Heaven and Hell. Both are Real.

Last night I watched a TV show wherein the people are real, telling their true stories of their life-after-death experiences. One man had drowned in a pool at age 12, while horsing around with his friends, I think.

He tells of the bright light he saw, light particles that seemed to penetrate his soul. He used the word "soul" instead of body. How intriguing . He went on to describe the place and the feeling as so wonderful he just wanted more and more. He remembers emerging to what he described as heaven and there was someone he intuitively knew was Jesus Christ. The man had never had a 'church experience' or an encounter with the living God before, but in this instance he knew Jesus.

He said Jesus grabbed hold of his forearm like a snake bites a person except it didn't hurt; it was just getting his attention. Jesus told him, "You must go back, you have work to do." The man, who remember was just a 12-year-old at the time, started to say, "No," and while trying to say "no," began coughing up water. He woke up to see his buddies standing over him, terrified, witht the look of, "Our parents are gonna kill us!" The man said he should have become very angry with his friends for their carelessness, but instead he became angry at God for sending him back and not letting him stay in heaven with him!

He got so angry he turned from God for 12 more years and wallowed in self-pity and became a drug addict. He attempted suicide at age 24 and in that experience, was taken by Jesus to a place he describes as hell. "I cannot talk about it, it was so evil. It mutes me when I try. The darkness, the horror. The demons. The separation from Jesus; that was the worst--knowing I would never ever see Him again and that I had turned from Him. Jesus told me this is where you'll end up if you continue on the path you're on."

The man made a decision then and there to follow Jesus, and to make it his life mission to work with suicidal people and warn them of the reality of hell and the delight of a relationship with Jesus on earth, a relationship that keeps on going in heaven.

I have wondered several times, what is my life mission? At the moment, it seems shapeless and ambiguous (as in , what should I specifically be doing for His kingdom?) . But regardless, the aim is the same: tell as many people as you can about the love of God, the wrath of God, the holiness of God, the forgiveness of God, and don't leave out the ugly part that hell is real-- if you really love your neighbor as yourself.

Dayenu: The Canine and Car Version

I woke to the sound of Sarah's voice. "Mom, do we have a bandanna I can tie around my nose? The dog crapped three times in my room and once in the basement."

Thus started my day. Is this the beginning of the end of my sweet dog's life? Two days ago Molly had an accident in the basement. She is nine years old and we've had her nearly seven. She has had maybe five accidents in seven years, but three this week. I hope she just got into some bad trash. But I don't know.

And, as if yesterday's vehicle problems weren't enough," I thought this morning as I climbed into Steve's un-airconditioned Jeep to take Sarah to work, "it'd be pretty funny (NOT) if something went wrong with this one." I had to do some returns, follow the tow truck to Ron's garage, pick up some groceries, and call for a hair appointment. (With this shaggy mane in my face, my new name is Llasa ApZo.)

I discovered when starting to load the groceries into the back of the Jeep, the hatch doesn't work either.
I discovered that now, not only do the back right door and hatch not work, the right front door doesn't either.

Just as I was saying the words "as if they weren't enough," God quickened my spirit to the words of a song we sing at Passover. It's called "Dayenu," which means "it would have been enough." The song is upbeat, a prep to the hallel (praise) section of the haggadah during the seder. The words recount God's miracles to Israel. The Jews say, "it would have been enough if God had only taken us out of Egypt, but he parted the Red Sea. It would have been enough if He had parted the Red Sea, and not drowned the Egyptians behind us. It would have been enough if He had punished the Egyptians but not led us through the wilderness."

After singing 15 stanzas of "it would have been enough," one's heart can't help but have praise for God.

So I determined that I would come up with 15 stanzas (okay, one-liners) to help me see my car and canine problems from a posture of thanks and praise.

1. If God had only given us one good dog in our family, it would have been enough.
2. If God had not given us a second great dog after Lady, it would have been enough.
3. If God had only given us Molly for a little while to comfort us, it would have been enough.
4. If God had only given us Himself to comfort us, it would have been enough.
5. If God had only given us the van to take us everywhere we need to go, it would have been enough.
6. If God had only given us the Kia to take us everywhere we need to go, it would have been enough.
7. If God had only provided one honest auto technician ("don't call him a mechanic," says his wife), it would have been enough.
8. If God had only let us break down on the side of a safe road at dinnertime, it would have been enough.
9. If God had only chosen a produce stand for us to break down in front of, it would have been enough.
10. If God had chosen me to be a single mom with no one to call for help except Himself, it would have been enough.
11. If God had chosen a husband for me who had only compassion and no ability with jumper cables, it would have been enough.
12. If God had chosen a time for the van to break down when that compassionate husband with
jumper cables was not already close to the produce stand when we called him for help, it would have been enough.
13. If God had not provided a merciful care group member to bring Sarah home a few hours later, it would have been enough.
14. If Ben didn't have his own car, it would have been enough.
15. If I didn't have a blog, but only my mouth to praise God with for blessing us with sweet hounds and extra wheels, it would have been enough.

Dayenu!

First Fifth of my Life: Three Influential Women

Pondering some thoughts from my Bible study recently, I wrote down the influential Christians in the first fifth of my life. That is, birth through age nine. Not that I'm quite 45-- I have a year, a week, and a day before that's official, if the Lord tarries--but I rounded up.

My first fifth of life was chock full of Christian influences. Of course my parents were the strongest ones, but three women stand above the rest in my spiritual formation in the early years. I remember a couple of people from as far back as preschool Sunday School. The little old lady named Miss Inie was my first outside-the-family model of Christ to me. (Maybe she was only 45, but she seemed like a chubby, elderly, soft old grandma to me.) Week after week she welcomed me to Sunday School and I LOVED sitting in her lap. I don't remember a thing she said, but I'll never forget her love.

The second woman's influence affected me before I was born, but I never knew her. I only knew her husband. He was a gentle, quiet old widower named Mr. Krueger. The kids all knew him as the Candy Man. Every Sunday after church he held out a brown lunch bag full of lollipops and little wrapped sweets. Of course we had to ask our parents-- who often used the candy promise as leverage before church and sized up our rewardability afterwards. I usually got candy. (I'm sure there was more grace on my parents' part than good behavior on mine.) It was Mr. Krueger's wife for whom I get my middle name, Marie. While my mom was pregnant with me, she had decided to name me Zoanna Susan, for two of her best friends. Marie Krueger told Mama several times, "Now, as soon as that baby's born, I want to bless it. I want to be the first to bless that baby." On the weekend of August 26th, the Kruegers went away to celebrate their anniversary. During dinner at a restaurant, Marie died suddenly. When my mother heard the news, she was crushed in spirit, but felt as if Marie had already blessed me by wanting to bless me. Her influence was so precious that Mama changed her mind about my name and called me Zoanna Marie. She saved "Susan" for my younger sister Andrea's middle name.

The third influence in my first nine years was a woman named Lois Long. She lived right next door to us in Alden, Kansas. Mrs. Long was always smiling and very hospitable. When I was in third and fourth grade, she started up a Good News Club in her home. She invited girls and boys who wanted to study the Bible and learn more about God to come over every week during the summer and sit and read and talk about scripture. I think she served ice cold lemonade and sometimes cookies. I don't remember what I learned from the Bible, exactly, but I learned how it felt to have my spirit cared for by someone other than my mom and dad. It meant more to me than going to Sunday School in that I didn't take it for granted. I felt special, like an elite youngster who was valued so much that a busy adult made time in her weekly schedule for me and a bunch of other elementary school kids, and never seemed bothered.

I felt such love from her that I believed she would actually want to attend my little sheltie puppy's funeral. Tot was only ten weeks old when I came home from my friend Barbie's house. Mama said Tot had turned over flat on her back legs in the air, yelped in pain for ten seconds, and then died--right there in the doggie pen outside our house. I cried and cried. I loved my fluffy little Tot. When I went door-to-door in our little neighborhood inviting people to the funeral in our backyard, Mrs. Long was kind and didn't laugh at me. She didn't come, but she must've been so gentle about her "sorry" that I didn't feel stupid for asking her to the "service".

When I went back to Alden for a visit several years ago, I stopped in to visit Mrs. Long. She insisted I call her Lois, but I couldn't. No sooner had I reintroduced myself than Mrs. Long welcomed me in, offered me a seat in her living room, and asked me about my life, my family, and what I had been reading in scripture. It was almost as if I had never moved away-- just gone away-- for a very long vacation, and was back telling her about my travels, which of course included Jesus.

There were other influences in my first nine years, but those three--Miss Inie from preschool, Mrs. Krueger before I was born, and Mrs. Long when I was on the brink of the second third of my life-- are on pedestals in my memory. I thank my God upon every remembrance of Miss Inie and Mrs. Long, and for the blessing of being blessed by a godly woman named Marie before my birth.

Today's Graces

So far today I've experienced a lot of grace.

From nine till eleven I had one of my nearly-5th grade art students come over and do a practice run on some art projects. She was itching to get of the house; her mom was itching as well.

Called a friend but she said she was out to breakfast, could she call me back? I was glad to hear she was out to breakfast; she needed the break.

After that I went to the furniture store to buy the botanical print (originally $179 which I got for $17 plus tax!). ANd I didn't have to deal with the designer I let go on Monday. It was an answer to prayer for relief. I hate conflict but I hate avoiding it even more!

Then I dropped off two bags of junk at Goodwill and ventured inside while I was at it. Saw the sign for Midnight Madness (starts at 8pm) and everything is half off. So I will go back for tongiht the things I saw I want: a Degas print (to reframe), an old framed world map, and a leatherlike ottoman for the basement that has a hinged lid, great for storing our plethora of blankets.

While there, I also spotted a lovely leather Giani Bernini purse for 12 bucks. It passed the sniff test just fine, but I kept going back and forth. 'Do I need this or want this? It's a great purse! But I have a bunch of great purses. How about if I buy it tonight?" But I stood in line anyway, convincing myself it's awfully hard to find this great a handbag anywhere for $12. Then, just as the lady ahead of me was finishing her transaction, I stepped out of line, put the purse back and caught the eye of the lady BEHIND me. I looked at her and said, "I don't need another purse. I really.don't.need.another.purse.
She exclaimed, "I'm so proud of you! I really am!' You'd have thought she was my husband's alter-ego the way she carried on. I smiled and said, "That decision just took every last ounce of self-control."

I am also happy to recall that I lost another 1.6 pounds yesterday. That's 19.6 total. My next goal is "22 by 44"- 22 pounds off by my 44th b'day (two weeks from y'day).

I also tried something I've never eaten before: a fish taco. It always sounded gross whenever Paul ordered it. But I was really hungry for Mexican while I was out, so picked up a taco trio from Baja Fresh--one shrimp, one chicken, one fish. I ate the shrimp and the fish and brought the chicken home from Sarah. I must say it was quite good.

What graces have you experienced today? I know mine don't sound superspiritual, but they are: self-control, answered prayer, fresh faith, encouragement. Sometimes they just don't come from Galatians, but from Goodwill.

Weight Weport after 6 Weeks

This week I lost just .2, which was a pleasant surprise, atually, considering I ONLY exercised once by taking a prayer walk with my friend Bonnie. Though I always wish for more, I am glad to be averaging just over two whole pounds a week.

Total lost: 12.6 in 6 weeks.

I was aware this week of excuses going on in my head, the biggest one being "it''s been so hectic trying to finish up school that I'm wiped out.'" Well, granted, it was hectic (it's not as easy as fazing out a homeschool year because--ready or not--you've got to stop on the last day of school, take everything off walls, clean the room up, gather books, send junk home with students, blahblahblah.) But an excuse is an excuse is an excuse, an it don't take no discipline a'tall to build the Great Wall of Fat with them!

No more excuses. Like I ask my students, "Are we going to make excuses or are we going to make progress?"

For me, I am determined to shed 1.8 pounds this coming week to keep my average streak going. I keep the really big picture in mind, which is 100 in a Year. Progress: one good choice after another.

Starting the Bible study, Believing God, is exactly what I need during this time. Those times when I say, "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief," keeps me focused on two facts:

1) He has given me faith to believe what I believe now.
2) He wants to change my unbelief to belief in every area, and I can look back on the past six weeks as a testament to His ongoing work to change me from believing "once fat, always fat" to "once out of control, now Spirit-controlled in my appetite for food."

B&BW Testimony

I briefly mentioned it before, but Bath & Body Works is having their BIG semi-annual sale now. For anyone who loves their foaming soaps (and who doesn't?) they're 4 for $10 now.

Little testimony, one of those "it could only be God" things: Sarah has linked up to a host family in PA who planted a church up there. According to her, they are "SO, SO, SO nice." I had insisted that while away at camp Sarah attend an SG church at least six times. Well, the woman whom Sarah contacted has an amazing gift of hospitality. When I talked with her for the first time, it was an hour! She asked me specifically what Sarah likes because Jody wanted to "have something special for her when she gets here."

I wanted to bless Jody and her 15 year old daughter with a hostess gift from B&BW, not knowing they were having a big sale. The only thing I really knew was that Jody's father-in-law has just been diagnosed with cancer and is going from one doctor or hospital to another, and so I thought --since she'll be in a germy environment with him but still wants to offer the comfort of physical touch to him--I'd get a little gift that a friend gave me upon my hospitalization: a moisturizing tube of antibacterial hand soap. You know there are at least 15 different fragrances to choose from. I forget which one I decided on for her, but for her daughter I picked up Nectarine Mint. Well, check this out: Jody opened the gift bag (which included a Coconut Lime Verbena Wallflower and some foaming soap--forget which fragrance again) but she exclaimed, "That is my favorite store!" Sarah said they were having a big sale and so the 3 of them (Jody, Abby and Sarah) went shopping Friday. When they got there, Abby asked if she could get a tube of nectarine mint anti-b lotion, not realizing that the one I sent was for her. She was so thrilled. Come on, of ALL the scents I could have chosen, the Lord hand me choose Abby's favorite for her? I've never even met the girl!

That's the kind of story that just makes me shake my head and say, "Only you, God. Only You, could've orchestrated those details."

I decided to stock my closet with foaming soaps, especially after trying Kathy's trick to stretch the soap for as long as humanly possible! (She uses 1/4 soap to 3/4 water in the pump, plus a drop of food coloring.)

Wednesday Weight Weport 3

I'm not happy. It was only a loss of .8 . I thought for sure I would be down closer to 2.0. Fighting anger right now because all the self-control didn't show up the way I wanted it to--on the scale. I must have more to learn about the big picture. The WW lady did encourage me by saying that I've averaged a loss of 2.5 pounds a week. Still, though, I feel like it's been a blow to my hard work of exercising and journaling my food intake.

Maybe I didn't journal everything correctly that I didn't have exact points for. Maybe I guessed really poorly on some things. Maybe I need more sleep. The lady said maybe I need more food if I'm exercising so much. I said, "No, because if I subtract for the activity points, I even them out with food." It's not like I'm going into a starvation mode, I promise. I don't think I could ever do that to myself personally because I love food. Always have, always will, unless God kills my taste buds, hacks out my eyes, stops my nose, and keeps pushing me to the gym.


But to be positive, I am recounting the victory that God gave me grace to keep my commitment to myself to exercise six times in one week. That's a huge change in my lifestyle. Huge. You're reading the blog of a gal who used to congratulate herself if she worked out six times a month, which I rarely did. Remember, I hated to sweat? I still am not enamored of the smell, nor the clothes that I put on when I work it up, but the results are worth it.

And still, a wonderful feeling to believe deep down that I'm finally starting to eat like a healthy person and think like a person with self-control. I haven't felt like quitting once in the past four weeks. All the other times I've only lasted 11 days. I am looking at next April 29 as probably the grandest Ebenezer celebration in my life.

Wednesday Weight Weport #2

I'll probably start blogging my progress in the health arena of self-control each Wednesday since that's the day I go to Weight Watchers with Karen . First the stats, or should I say "stat" since I'm not measuring inches lost or having medical tests of any kind to assess.

So, this week I lost 1.6 pounds. Yay, right? Yes and no was my reaction. What I know about myself is that I set high goals, sometimes too high. I started out with a goal of losing 9 pounds in the first 2 weeks. Last week I dropped 5.8, so this week was shooting for 3.2 . To only get halfway to my weekly goal was a disappointment to me, but at least I didn't gain back and at least it was closer to 2 than 1. I'm headed in the right direction, but to counter my disappointment, I will recount the victories the Lord gave me this week. It's been mostly about exercise.

1. I set a goal to move 5x/week. Accomplished.
2. It used to be that my warm-up walk on the treadmill started at 1.0 mile/hr for 2 minutes and I needed to "run" (I use the term flabbily) at 2.8. Now my "warm up" pace is 1.8 for 1 minute and I don't need to "run" till 4.0.
3. Several times I've exceeded my 20 minutes or 100 calories/session goal.
4. Monday night came and I had not exercised all day. I prayed to God for strength and felt He said, "Put your tennis shoes on." Well, He's smart, God is, because now that the weather's warm and my feet are 90% pain-free, I don't need tenners in the house anymore except on the treadmill. Where does that leave me to go? Outside. So I headed up the hill and around the loop of our n'hood which is exactly one mile, and I did that in 29 minutes.
5. Tuesday morning came and I was stiff and saw no time in my day I would want to exercise. I was telling myself I wouldn't feel like it after school or in the evening. Negative talk is a health menace. Again I asked God for motivation to just move. Again I felt a little heavenly push to do just ten minutes of higher intensity to loosen up. Did that and felt much better.
6. Today I needed Karen's "atta girl" to reassure me, to help me see the big picture. By April 29 of next year , I want to lose 100 pounds total --a daunting figure (pun intended)--and when I called her, she said "If you only lost one pound a week, in a year that's 52 pounds. If you lose 2 a week, you'll definitely have your 100 off." Thanks, Karen.
7. I didn't feed my sadness yesterday. In fact, after two sad bits in my school day , plus literally falling down on the job, I normally would have comforted myself with ice cream or a pastry. However, within minutes of getting news that made me want to cry, I started sensing God's comfort and peace. I controlled my emotions rather than let them control me. And I used fat-free prayer instead of highly calorie food.
8. This morning I ate a 4 point breakfast and then walked it all off in 20 intense minutes even with cheesy music on.

Okay, now I feel better. God has given me 8 graces to share in my Wednesday Weport. There are more, but they're in my paper journal.

How to Have Your Crow and Eat it, Too: Part 3

The old couple drove off and I approached the busy intersection alone. Twelve lanes of traffic, some stopped, some going, some turning. Normally I would be scared, but I felt a complete peace as I stood there waiting for an all-clear. My only fear was that a car would zip down the turn lane and not see me coming, but I prayed for a safe crossing. I slipped off my shoes, picked them up, took one final look in every direction and hurried to the other side. Then I trekked up a steep grassy knoll to the shopping center, becoming a bit more self-conscious of the abnormality of it, wondering if I looked like the female version of Harrison Ford in "The Fugitive." (I may have been panting as hard, but I think he had more facial hair.)

At long last I spotted a chrome box with an attached phone. Wow. They do exist in modern suburbia. I fed it fifty cents and dialed the church. Sarah picked up. It was nice to hear her voice. I explained my predicament and she wasn't fazed. (Do I really not surprise anyone anymore with my stupidity?) "I figured you had just gotten to yakking with Miss Karen after Weight Watchers and forgot all about school and that you had let your cell die again." She had already picked up Joel from his classroom.

Since I had only fifty cents left to my name, I asked her if she'd call Kelly, the closest person I could think of (three minutes away). Sarah balked. "And make her pack up four kids? Mom!" She was right. That would be a bother.

"Okay, then," I ventured, mentally pressing the 'bother family' button. "Can YOU come get me?"

"I'd rather not," she said, tying her time at work with finals and forcing me to come up with a new option. (She apologized later.)

"Sarah, is there anyone there still in the parking lot who lives around here? Mitzy? Someone?"

It ended up Mitzy could come get me but it would take an hour after her carpool drop-offs. I would wait. I honestly thought of getting a massage at the tanning place. Wouldn't that beat all? Then wisdom took the reins back and I sat inside the grocery store on a hard bench. It was like doing penance, which made me feel better for inconveniencing someone. All I knew was that Mitzy, Sarah, and I all wanted to go to the ladies' meeting that night and hear Laurie speak, and I didn't want to make Mitzy late for that.

She arrived at 4:00 sharp and we drove to her place to the can of mower gas. Drove to my van, put the gas in, but it wasn't enough to start the engine. Went to the station, put more gas in the can (which I kind of spilled on those cute new shoes of mine) , returned to the van and fed it more. Finally. The sound of a working engine! It didn't sound 100% normal, though, and I asked if Mitzy would follow me to her house. I would sit and wait for Sarah to get off work and follow me home. Didn't want to chance another mishap without a cell phone. She agreed and we arrived at her home around 5. Poor gal had to skip her choir rehearsal, change her dinner plans from baked chicken to scrambled eggs, and needed a shower to get the gasoline smell off herself.
She wouldn't take help in the kitchen, wouldn't let me stay in my van (even though I smelled) but insisted I have a seat on her couch and relax. She refused letting me spring for pizza and gave me an ice cold water to drink. Completely hospitable, in spite of her many dashed plans.

Sarah arrived at 5:20 with Joel in tow, and followed me the nearest gas station to get a complete fill-up. She then had to drive to her school for a meeting and back to the ladies' meeting, skipping dinner. Boy, had I really messed up. Meanwhile, I threw a meal together and took a shower, set my stinky shoes on the porch to air out, and donned a new set of threads.

I got to the ladies' meeting just in time to grab a cold drink and a seat with friends. A feeling of safety and belonging rushed over me and I wanted to cry a river of relief, but it would've been inappropriate. The Holy Spirit gave me self-control to hold in my tears, a trick I didn't believe could be taught to an old dog. I've been a crier all my life, but I must credit the Lord for training me through training my students that emotions must be controlled. It "just so happened" that Laurie's talk was on self-control, and I was glad I had already realized victories in self-control with my appetite and emotions before she came back to town. Otherwise, I am pretty sure I would have refused the chocolate at our table out of guilt and not because it was a fruit of self-control. The Lord was kind to me in so many ways in my Out of Gas experience.

The day after God sent me a crow for reassurance, I had to "eat crow" in front of my coworkers and students. Some laughed, some admitted they were concerned, some played right into Sarah's assumption that I had forgotten about school. One thing I learned: if you're gonna run out of gas, keep your cell phone charged. If you're gonna let your cell die, keep gas in your car. But even if you're stupid again--which you will be--God will be there.

Sarah's Accident

This morning was like most mornings except that I was to have a 9 a.m. appointment at the gym with someone who would teach me about FitLinx, a way to track your fitness goals electronically. But at 8 this morning I didn't have a peace about keeping the appointment. I am still quite sore from last night's workout and have a housework goal looming as large as my backside.

Stephen's Jeep was blocked into our driveway by the fleet that we have as five drivers. So he took the convertible and would switch later with Sarah. I thought no more of it; it barely registered as an oddity.

On the way out the door at 9:00, Sarah plopped a paper on the table and asked if I'd check over it and mark it up. She'd be home before work to fix it. Praying for the kids is the most I can do;marking their papers is the least.

The phone rang about ten minutes after she left. Her voice was shaking and she was crying. I knew. "Mom...I've been hit!... Can you come?" I asked where she was and if she was okay. Then I called Paul who said, "Was it her fault?" and a couple other questions and I said "I don't think so, I need to go." He said, "Don't do anything stupid," which is his code way of saying, "Don't say much on the scene, admit fault or say everything's fine." (He keeps it simple and I usually understand him.)

I threw on a decent shirt and made a couple calls for prayer and to let the school know what happened in case I didn't show up today. (Rainy Wednesday. Car problems...Hmm....sound familiar? I was tempted to superstition but instead chose to thank God for his protection two rainy Wednesdays in a row.)

"Be her peace, her Prince of Peace," I said. "and the other person who hit her. For that matter, be mine, too, Lord," I prayed as my heart picked up tempo.

I saw flashing cop car lights but only a dark SUV on the other side of the road, Oh, Lord, she got hit by a big one. where is she? I wondered. Maybe she's behind that SUV in a ditch? Then where's the ambulance? How could she have called me if she was flipped over in a ditch?

The cop was in his vehicle filling out paperwork. I asked him through his window, "I'm looking for my daughter, She was driving the convertible?"

"Convertible?" He looked dumbfounded, or like I was an apparition. He pointed to the Jeep.

Then it clicked. She was in Steve's Jeep! Thank God! Oh, thank you, God! Stephen took the convertible to school!

Sarah was sitting in the front seat with her cell phone, calm and smiling, She got out and hugged me and told me the details. I walked around the right side of the Jeep and saw the big dent in the back door. The lady had pulled out apparently from her housing development in her SUV. Oh, Lord, had Sarah been hit by that,,, I don't want to think about it.

Part of me wanted to cross the street and ask the lady if she was okay and to reassure her. It must feel so terrible to be the one at fault.

But Paul's words,"Don't do anything stupid" came back to me. It could be stupid to cross this busy, wet road. It could be stupid to open my mouth in the name of calming someone else." So I simply told Sarah I wanted to drive her to school. She balked, said she was okay, but I insisted I at least follow her to campus. Driving after an accident can be nerve wracking, but she was already nervous because she en route to give a presentation at school. "All the more reason I follow you to school," said, the Mother Hen I am .

She arrived safely and I thanked God as she parked the Jeep that He had been merciful to her, to us, in arranging (or from my perspective, rearranging) the details and outcomes of this rainy Wednesday.

How to Have Your Crow and Eat it, Too: Part 2

The drizzle continued, and my hazard lights were still on, but after a half hour, no one had stopped. A cop car had passed without so much as slowing down. I got out, propped up the hood and opened the gas tank door to show I was having engine trouble. Got back in and began to pray once more, asking God for wisdom.

"Lord, I know You hear me, I do. Even though humans don't seem to care a bit, I know You do. Would You be so kind as to give me a sign that You are here with me?"

I kid you not, when I checked my rearview mirror, I saw a crow fly down onto the side of the road, close to the van. Like Elijah's raven! It's my Baltimore raven--er, crow. I didn't need food, Lord, but I needed assurance, and You've done that for me. I smiled at God's kindness. The bird took off and I began planning something besides waiting for help.

Another cop car passed but didn't slow down. I was too afraid to stand on the edge of a busy highway. I've heard of too many pedestrian accidents. In the next hour, off and on, I would start to wonder if Paul or the kids had been notified that I hadn't shown up for work, and were they worried? Did Paul get a call? Was anyone out looking for me? I would have been out looking for any of them had they not reported to work as scheduled. Self-pity and a slight bit of anger gripped me, but when I was rational, I realized it hadn't been all that long.

Cars continued to zoom on by, including a third cop car. No help. On and off for an hour, however, that plain, black crow alighted on the road behind me. Even in my sin, God is reassuring me of His love. At 2:37 I decided to walk. I took a dirty, white art smock from my trunk and tied it to the side mirror. Then, I took off my brand new silver wedges, grabbed an umbrella and my purse, locked the van, and dashed across the highway. I put my shoes back on and trudged in the damp and somewhat muddy grassy area between jersey walls. I felt totally at peace most of the time when I was thanking God for cool air, that this was 2:30 p.m. not a.m., that I wasn't lost, that my destination was only a half mile away or so, and that I had started getting in shape a month ago so that I was up to the task. But when my mind went to thoughts like, "I hope nobody recognizes me, I hope I don't twist my ankle, I probably look kooky in semi-professional clothes carrying an umbrella, walking between jersey walls,' that's when I felt my heart race.

God, would you send an old couple along, someone I could outrun if I had to? I don't want a
capable young or strong man to offer help. But I would love a ride. A short time later I heard honking from what sounded like a big ole Chevy car. I turned around. A big ole car (Chevy, I'll never know) stopped, but it was headed the opposite direction. I kept walking. Two minutes later it was back, going my way. They pulled over. It was a couple about 80 years old. I didn't get any closer to them; I stayed right where I was, panting from my brisk walk.

"Do you need help?" the old man asked, his wife next to him.

And what did I say? "No, thanks. I ran out of gas, but the station's right up there."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Thanks."

So they drove away and I approached the hectic, dangerous intersection on foot. It was the
independent streak in me, the fool. Even after asking God for an old couple who stopped not once but twice for me, I didn't want to bother them to take me all the way home, but honestly had no intention of buying a gas can, filling it up, and carrying it back to the van. I only hoped to find a pay phone still in existence so I wouldn't have to ask someone for a cell. My only thought was getting through to Sarah to ask her to pick up Joel and maybe come bail me out.

How to Have Your Crow and Eat it, Too: Part I

Moron! That's what I told myself as the van choked out on the side of the road yesterday.

I had just left my first Weight Watchers meeting and was headed to school where I teach afternoon classes. Karen had met up with me at the 12:30 meeting and had helped me keep an eye on the clock; I left WW at 1:00. My intention was to stop for gas and then zip to school.

The station was less than a half mile way, as the crow flies, from where I pulled over on the shoulder of Route 24, out of the way of a seeming zillion cars in the early afternnon. I looked at the clock. 1:12. Oh, no. I am supposed to be there by 1:30.

I reached for my cell phone. Dead!

You're really a moron! No gas, no cell phone? How stupid can you be? How old are you? What now? Pray.

Lord, I've done it again. I'm so stupid. I know I should have gotten gas before the meeting, but I didn't want to be late. Please send me help soon so I can get to school. After all, I was looking forward to acting out my lesson on Hard Times: Soup Kitchens in the Great Depression. I had my box of chicken broth along and everything. Can cars run on chicken broth? I was tempted for a second to find out.

Stay with the vehicle. That's what Paul would tell me. I wished he were here. Even though he'd chew me out, it'd be better than being alone. Oh, Father, help me. Please send someone!
I watched my rearview as drizzle began to collect on the windshield--and my heart. Raindrops got heavier and the clock ticked on. It was now 1:37. They'd start to wonder, where is she? You're putting people out, making Cheryl wait. You've been impatient when kids have dawdled on the way to class, and now you're making them wait. Irresponsible! Why did you even try to make the Weight Watchers meeting? Is your weight loss more important than being prepared for school?

The word "prepared" made me laugh and cry at once. Teaching fifth and sixth graders means training students in personal responsibility--to help them remember to have pencils, papers, books, and homework where they need it, when they need it. I occasionally have to send home an " Unprepared Slip" with a student for a parent to sign. When a student forgets something really important that messes up other people's day, I hand a writing assignment to the offender, requiring they tell me all the ways their irresponsibillity has affected others, and make them write a note of apology, asking forgiveness of all involved. Let's see, running out of paper versus running out of gas. Hmmm.

In the distance I could see the intersection where I could turn, where just at the crest of the hill is a gas station. I was so close! Then I heard a medevac helicopter, and suddenly it was hovering just beyond the intersection somewhere. Bad accidents were common here. I quickly thought about where each of my driving-age kids would be. Ben: home working on a paper. Stephen: school or home. Sarah...works at 1:00. Dear Lord, I hope Sarah made it to work okay. I hope she didn't take 24 to work today.

Fear seized me like a grizzly bear. "God, take these thoughts. What do I do?"

Sing, He said. Sing to Me.

I was reminded of a blog post my friend, Emily, had written. No details, just the title and remembering what Paul and Silas did in their time of distress: they sang. So I began "How Great Thou Art, " which--oddly enough--led into "Silent Night" . (Whatever, it brought my thoughts into submission.)

This is no time to cry. What do you tell your students when they are about to cry over something trivial? "Take it like a man." But Lord, I've got too much woman in me to take it like a man. Help me! Help me get a grip! I'm out of gas, not oxygen. I don't want someone to come along and find me in a full panic with mascara lines down to my shoulders.

I giggled a little to myself when I realized I was weeping on the side of a major highway: Lord, you've given me a "shoulder" to cry on.

Then I wondered, what if someone heard about that accident, knew I hadn't shown up for work, and... Oh, Lord, please guard anyone I love from thinking it's me. Don't let anyone be worried. I'm fine!

Fine? You're a hypocrite as well as a moron! my thoughts said, clearly crafted by the Enemy of my Soul. You're causing people to worry, you're never gonna make it to school, you'll be the laughingstock of the campus. If you can't keep gas in your car, you shouldn't have a license. Satan's attack was vicious, each thought piercing my mind like a snakebite.

Losing its Grip

This weekend I have felt something of a real victory in my life. I hesistate to say anything for fear that maybe it's just a victory in a battle, not in the war--the war on stuff.

The battle was staged in my bedroom closet. For years I have clung to stuff. Stuff that reminded me of a better time in life. Stuff that made me
remember certain people every time I looked at it. Stuff that made me feel smart or successful or, at least, above average. Stuff that I would make into something new, somehow, someday.

I have had many closet-cleanouts before. Dejunking marathons. 27-thing flings. Weight-loss contests where the weight was measured in pounds of stuff. But always before I have found myself holding back, reluctant to truly give up and let go of things I loved more than the space they occupied. I could never understand the root of my problem. And it wasn't for lack of seeking to understand; I had read seemingly every book on the topic of organizing and simplifying. My problem wasn't a lack of knowledge. I can organize. I can simplify. But the stuff kept me in bondage anyway. I didn't know what my real problem was.

Until this weekend.

God gave me a major revelation about my War Against Stuff. The real reason I hadn't conquered the sin of hoarding finally surfaced. The truth had do to with the timing of the Lord's providence.

Had you asked me if I believed God has always provided for me, I'd say, "Yes."
If you were to ask if I believe He always will provide for me , I would say, perfunctorily, "Of course."

So, then, what was the problem?

The problem, as it hit me like a wooden bat, was this: I didn't believe God would provide what I needed exactly when I needed it. He would procrastinate. He would withhold. Dangle the proverbial carrot in front of this donkey's nose with almost sinister pleasure. Therefore, to reassure myself, I would store whatever I could think of "just in case" (and the ugly reality of my heart said, "just in case God doesn't come through when you need something").

It hit me, not coincidentally, as I lay on the floor of my closet picking up small bits of trash before vacuuming. The last big item left after trash stood neatly wrapped by its own cord in the far corner under a winter coat. It was a full-length body massaging mat. Black, about feet 3 feet wide and 7 feet long, with a remote control for both massage and heat, it's something I rarely use now, but it was perfect when I needed it. My older sister sent it to me as a gift right after Joel was born when I was in intense pain on bedrest 24/7 for over a month. Having ruptured my pelvic ligaments in a freak delivery, I was severely limited in mobility, unable to take stairs or put my own pants on. "What do you really need?" she had inquired."It sounds like you've got all the baby stuff you could want."

I had cried and cried when she asked. "I want a backrub all the time," I said. "Even with Mama here every day to help, it's all Paul can do to care for a newborn, check the schoolwork, keep the house and laundry going, track my meds, get me changed and my hair washed, and hold down a job. Sarah is practically Joel's mother except for feeding him. Ben and Stephen feel awkward enough seeing me lay here helpless. I don't want to ask one more thing, but I am so sore all the time. I need a backrub every day, but I don't have the courage to ask."

I was merely pouring out my complaints to a caring sister; it didn't occur to me that a loving Father was also listening. Telling Rachel my feelings was cathartic, though I had no idea she could do anything about my need for a daily massage; she lived in Texas, I in Maryland. But a few days later something from her showed up in the mail. When I saw what it was, I sobbed and sobbed. (I was a daily bucket of tears.) God had heard my very specific need and used my sister to answer it. I had no idea this kind of device even existed. Not only would it massage where I needed it, it had a remote control. At a time when I had no control over anything, not even my paralyzed bladder, it was so liberating to be able to effect change by pushing a button.

So, this past Saturday, as I moved this marvelous massaging doohickey on the floor of my closet, God reminded me of His perfect timing. He had not been late back in February of 2002. He was just waiting for me to make my request known. He hadn't procrastinated, for that's a sin, and He cannot sin. He had not been withholding, dangling a carrot before my eyes with sinister pleasure; He was waiting for me to ask for it so that I could receive the pleasure of His answers.
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I went shopping this afternoon because I had parted with so many ill-fitting clothes, 80% of which I never wear. My remaining lot gets worn so often I call it my school uniform. However, in the stores, as I looked at clothes (and pillows and purses and shoes and dishes and linens), I honestly did not feel compelled to have any of it. None. I wasn't feeling depressed. I didn't feel guilty for looking. I didn't sense that "I'll feel better if I buy something" or "This might not be here next time" or "This would look great in the family room." Rather, I kept thinking, "God, I feel so loved, so blessed, so cared for. I don't need anything today. I don't even want it. This is such a new feeling. Thank You!!!"

I don't say this with the stupidity of one who thinks she'll never covet again, never feel a "need" (really, a want with a worldly nickname), never feel glee when shopping again. No, I'm human. I'm a woman. I'm a homemaker. And I like to shop. I have lived long enough to battle materialism and discontentment over and over. But I can say this: I feel like the chains of mistrusting God for what I need WHEN I need it, have been broken. And that beats a massage (hands down) any day.

My Not-So-Little Drummer Boy

Reasons to rejoice abound daily. This past week we've received kindness upon kindness from God in myriad ways.

A bit more than 17 years ago, I asked God to make the baby in my womb a musician with the skill level and passion for the chosen instrument that was surpassed only by his passion for the One for Whom he played. Naturally I made sure he got piano lessons. Of course I was delighted when he showed interest in the guitar. But passion? Oh, boy. Only the drums became an object of his musical passion. Thankfully I hadn't closed the door of my heart on that one, but I have certainly closed the door of his bedroom countless times!

He had a few lessons by the drummer at church, who has been drumming faithfully every single week for a long, long time. Not only has it been a major sacrifice for Matt to be the sole drummer for the band, but Leanne (his wife) was driving separately month after month, or going with him and hanging out for a couple hours every Sunday, I'm not sure which. So, last summer, when we asked if he'd give Stephen lessons and for how much, he agreed to a ridiculously discounted rate-- "selfishly". It was a savvy move to offer an unbeatable incentive: prepare Steve for music ministry sooner rather than later:). Thanks, Matt! You're a good man. And Leanne, I'm giving you a standing ovation as I type this!

Stephen was recently asked to join the Sunday morning worship team practice, which honored and scared him. Within short order they asked him to play on March 15th. Whoa. He practiced hard and took advice from Paul. I peeked in on them Saturday night. Father/son jam fest in Stephen's tiny room, which has three pieces of furniture: a bunkbed, a bookcase, and a drum set. (The dresser is in the closet; the room is that small.)

He told me the next morning he was extremely nervous, but we assured him it was normal. He was afraid he was making it more about himself than about God; hence the excessive nerves. So we prayed for him , again. I didn't notice any flubs in his playing, but then again, my eyes were not glued on him the whole time. He was doing such a good job enhancing and blending with the music that he didn't stick out. Bravo. Only afterwards did he tell me that, when he was practicing, he changed the lyrics (in his mind) of a popular song, Blessed Be the Name of the Lord. He sang something like, "and if I drop a stick or lose the tempo, blessed be Your Name."
He said both happened that morning, but he kept right on worshiping.

Top 8 in '08

Kristin shared her top 8 blessings/memories from '08. It prompted me to think of mine.

Here are mine:

1. Improvement in our marriage
2. Watching my children mature in the Lord and serve the church
3. Wonderful vacation in Myrtle Beach--had just my own little family, no tag- alongs...loved it.
4. Jobs: Paul's great new job as AVP of underwriting; Ben's as a tree feller; Sarah's as a church secretary; Steve's as a salesman at a Christian bookstore, Joel's as a comedian, mine as a teacher
5. Watching my children use their God-given bents (Ben in business, Sarah with young children, Steve in music and theology, Joel in art) and their love of learning/discipline to study hard.
7. God's care for family members' health: my sister's benign tumor, Ben's multiple hospital incidents, my parents' renewed strength, my new orthotics
8. A fun Saab story to tell plus a Jeep for Stephen, the two together costing only 4600 bucks.

Consider leaving your top 8 here or use this as a tag and let me know.

Cardboard Testimonies: Please Pass the Kleenex

On this Election Day, I am keenly grateful that God elected me to be one of His children. I am also thrilled beyond expression that each of the people in the following video are my brothers and sisters in Christ who also happen to be part of my very own church.

Some of my friends have posted this link, but I realize we don't all share entirely the same readership. I want even more people to be blessed, so please take a couple minutes to watch it. You'll be glad you did. Just don't forget the tissue box. You're gonna need it. I haven't been this moved in a long time

These cardboard testimonies were given on our New Name Sunday, which was this past week. Formerly known as Chesapeake Community Church,we are now Sovereign Grace Church.

Praying for Dawn to Meet the Light (new title!)

I realized several hours after posting this that my old title was theologically incorrect. It was "Praying for the Light to Meet the Dawn." Silly me! The Light--Jesus Christ--has known her since before the foundation of the world. It is Dawn who needs to meet Him!

In our care group is a tender-hearted, evangelistic couple named Toby and Kelly. Several weeks ago Kelly told us that she had a burden for the families in her neighborhood, namely the women.

She wanted to start a ladies' evening Bible study that would accomodate women who work during the day--which is probably 75% of her neighbors. Her husband asked her to stroll around the neighborhood 7 times, praying for the women, before handing out even one invitation.

(I joked, "So, at the end of the seventh march, are you gonna blow a trumpet and flee from all the tumbling houses?) She complied with Toby's wishes. And, for the record, all the houses are still standing.

We prayed together at length over this matter during a care group. In so doing, I got a picture of a woman with her nose pressed up against her window, watching for someone to come to her door with the good news of Jesus Christ. This woman, in my vision, was a petite woman, nearly pixie-like, with long blonde hair. I shared the vision with the group, albeit a bit timidly, and also shared that I saw several houses on her street lit up at night. The houses that were lit up had been touched by the Light Himself.

In faith, Toby and Kelly printed up invitations and she passed them out to women on their end of the street (I'm thinking about 20?)

What happened next gave me goosebumps. The first night (last Monday) Kelly had only one lady come to the Bible study. Her name is Dawn. She had been wanting to read her Bible more, but didn't exactly know how to get started. Kelly described her as Catholic, a social networker, having blonde hair below the shoulders, and "so small you could put her in your pocket."

Her name is Dawn. What is dawn but the first light?

Please pray that more ladies would come to the Bible study tonight. It's the book of Mark in which Jesus is clearly on display.

The Majesty of God in the Sheriff's Department

Today I had to be fingerprinted for my job. I tried two days ago, but the line was too long and I had other things pressing. I didn't know what could take so long. Ink ten fingers one at a time and presto!

It doesn't work like that anymore. Forget the ink. Now the technology is more sophisticated, at least at our local precinct that can afford the $24,000 machine. You stand at arm's length from the scanner, the cop sprays water on your fingers, takes a print, and waits for the machine to tell him if it passed. They need scores of at least 93% to be acceptable. Otherwise they get a reading called "POOR MINUTIA."

The guy explained that since women's hands are softer than men's, they are harder to print. My prints were taking forever to be acceptable. and he explained that mine were the softest hands he had felt in a long time. That made me feel good, but I pitied the other lady waiting for her turn. He also said they're looking for two distinct parts: the swirl in the center of each print, and the deltas (pyramids to the edge of each of swirl).

"Your deltas are way off to the edge of your fingertips," he said, pointing to the sides of my nails.

"Sorry," I said. "Is there anything I can do to help that? " Of course we both knew the answer.

"Nope, not a thing. There's no problem with your hands, you just have very soft ones and the deltas are so far apart it's hard to get a clear reading. " I wanted to suggest he read my palms instead. Maybe there'd be easy-to-find deltas there. But I kept my smart mouth closed and tried not to giggle. "That's what makes you you," he added.

I got serious. "It's utterly fascinating, " I told him, "--a testimony to our creative God. No two fingerprints alike, " I said.

"Hey, that is so true," he said. "You can't tell me there's not an Intelligent Designer. I don't buy that crap about evolution. Six and a half billion people on the face of the earth, and not one set of fingerprints the same. No one can convince me that we came from apes or chipmunks."

"I agree," I said. "Even every chipmunk out there has unique fingerprints, too--in case you want to get into the chipmunk fingerprinting business someday."


What seemed like a major time-eater on my long to-do list before vacation ended up being a
wonderful setting for talking about the wonders of God. Six and a half billion times ten of them....and counting.

Announcing a New Direction

At long last my answer came yesterday.

I was hired by our church school to teach art, writing, grammar, and U.S. History.
Art will be for the 3rd/4th grade class as well as the 5th/6th grade class. As for the other subjects, I will be teaching only the 5th/6th grade class (a combined class, for those who don't know).

I've been so excited I can hardly sleep. My mind stays alert planning fun stuff. (I hope it's fun, anyway.) I want my classroom to be the most fun one in the whole building. No, actually, if it's as fun as Joel's first grade class, I'll be happy.

If I had the mental energy right now to tell the nifty details of how this all happened, I would. But for now I'll just say I feel privileged, humbled, excited, and a bit nervous all at once. It's such an answer to prayer.

I will also keep my feet in the homeschool world by teaching a writing class on Thursday to two high school girls. They really want to improve as writers, so they're self-motivated. They'll be coming to my house. The girls' mothers have been begging for a few years, but this is the first time it's worked out all the way around. Once again, an answer to prayer(s)!

Being Emptied, Part 2

As I closed my eyes in prayer, God gave me a vision in preparation for this cathartic, healing, redemptive act about to take me from mourning to rejoicing. The vision was that of a checklist on a large projection screen under bright lights in a dark room. The only viewers were God and me. The lefthand column contained a list of my own idols--substitutes for loving God with all my heart and soul. This list of idols could have been titled "What I Have Been Trying to Find Satisfying." He showed me relationships, objects, gifts, talents, memories, hobbies, activities, and plans. Things that, honestly, I do find satisfying... for awhile. (And if it edifies someone else, even for awhile, I justify, then it's okay.) Then I'm on to something else. Or I'm angry that whatever or whoever I was putting so much effort into when they disappointed me. Worst of all --in my book--I don't deserve to be disappointed over and over.


On the righthand side of the screen were the words "or Me?" and was accompanied by a voice I recognized as God's. My eyes would scan the list one by one. It wasn't that each of the things in my list was wrong of itself. For example, "Paul? ....................or Me?" I knew He wasn't asking me to give Paul up, but give up expecting him to fulfill me as only my Eternal Husband can.
"The kids?.........or Me?" Could I still bless God if He took one of them from me? I love them, Lord, but I do love You more. "The house?......or Me?" Dear Jesus, I love my house, it's my home, but I'd rather have You! "Art? Shopping? Food?.....or Me?" Take them all, dear God, but don't take Your Spirit from me. I can handle anything as long as I have you!"


This encounter reminded me of one Jesus had with Peter a couple thousand years ago. "Do you love Me more than these?"

The list on my screen was short because God is merciful. Yet it seemed incredibly long to me. And really, really ugly. Really, really offensive. I hate to admit it, but seldom do I realize how my own sin (not the sin of "the world" or of "other people") repulses God. Seldom do I genuinely confess that my sin alone was enough to drive nails through Jesus's hands and cause God to turn His face from His own dear Son. Sure, I hear about it all the time, but sadly it's often close to being another churchy cliche' when it lands on my ears. Our pastors do a wonderful job of emphasizing both personal sin and the mercy of God, but honestly I'm quick to skim over the former to get to the latter.

This time was different. This time I didn't try to rename my sins or classify them as being "big" or "little," or "against others"or "against God" in my usual effort to minimize their impact on me. No, this time God let me feel a tiny bit of the impact sin had--and has-- on Him. If this tiny bit of the whole of my sin--one person's!--feels like a crushing tsunami, I can't bear to think what all of my sin did to Jesus. I can't bear it, I can not bear it; that's true. Jesus bore it. Only He could. It's too great for a human. At least God keeps His face toward me. He turned it away from Jesus on the cross. I've never known what it's like to have God's back toward me. He resists my pride, yes, but he never forsakes me.

After what was probably just a few minutes of meditating and grieving, I asked God's forgiveness for the idolatry I had seen on that "screen." In an instant my shame was gone. I was forgiven.

I felt a new rush of water. This one wasn't salty and crushing like a tsunami. It was fresh and uplifting. Suddenly I was transported from a dark room to a river raft, dangling my bare feet over the sides into cool water under a summer sun. Ahh, refreshing. I was free. I was in love again with my sweet Jesus. Rejoicing, I fell asleep in peace.

Thank You, God, for Your mercy. Thank you for revealing what I needed to see and then forgiving me of it.