through it was not an option.  In the course of my attempts to get better, I decided not to run - I was so desperately hoping that if I rested it it would actually get better.  It has..... but it hasn't.  It's a lingering plague.  It's been close to 2 years.
Well, my podiatrist tells me that some people just run through it.  I'm at the cusp of a decision to try.  My feet are stubborn. I've had Physical Therapy - it is very expensive and can go on forever, and though there was some improvement, it just didn't want to go away completely. So I've come to the conclusion that the rest isn't helping at this point.  It's time to get back on the road - or try anyway.  Dieting, for me, has never resulted in more than negligible weight loss without exercise. PLUS I LOVE to go out at 6am (oh it can be a shove to get myself out that door) and hear my footfall, smell the grass and dirt, take in the stars, PRAY, and watch the sun come up.  I have many many pictures that I posted on FB of the most beautiful God paintings from my days as a runner.  I have found no substitute for the time I spend with Him out on the neighborhood streets a few mornings a week.
If all I do is walk, I know enough to be assured that however far I go walking, I'm nearly as fit as if I ran the same distance.  So walking, if it's all I manage, still affords me a beautiful light show and a time of talking to my Lord about His art.  I need that grounding. I crave it.
So, I'm putting this out there. I'm going to try.  There is no health like that gotten from fitness. And when I am fit, I feel wonderful. 
I'll start with walking with short spurts of running.  Over time, the proportions will reverse.  God willing, it will get easier and then pay off.  I'll chronicle my progress here.  I take pics of sunrises, and I'll put them up here.  I get revelations from my talks with Him on my runs, and those will go here too. Dear Lord please help me!

Good Men

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.  Edmund Burke

You're a Christian.  Don't buy into the implication that the only recourse to injustice is to be meek. It's a lie meant to silence you. Things that are unjust must be dragged into the light, not hidden; not ignored.  When salt has lost it's savor it is no good but to be trampled underfoot.  
You can believe that those whose ends justify the means have no problem speaking up.  You need to speak up if Christ is in your heart.  He is entitled to a human voice to influence a human world.  We cannot sit back and ignore the dark.  If you are paying attention to what is going on; if you feed your spirit with fellowship, prayer and the Word; if you feel your indignation to the injustice around you welling up within you to speak out, then it is your duty to do so thoughtfully and unequivocally. 
Be compassionate. do your research. Consider carefully. But speak out when evil, or just plain carelessness with the effect of evil, presents itself.  Evil that goes unchallenged lives on, even grows.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.  Edmund Burke

Prayer for a New Home Owner

Photo Credit: @CynthiaJamesPhotography

I have paint on my elbow, on the floor of my tub, and on the flange in my kitchen sink.  The main portions of my home are now spotless, the newly installed carpet is vacuumed first thing each morning, as daily, since last Sunday, I have made myself scarce while a different realtor and family have walked through my home to determine if it is for them: This home that Dan designed where we brought up 5 children; this home where Charlie and Sam were raised from birth; where the pantry door jam documents the height of our babies and our ferrets. 

I have ordered a new window pane to replace the one that was broken during the airsoft war Charlie and his friends waged in the back yard.  My faithful friend Ana carefully painted the closet where D.J. would pile blankets for a nest at night. We left the clouds that Meghann and I painted on the ceiling during her preteen years - left it for children who it will certainly delight. I've painted over the message to D.J. from Brian, written in toothpaste on the inside of their bathroom cupboard.   I gently removed the vinyl shoeprint stickers I'd placed on the hardwood floor so little Sam and Charlie would put their tiny shoes where I could find them. We have installed trim in the places that we were always too busy living our lives to trim before.

Our children have now grown up and moved away to live out lives and values that were nurtured within the walls of this home.  It's been 5 months of full time work preparing this home to be sold, and throughout I sensed that it isn't chance that will determine who walks in and decides to purchase it.  It has been lovingly prepared, specially for one family whom God wants to bless.  This is not just a place. It's an atmosphere where God has been continuously welcomed since 1994.  Many blessings have taken place in this home. So too have many challenges to our humanity.  And the love remains.

We are not just preparing a neutral living space for an unknown group of people. In my mind, there is a particular family for whom we've been preparing. Each room we've taped off, painting with care, replacing switch plates, and attending to details. We are preparing a Gift, from God to them.  It's been done with love, soberly, knowing there is a reason it is for them specifically, and that they will happen upon our home on the day appointed.

So now we wait and anticipate.  On the other side of this decision of the recipients, Dan and I will move on, with only pictures of our former home, and the memories that remain. The next chapter of our lives will begin with grown children, grandchildren, and grandbabies to come.  But for this family, it is a new beginning in what used to be 'our' home that has been covered in prayer for 24 years, and lovingly prepared for them.

Adventures Ahead at the Brick House

We are at a turning point.  Dan and I have been preparing this house, where we've lived for 24 years, to put on the market.  The only things I have left to do is caulk the tubs and paint parts of the outside. Dan has a longer list than I. The roof contractor comes Monday. 
As I look around, I'm no longer nostalgic. I'm just "finished." I want to present this home to its next owner, pristine and complete.  These  walls are painted, sufficient furniture and paintings just so, while the home that we've gutted and prepared to occupy next is filled-to-the-gills with stuff that, if here, would hinder the staging of this home for sale.  The other house, "The Brick House," looks like an explosion - one I cannot attend to until this house is on the market. Then I must go through 24 years of belongings, culling them until I can stand to live around what remains.
So..... the job is nowhere near done, but what we've done here is (near) done.  And it's beautiful.  The photographer comes next week. The inside is so pretty - unlike it ever was while we've made our memories in it.  The front door is painted aqua and ocean paintings throughout are a hint of what pleases me.
I pray that this is a gift to someone that is beyond their expectations. I imagine that the care we've given this task was specifically planned by Him to give a certain family pleasure - that they've wanted this very home for some time, and that they'll know it the moment they see it. 
Last October, Dan approached me, and then my daughter and son-in-law, Jimmie, with his "idea," which we have since worked toward as an inspiration - a prophecy to be fulfilled. He and I would sell our home, which we'd before planned to stay in forever, and purchase his mom's, in a nearby neighborhood that required near-gutting and renewing.  Meghann and Jimmie'd outgrown their home with 4 children, and dreamed of renting it out. They would rent from us in Nana's house,  now "The Brick House," and we would each occupy a half.
I'm happy to say we're coming to the next stage in this journey.  In one week, it'll be on the market and we can turn our attention to constructing a master bath in the home we're moving into - the last requirement in this process that began last October.  This has been my job, day in and day out. I'm often reminded of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, and that we've dwelled for the last 9 months in the bottom - the most basic of needs - physiological - preparing our new part of the world to provide food, warmth and rest. His theory is that, when you occupy that spot in the hierarchy, you cannot move on to anything else until you have securely attained those basic things.  It's what all my energy is given to, from the time I awaken every day.
What we have accomplished! And now I will pass this home on to a God-chosen family, knowing what awaits me at the Brick House - as I move on to what Maslow would call "belongingness and love," sharing coffee in the sunroom with my lovely daughter, her kind husband and 4 sunshiney girls. 

The Silence

The silence that follows leaving a church can be palpable.  Oh it's limited, thankfully, to just a few people who previously applied great effort to behave like "family"; then when something happened they did not have a front row seat to, suddenly turned eerily silent.  Trouble is, it resembles a shunning - behavior that poorly represents the reality that the Body of Christ is not just a single church, but a worldwide fellowship.
I'm reminded of a message preached by my former pastor.  "Don't carry another's offense," he told us.  He related an example of being maligned in secret by a brother in a church where he preached as a traveling evangelist.  For years, when he ran into several people, they all treated him icily, and he had no way to know why.  He searched his soul to see if he had somehow offended, and remained baffled and hurt.  Once it was finally revealed, it all made sense.
Unfortunately, carrying the offense of another within a church is all too common, especially when a family finds it necessary to break away - a heartbreaking decision at its core.  Don't carry another's offense: a simple, merciful and necessary piece of advice. You don't know what happened, even if you think you heard one side of the story.  People sift their experiences through their own insecurities - and you get the processed version.  If there is integrity there, you'll not hear either side.  Sowing division in the church is Biblically discouraged and, as mentioned before, "the church" is bigger than yours.  The conflict is likely not for your ears, and it's perpetuation is destructive.
Secondly, splits are painful to both sides - you have to consider the motive of the one who "shares" their offense.  If the sharer is compelled because they fear shouldering blame, and must blame the other to you, then again - it was processed through insecurity.  The result is not harmony in the body, but schism.
No, we must learn to accept that there will be comings and goings.  Handling them with grace is a decision, and all who witness this have their part in that decision.  We must trust that not every membership is forever; not every split blameworthy, and it is usually not our job to blame anyway. Handling splits without integrity speaks poorly of the churched, who are supposed to be known by the love one shows for another.

The Archer and the Cocoon

So, I've lived my life constructing this cocoon. I've picked and chosen the best things whenever possible - things I've tried and found to be supportive of my faith, what I know deep down to be true. And I think that was right. With my hand in God's, to the best of my ability, I think I carried out His vision for my home and my family.
But God is bigger than me. His thoughts are not my thoughts, nor His plans mine. He very recently challenged my view of my future and, abruptly jolted me out of comfort into an unknown one. I'd had the audacity to assume I had it figured out - me and God - we were in synch, this was His plan, and it would remain so. He put up with that notion for a bit, but now he is changing me. And it hurts. It's scary. And new and wonderful at the same time. But it's both. Wouldn't it be fine if it was always wonderful, but it's not. It's both.
Parts of me have relocated, and I'm tempted to replicate where I came from. But God told Lot, "Don't look back." Am I looking back? Or am I using the gifts God gave me for their purpose? I don't know yet. I know what I know how to do, but I don't know my next steps.
Well, I know enough to stay put until I'm told to proceed. I grieve for those I left behind, my humanity telling me that I need them - how can I possibly go on without them. And then God gives me the experience of being ministered TO, as opposed to ministering, which I've done for 14 years plus. And he places a person there who immediately senses my struggle and has the confidence not to take it personally, but to probe the source: A new person; someone completely unknown to me, who represents the new life that, 6 months ago, I had no idea I'd be entering.
Only God. That is what I'm floored by. Only God has so many arrows in His quiver - you think you have everything you need - but He supersedes your knowledge and when God chooses an arrow, He doesn't miss. I'd no idea I needed her.
Thank you, God, for this salve while you move me on. I'll try not to look back. Help me to only hear Your voice. I don't want to follow any other.

Happiness and God's Purpose

Such a trivial assumption, when we ask, "Doesn't God want me to be happy?" Our personal happiness isn't where God starts.   Though, He is a good God, as when we yield our lives and purposes to Him, a fruit that results is joy and peace, among others.  God calls individuals for His distinct purpose, which may or may not immediately manifest as  stereotypical "happiness" or comfort in you, in your life as you planned it. But its results are eternal.
Certainly, when He spoke of Abraham, he said, "For I have known him, in order that he may command his children and his household after him, that they may keep the way of the Lord, to do righteousness and justice, that the Lord may bring to Abraham what He has spoken to him," which was his son, Isaac, in the years of Abraham and Sarah's old age, to produce the Hebrew people, through which God would bring about His intentions for the world.  God had his Own purpose, and He chose Abraham  through whom to achieve it. (Gen.18:19)
God did not blow sunshine on Paul when he got his attention by blinding him on the road to Damascus.  "But rise and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to make you a minister and a witness both of the things which you have seen and of the things I will yet reveal to you." (Acts 26:16)  God chose Paul as a witness - not so he could make him feel good and find stereotypical happiness with a life of no challenge.  Paul faced many challenges - yet as expressed before, so also came joy, as a result of his obedience to, and participation in, God's purpose.
Each of us may choose to live out our life reaching for what we, in our limited vision, perceive as happiness; or giving the wheel to One who sees all, and can make us part of a story that is far bigger than ourselves.

Poison

Fitness to a task (or a relationship) - it's there or it's not.  It's not always that another person is a horrible monster. Sometimes it's that you yourself are not fit to abide them.  We're all on this earth for a purpose. We must find our purpose, what we are fit to accomplish, and apply ourselves to the task.
When we take on a task or relationship that exceeds our strengths, the task/relationship can poison our effectiveness, thwart our progress, and leave us damaged, unfit for our God-given task, which then does not get done, or done well.
It is not a failure to acknowledge our limitations, but a triumph, and a necessity.  We may wish we were fit to a particular task, but we abandon our real mission if we allow chasing the diversion to weary us into ineffectiveness.
Don't give in to the tendency to see it as failure to reject the task or relationship in favor of your primary purpose.  See it as having been led to the best path, while rejecting what was never meant for you to begin with, or which now exceeds your ability to  maintain.

Bulletin Board

It's alive - an expanding, changing, rarely neat, appendage to my pantry door.  It smiles at me with the faces of my children, my in-laws, my grandbabies and my mom. It's a collection of the fragments of my life - each piece expressing a sentiment I hold.  It may appear to be attacking you when you turn the corner into this room, but I assure you it's built with love. It's my bulletin board.  And now.....well, it's empty.
I'm not sad.  It's time.  It will be lovingly removed and brought along to our new home, after 24 years of residence in this one.  I've no idea where I'll put it, but it will have a place.  The sentiments accumulate where our family resides - it's a living thing, its life consists of the lives it reflects.  The smiles will once again accumulate.  The home is not the structure. It is the people.  And therefore, it travels with us.... our home.... and our bulletin board.

A Healing of the Heart

I have gone through a tangled jungle spiritually the last 6 months. First it was the church that I attended for 24 years, worked in for 3, led worship in for 7, which I'd so recently posted that I loved.  Through events that I won't share, the previously unthinkable became apparent:that my time there was coming to an end.  I held on with all my strength; I turned myself inside out in an attempt to secure what had served as a cocoon for so long - a place that housed my family, both literally and spiritually; a place where I'd grown mature in my faith and unshakable.  When God means to move you on, the unshakable can surely be shaken.

After we left, when asked how we were doing, I described it to those whom I love as "ripping my heart out," but, also, that I knew it was right to leave.  I've since spent time recuperating from what felt like an amputation.  The greater part of my life and identity was in that church. But I knew my Savior goes with me wherever I go - it's not about the church - it's about Christ in my heart.  I learned long ago that I am never never alone.

Since leaving, there followed a dizzying sequence of major decisions, both glorious and heart-wrenching.  We decided to sell our home of just as long and move into another large enough to give both us and our daughter's family our own space; this was in order to hasten our retirement savings, and their move-to-their-dream-home savings.  It has involved gutting and redoing the new home, and that has been therapeutic and intense. 

Still, in the midst of these two major changes, we also outgrew a family dynamic of codependence with different branch of our family.  It was abrupt and startling and not pretty.  But we came to realize that it was time.

I was churning, anxious, reliving the not-pretty parts of these changes in our lives that we had not really seen coming.  As I was relating this to my best friend of 25 years, the pain started out as a kindling fire inside that just kept burning.  And then.......it lifted.  We continued to talk, but I felt a distinct difference - and I told her, "Thanks so much. I can just move on now. It helped to tell you."  I was now peaceful - about all of it: About the changes, the loss.  My grief and loss, stirred up all over again by the family conflict, seemed to have passed.

That night, as I drifted off to sleep, my cell signalled an incoming text from my Charlie, who is married and is on staff at a church in Kentucky, where he also plays guitar for their worship.  "Do you have a heart condition?  And did Dad pray for you tonight?"

Half asleep, I responded, "Not that I know of....," completely forgetting that I'd sobbed under the weight of the stress that morning, and the tenderness in Dan's eyes as he patiently waited for me to pull it together.  He does pray for me, I know. He wants me to handle these things, and that they won't overtake me.

"Okay, I know that was random. It's just that we are at a conference our pastor is hosting, and a prophet from England called me out and told me, "Your mother.....Gail, has a heart condition.  But as you are playing guitar, she is being healed.  Then he asked who "Dan" was.  I told him he was my dad.  He said that he (Dan) was praying for (Gail),  as you're playing your guitar, she is being healed.  So yeah - may be metaphorical? Not sure but I figured I'd ask." Charlie texted.

"Gosh I hope not." I said, but when we said goodnight, I thought of the condition of my heart; of my exit from the church, and how I'd felt like a body part had been removed - I so loved that church, the people; how I'd almost felt the world had an aggressive character to it throughout that experience.

And then what I'd just gone through with family members - the realization that no matter how much you love someone, no matter how much you want growth, independence, and good decisions to guide them, there comes a point when nothing will help them but that they step up for themselves. I had withdrawn my willingness to be a safety net. My hands were weary and I could not hold up their net any longer.

And I remembered my conversation with my friend, when suddenly, inexplicably, a peace had come over me.  It was a heart condition - a condition of my heart, so that I had literally used the words "It ripped my heart out."   This conversation  with my friend took place in Virginia, while Charlie played the guitar for that service in Kentucky.

"How did he know our names?" I texted Charlie.  "'cause God told him, I reckon! lol, I've never met the guy in my life - he's from England so there's no way he could know us.=P"

Well, by now, I was surely awake, so I got up, grabbed my Bible and crept out of the bedroom so as not to awaken Dan.  My Bible opened to Deuteronomy 4:35: To you it was shown, that you might know that the Lord Himself is God; there is none other besides Him.

Earlier yesterday, after my breakdown, but before the Kentucky service, this song was on my mind. I found the lyrics and chords online, and transposed them 3x until I found the key I was most comfortable with.  I'd laid it aside before bed.  When I woke this morning, the song was again running through my mind, this time through a mind that was comforted by a miracle of heart-healing through my Godly boy Charlie.

You are my Shepherd Who cares for me
You lie me down in fields of green
By quiet waters restore my soul
For Your Name's sake guide me on righteous roads

Oh my Jesus You know me by name
You will lead me in kindness and grace
I will follow wherever You go
All my life I'll trust You, heart and soul. 

from "Heart and Soul" by Josh Fox/Paul Mabury

Death - the door to something better

I've been at the side of a handful of people whom I love, at the time of their passage on to Heaven. My mother has given me many lessons of life that I'll never forget, and one of them is her perspective on death.
My father passed when I was in college. I recall her fear and uncertainty the day he took off on his dirt bike and did not return.  She stayed in our home, as asked by searching friends, family and rescue personnel, to receive him if he came back, though I know every fiber of her wanted to join the search, and she kept saying, "Don't go out there alone, Gail - it's late and dark - I'm worried for you," forever concerned about us, not herself; gathering who she still had close.  I thought at the time that there must be some misunderstanding, and that Dad would be found alive, or that he would walk back in the door with 3 flavors of Haagen-Dazs and say, "What's going on?"
But he didn't.  When my mother was told that one who loved him deeply found him, I don't think I was in the room - much of that day is a blur. But in those that followed, she modeled an attitude entirely unexpected.  Now one might say it was shock, but I've been there since, and no. My mother grieved, certainly, as a woman whose man was so good to her, so perfect for her, unwilling that it should end so soon. But she also has a life force I've only seen in a few people in my lifetime, and a positivity that I pray I carry on as well.
Later, there was my stepfather. Harry came into our lives when I had teens and elementary age children. He related to them lovingly as if he'd been there all our lives.  His eyes lit up when we came to visit.  And he made my mother happy..... and mad ..... and happy again - the two of them were a pair.  We all loved Harry, and were unsurprised when my mother told us she planned to marry him.  A diagnosis of esophogeal cancer preceded the wedding, however, and he lasted only a few more months.  My mother's renewed sense of marital happiness turned to attentive care-taking, and she loved him all the way to Heaven - cooking for him, conversing with him as she always had, with her characteristic energy and love, welcoming anyone from his past who wished to be there, keeping him warm when his body began to lose heat, all those things - everything he needed at what state he was in.
Then my brother, who lived with her at the time: My brother had a companion, his mate, a lovely soul, Brenda. Together, Brenda and my mom cared for him following his diagnosis of cancer - continually responsive to his needs, setting the atmosphere in the house, which was palpable love.
In all these experiences, there was not a whiff of foreboding - sadness, yes,  and acknowledgment of the reality, but not as one who believes they end at death.  My mother knows, and taught me, that the soul lives on, and that death is not the end, but a passage, which in our experiences so far, has been a passage to something more beautiful than anything the earth offers - and even Earth is a Masterpiece. So my mother and Brenda fulfilled his need for an escort - they went with him to the door.
I have experienced 3 similar passings in the past 3 years, and I feel as if, because of my mom, I've been apprenticed.  I respect the experience of death - knowing it is universal, and for myself, I'm unafraid.  Further, death is an opportunity to go ahead of others fearlessly, as I know where I am headed, and that there is nothing to fear - my Savior will meet me, and my brother, and my father, and Pattie, Dick, and Pa.  I'd prefer not to be in a lot of pain, of course, but what will be will be.
But meantime, I've had modeled for me that when the end is apparent, the dying can darn well have what they ask for, be it a salt shaker, a bowl of ice cream or a tenderloin. Or they can eat nothing, if they don't want it, dagnabbit! Don't stand between my loved one and the bag of Taco Bell I bring them. I've made a pact with all my loved ones that I will assist them in rebellion, and I expect them to assist me. I don't mind being the heavy when necessary, and I expect them to rise to the occasion if I need them to.
I've also found that there is an organization that is fully supportive of such a respectful, dignified and permissive approach to death - Hospice.  I've heard people criticize Hospice, but I've also seen their compassion in action at the inevitable end, when without them, a strong-willed loved one would be required, and not everyone has the strength at that time, or has my mother at hand.  I fully support the assistance of Hospice in those circumstances, and I'll not forget what they have done for people I love.
If my decline is slow, I want someone like my mother by my side, and I hope that I am her to others.  I thank you Mom, for your example. How was I blessed, and this is only one way, with such an excellent mother? If I ever whine or complain, someone slap me, and ask me that - give me some perspective. What a gift you are, my Mommo.

Third-Second-Chances

I'd wanted babies from my babyhood.  I was the kid who had so many baby dolls I'd line them up and count them, then forget how many I had, and I'd willingly do it again.  I couldn't part with a one of them.  I had several I was totally devoted to.  As I became an adolescent, my desire was to be married and have real babies.  This outweighed my common sense, my wisdom, and my desire for an education, which my father insisted was important.  I only wanted to be a mom.
I tripped my way into the adult world, and found that you don't know a person until you've gotten past the front they present; that sometimes you lie to yourself about who you are with because you fixate on their qualities that are admirable - everyone has those; that for a time, a person can change, but that you need to know their relaxed off-guard self before you know if you're really compatible.  We weren't.  I tried, again and again, to make myself equal to the task of being his wife.  It was following a time of turmoil, when I came back to try again, that you were begun.
You presented yourself when I was a young, chaotic, traumatized, confused, disheartened, hopeful 22-year-old.  And from your very existence forward, everything changed. Once I knew you were coming, everything aligned.  There was still a new direction to take, to bring you to healthy adulthood, but I began to know my purpose, and who I was, and what my priorities were.
The marriage didn't last much longer after that. It was gut-wrenching to leave, but impossible to stay.  We did everything we could to make it amicable, and suffered the most from the parting when the other was spending time with you.  But I am positive, looking back, that leaving was right - that if I hadn't left on my own power, I would have self-destructed.  I would not have had the strength to raise you with love if I was with him, and your future trumped everything.  Yes, I was selfish to conceive you in that state, but I already revealed that I was confused and chaotic then.  As a very wise person once told me, "Desperate people do desperate things."  As it turned out, you are the best mistake I ever made.
It was you and me in the years that followed.  We had bunk beds in my mom's home. She lovingly, and uncritically took us in, and she and my sister watched you while I realigned my life, coaching gymnastics to provide for us, and re-starting my education by taking a Psychology Through the Lifespan class.  I related everything I was learning to you, and I was fascinated.  I'd take you to class  and to the library with me when I didn't have a sitter and you were so well behaved.  I continued until I got my degree in psychology.
I wish I could say that I made no more mistakes, but that would not be true.  But in my Junior year of college, I met Dan. Again, my life aligned with my dreams and you and I became settled into a family.  Joining with a man with two boys of his own was not easy by any estimation, but oh, it was worth it.  He was totally devoted and focused on the success of our family, and we met any challenges as a team, which gave strength to our family. 
It's been 26 years since our family was joined, 22 years since our Charlie, and then our Sam came and blessed our whole family with a unity we may not have achieved without them; a focus, a shared love.  The meandering path I took in this life brought me you and then Dan, and then two boys and two babies.  Is it not obvious? It was all right - it was ALL right.  Despite that crooked path, I have everything I wanted as a little girl.
The picture is of me holding you on the black sand beach in Hawaii, a beach that no longer exists, covered over later with lava from a subsequent volcanic eruption.  And like that beach, you and I are not what we once were - embroiled in a life of doubt and confusion - but we've realized our first dreams.  The expression on my face of total contentment with you in my arms doesn't reflect the challenges that followed, but the sureness of the path I was on, however indirect.  I, in mine, soon with the man of my dreams and precious family around me, and you with your Jimmie, who blesses us all in so many ways as a positive light, a reliable father, who brings laughter and kindness.  I am so grateful for the life that I've lived, in its totality. I don't focus on the challenges that brought me here - it's God's hand - the blessings and second chances and third-second chances that renewed it and allow me now to look back and know that it's been good....wonderful-good, and that He began with you.

Outward Appearance

To be misunderstood is incredibly disheartening.  There will be times in your life in which you know that you have been.  No amount of discussion will amend it.  This is the limitation of man, who filters everything he receives through his past and experiences.  Your seemingly flimsy skills of  persuasion are not nearly so convincing as a life of concrete emotion-inducing experiences.
First, appeal to your Savior. Ask Him to reveal your part in the misunderstanding.  Sin has great force in this world, and carries ramifications that live on, regardless of whether you've asked and received forgiveness from your Savior.  So does the perception of sin.  It seems unfair until you realize that salvation is only a get-out-of-jail-free card in Heaven, not to the perception of those who feel wronged by you, as Satan is the god of this world (2nd Corinthians 4:3,4.) Yes you are forgiven now, but those your sin has affected are hobbled by the memory of your sin.  It is only Christ, you and time that can heal those memories, and that is actually best, since the memory is a warning to yourself and others that a better route should be taken.
But back to misunderstanding. Some people's hearts are too busy dealing with their own inner chaos to even consider your request for forgiveness, much less reframing the offense.  They simply cannot produce it.  Be sure you have done what you can. Then move on.  In time, your words may produce the forgiveness you so desire. But don't let Satan, the accusor, get a foothold in your heart, doing collateral damage to your walk.  Move on with your Savior so that your life can be a blessing to others, and pray for that relationship.  One day, it may be given back to you.
For the Lord does not see as a man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.  1st Samuel 16:7
For the Lord searches all hearts and understands all the intent of the thoughts.  1 Chronicles 28:9

The Artbox

Seldom is the path of an individual clear in real time. I've no idea the life events one I encounter has faced.  I make assumptions from their present role in a given moment. But like me, they have meandered to the place they now occupy. 
There are dichotomies - the hippy becomes a conservative mom; a conservative mom becomes a hippy, etc., the stuff exhausted well in Hallmark movies; no need to dwell on that, but on illustrations more interesting and indepth.
My mother, the enthusiastic effective maternal grandmotherly matriarch  blossoms to a buyer and seller of art and things unique, then becomes a prolific poet. 
My sister-in-law lovingly raises up 3 boys, with pacifiers, soccer games and band practices and then produces art whose frame I could step into and be sublimely content.
Turns out Teddy Roosevelt wanted to be a scientist. He was irresistably drawn to rough-it in jungles untouched by humanity, bringing back previously unknown specimens.
Like them, I'm an amalgamation of many interests that, should you know them all at once, you might think I'm confused.  A life that has never bored me, however, is the result.  I've not failed to find focus, to produce within whichever one I occupy at a given time, as I suppose is true of most.
So infinite the array of personalities you will interact with in your life.  Take them all, lay them all one on top of the other, and we cannot deny the vastness and intricacy that went into their creation. Uniquenesses, giftednesses, oddities, harmonies and dissonance we dwell with in our collective humanity.  The collective we, with all of our potential in every direction, reflects the complexity of an Artist the size of Whose artbox makes laughable the limit of tools we take such pride in. And yet, He encourages us, within our sphere, to make excellent what we can. 
Whatever you find to do, do it with all your might;  Ecclesiastes 9:10
The artist reflects the Artist.  The athlete reflects the Creator of the human form.  The genius reflects the Designer of the intricate human brain.  The musician reflects the mathematical  patterns of a whimsical dramatic master Musician.  The expert scientist represents the aforementioned Created brain encountering an earth and universe of incompletely-discoverable complexity of Creation.  None of what we have was not given, did not exist first in the brush and palette of our Creator.
So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.  Genesis 1:27
For in the image of God, He made man.  Genesis 9:6
My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.  Psalm 139:15
I will praise You; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Psalm 139:14
Until my last day, my life will reflect, and so will I acknowledge, the existence of the Artist.

Chemist

Oh the sweetness of these my grandchildren!  Their flawless skin, wide eyes, tripping walk.... turn a corner and down to the floor. Doesn't matter - the floor is as good a terrain to be discovered, distracted by a fallen trinket easily ignored by the tall ones.  Fine hair forming into ringlets or framing their face, or pulled into a fountain on top;  the scent of their heads inhaled contains a drug, a natural force that brings them care from the adult who is unaware of being bamboozled by the chemistry of this needy human form.  Such a creation of perfection, this system, that draws care to their side when a boo-boo happens, and grandparents from across the miles to absorb their life force minute by minute, completely overtaken by their little soul's presentation on this earth.  Were it not for this brilliant plan, this irresistible built in chemical insistence on care, where would we be? Would we be?
I am captured by these tiny presences in my life, drawn close, and would fight in a way no one would ever expect just to keep them smiling, healthy, living, growing, should it ever be required.  This is an occupation bestowed on me by my Creator, who placed me in this time, in this place, among these charges.  Here I am. Choose me.

The Desires of my Heart

My sister-in-law, sister-in-Christ once pointed out to me what was a different take on Psalm 37:4.  In that seemingly minutely insignificant moment of conversation that she likely does not even remember, she began a trail of realizations within me that would echo over the years.  I don't remember the circumstances, only the gist.
Trust in the Lord and do good; Dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness.  Delight yourself also in the Lord and He shall give you the desires of your heart.  Psalm 34:3-4
Quite familiar with this scripture in a Christian-store plaque sort of way, I had to take a second look with her direction.  She said if you delight yourself in Him, feed on Him, and trust in Him, you are inviting Him in and allowing Him to fully guide you.  You are allowing Him access to your very heart. As a result of aligning yourself with Him, he places desires in your heart that he intends later to fulfill.  And by placing His desire in your heart, He leads you on His path.
Oh my.  He has borne this out again and again in the years that have followed.  If there is any wisdom this fellow struggler has to share, it is this.  In the words of a teacher, make Jesus your unit study.  Let Him not just occupy your Sunday plan; but inhale Him daily, throughout your day, and exhale His mercies to others. He is sustenance, and holding Him close means that whatever you encounter in this varied existence, He is always always there with you, yoking with you - you'll bear nothing alone.
I stand now in territory unknown, as happens to a soul repeatedly throughout life.  But He is here.  He has always, since I allowed Him to be, been here.  The email address I chose those many years ago, before my last  two children were born, shares this then-realization: that I am never alone - never never never alone.  It was chosen to reflect Psalm 139.  And as I follow the advice of Psalm 34, I nurture His home in my heart, and He drops these lovely crumbs, His desires, for me to pick up, one after the other, leading me gently toward Himself.  Oh, what a life He has given me in the midst of a chaotic world.  My heart is full and so grateful.

The Swap

So, how much life has changed since my last post.  One year ago, I ran a half marathon.  I had become so fit at that point that I was  running 7 miles in a day willingly, three times a week.  Bad idea.  And I knew better.  I developed Plantar Fasciitis in both feet, and as a result, went from a 21 mile a week runner to a zero runner.  This condition had hung on for several months before I decided to simply stop running to give my body ample chance to heal itself.  12 months later, I still have it, despite a doctor,  shoe inserts designed for me, icing, stretching, wearing braces at night, and cortisone shots.
Of course it has not been fun.  But during this time, my life mission has markedly changed.
First, what to do with all the time and discipline that I'd previously put into getting my runs in at 0-dark-thirty three times a week: entry of a new gift to nurture.  I became (again) a lead worshiper in my church.  Last September, while I was making the decision to simply stop running, I felt called to begin a new chapter.  My first night of singing was my birthday.  Nervous that morning, knowing I'd be singing, and petrified, I glanced down at my phone, which lit up uninvited, and displayed on my phone (again, unprompted by me -- I did not even own this album or song,) were the words, "Sing like never before."  It is a line in the song by Matt Redman, "10,000 Reasons."  This was prophetic, and encouraging. I had not called up that album cover, so it was God.  I needed that encouragement on that, my first day back into lead worshiping.

It has been quite a year.  One God-inspired musical experience led to another.  My mother had given me a large ukulele.  I got some uke strings, chose to string it like a 4-string guitar.  My hands are too small to play a guitar, and 'on a whim,' I thought I'd just learn a few chords.  Only once I got started I was driven to learn more.  All I was learning fed into my role maintaining the music database for our worship team, and it sharpened my skills.

Meanwhile, I also felt inspired to pick the viola back up from my school days, when I took 8 years of orchestra.  Again, I was driven -- DRIVEN -- to learn and practice.  I quickly realized that it would be a wonderful compliment to my role on the worship team, and my husband observed the direction my skills were going, and provided me an electric viola so that I could praise God on it.  The way I felt when I was able to give that gift to my Jesus just confirmed the decisions that led up to that.

Finally, in June this year, I had learned several keys on my "4-string" ukulele. I was playing all the worship songs that we were using in church.  I found a 4-string guitar on Amazon for $150.  I longed for it, but did not feel free to splurge for it.  Then, after creating and presenting a slideshow and all the media for a celebration of life, something I do as a volunteer, I was handed, completely unprompted and unexpected, was handed an appreciating check for $100.  I cried.  I knew I could get the little narrow neck 4-string guitar that would enable me, in eventuality, to praise God in even another way.

So one year later, I can see looking back, that yes, God took something away, my running.  He didn't heal me immediately of my pain.  But he gave me something so very wonderful, so much more valuable.  He gave me the opportunity and the means, not just a means, but 3 different ways to love on Him.  In just one year - I am astounded at his swap.  The opulence in what He gave me, in return for my running, which I had hung onto for 4 years with great self-discipline, as if it had value equal to my best efforts. The fact is that what God gave me is worth far far more.  I trusted Him before, but oh He has given me 3 more glorious reasons to trust Him.

So yes, I am grateful, and I praise Him, and thank Him for not just answering my prayer, which I had prayed some years before, "Just one more chance, Lord, to sing for you. I realize I'm getting older, and that is usually for younger people, but I'd love it, if I could just do it for a time, just once more, before I sit in my rocker.  I want to sing to You again." He honored, answered, fulfilled that prayer, and He heaped my viola and my little guitar on top.  I am more grateful than you will ever know.  I will try, dear Lord, not to ever hold anything closer to myself than You.  xoxoxo Your Gail