Initial Evidence

Oh! Mama!: Initial Evidence

Lydia puts this so well....

Merry Christmas

I used to have a Peanuts cartoon that said "Happiness is seeing Christ in Christmas". I hope that Christ's love and salvation touch your life in a special way this Christmas.

I can't feel your feet

K was leaning over my shoulder reading emails and he kept stepping on my toes. I finally said to him, "Why do you keep stepping on me? Can't you feel your feet?" To which he matter-of-factly responded. "I can feel my feet, Mommy. I just can't feel yours!"

The Santa Trap

K asked recently if Santa was real. Well, no, not really, though there once was a man like Santa, but he died hundreds of years ago. But because he was so good, parents still pretend he is alive and do things in his name.

So, we stopped by Dari-Mart for milk the other night and the clerk says to K excitedly, "Are you all ready for Santa?"

"Santa's not real," says K, looking at me, then at her.

Without missing a beat she says, "He is real if he is in your heart!"

K smiles.

Now K is devising plans to find out if Santa is real. First he thought he could take all the presents from under the tree (there are none yet, by the way) and see if any appear overnight on Christmas Eve. We told him he could sleep on the couch if he wanted. Then he thought about leaving the video camera on all night, then setting a trap.... But then he thought, perhaps if he did those things, Santa would consider him naughty and not leave him a present.

So he is still thinking this one through. I'm pretty sure Santa will sneak a present under the tree for him. He's a pretty good kid. It's amazing how "real" Santa is, isn't it?

Recently, K has gotten into the Santa Spirit...He has been wearing his Santa hat and we bought him a tree skirt, in lieu of a costume, and he has been wearing that as a Santa cape....And has really been enjoying wrapping presents. He even had his horses make pictures and cards for everyone who will be at L & J's on Christmas.

Narnia

K was watching TV the other day and the question was asked, "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?" K's answer? "Narnia."

Yeah! Me too!!

Calling the Cows

One of my favorite memories of my brother Clifford is from when I was young and he milked the dozen or so cows they had on the farm. Often, the cows were across the creek, up the hill and he would send the dog to go get the cows. Sometimes there would be a "troublemaker" and he would have to go up himself to get her.

But when all the cows were stanchioned and fed, I used to sit in the hay above the cows and just listen to the rhythm of the automatic milking machines pulsing and whooshing and clicking, and to my brother singing above the din of it all in his deep bass voice. It was a safe, comfortable place, filled with the glorious smells of warm milk, sweet hay, grain and cows. Yes, I like the smell of cows!!

I think one of the things I loved so much was the music. There was no shyness in Cliff's singing. It was loud and confident; I suspect even the cows liked it.

I think I was born to be loud and boisterous and carefree. I watch my son during basketball practice; and while the other kids are dribbling, bent-kneed, quick and agile, he is skipping and dribbling, carefree, and just happy to be in the moment. He is SO like Cliff that way.

I think I was meant to be that way, too. It always seems to sneak out of me in unguarded moments. I talk too loudly or I get up from my chair and dance into the kitchen to the tune of some old music on TV (much to the amusement of my husband). But Mom had to work when I was little, and left me in the care of "Nanny", a 70-something-year-old lady who could not tolerate noise or raucous, and so I learned to be quiet in my speech and movement...most of the time.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I loved Cliff's singing so much. Perhaps this is where I learned that it was okay to be noisy around cows. Or perhaps it's something in the genes.

I heard several stories about Cliff's ability to call the cows today. I was a little surprised to learn that it was a gift or a skill. I had seen him do it all my life. It never occurred to me that not everyone did this. I have worked for three dairies over the course of my life. When I worked for the Pitneys, Jim had his replacement herds in various pastures. In the summer he would run a herd of young heifers on a pasture off Cox Butte Road. I never saw the back of the pasture. We took a 5-gallon bucket of grain out to them every day, checked their water and did a head count and cursory health check. One day we went out and there were no heifers to be seen. I said to Jim, "Where are they?" He said to me, "Watch this." He dumped the grain in the feeder then turned the bucket upside down and began to beat on the bottom of it like a drum. Shortly, I heard rustling from the shade of the woods. It grew louder and louder and pretty soon 22 heifers emerged from the wood, trotting over to their dinner.

When Gary and I were first getting to know each other, one thing that amazed him about me was my ability to call the cows. He has a memory of me leaning out the barn door, calling, "C'mon ladies!" and the whole herd began to wake from their afternoon naps and meander into the holding pen. (I always felt more at home in a milking parlor than anywhere else...I could be loud and dance and just be myself...and the cows never told a soul!)

Anyone familiar with dairies knows there is no magic in this. Cows are conditioned...they want to eat and they want to be milked. Usually, at four in the morning, the lights turning on in the parlor and milk house, the sound of the hay being thrown down and grain being scooped into the feeders, and the sound of the vaccum pump and rinse water being run through the lines--all of these things are equivalent to ringing the breakfast bell.

But dairy cows are one thing. They are used to being handled. They are tame.

I remember my first experience with beef cattle. It was on the Mendenhall farm and we were moving a couple of herefords that had gotten free back into a pasture. My job was to stand by the gate and make sure they did not go past me and past the gate, but rather through the gate. My first lesson in cow herding--stand there and wave your arms if they come toward you--probably earned me my first job on a dairy. (I would learn later that this does not work for sheep at all--they will run past you, under you or even over you... or even try to run right through you like you are not there--nope, I don't speak sheep at all!!) With cattle, if you are taller than they are, you are bigger.

By and large, dairy cattle are much tamer than beef cattle. And aside from beating the "tom-tom" to call them out of the woods for supper, they are not handled much and are in general, not likely to come when called. They ARE still cattle though, they get used to a routine, and they come to food. I'm sure my brother's ability to call them rested in the fact that he talked to them when he fed them or talked to them at all, and they knew his voice.

When I go out my back door, my horses always come. I am the chef. The back door opening means the possibilty of food. The truck starting up might mean we are going to get hay or something better. When I come home from a walk, a whinney nearly always greets me.

When I walk down the driveway to get the paper, there are usually three or four cats following me. Why? I don't feed them out on the road or take them for walks...they just follow me. And they follow me back to the house too. When I get up from my desk, my entourage of two dogs preceeds me. I cannot sneak anywhere in the house when the dogs are in, becuase whenever I get up from wherever I am, they go ahead of me. My old beagle was so attuned to my customs that if I put my "walking" shoes on, she would eagerly stand by the door and I could not leave without her.

I think the "ability" to call the cows (or the cats or the dogs or whomever) lies in the relationship to the creatures. My grandma could make friends with any creature. No matter where she was in the world, she took time to observe and interact with the creatures around her. I think THAT is the real gift. I suppose anyone could "call the cows", but not just anyone cares to!!

Another great post from Jamie

This was so good, I wanted to share with you all. My cousin, Jamie Downing, wrote this.


Saturday, December 6, 2008

The Imitator

Isaak likes to set the table, because that's what he sees the rest of us do. When the girls sit down at the school table to do schoolwork, Isaak climbs up into a chair and sits down to color. If someone is reading a book, he goes and gets one of his books to look at. Last week, he opened the door to the garage, just like everyone else is capable of doing. He's seen us go down the stairs sliding our hands along the banister, so when he scoots down the stairs (backwards), he slides his hand along the baseboard, just like the people he admires most!


As I watched him navigate down the stairs the other day, Ephesians 5:1 popped into my head. (OK, the verse popped into my head; I had to go look up the reference!) "Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children."

Isaak is always watching us, the big people in his life. He sees how we do things, and how we say things. He is learning from our examples! How much more should we, then, be imitating God!

Isaak has learned so much already from us, and now I am learning from his example. Imitating God is not a once-in-a-while deal, or a when-I-feel-like-it kind of thing. It is a watch-Him-constantly and always-do-our-best-to-copy-Him in every area of our lives kind of thing!

And it's so simple, a 19-month-old can do it! :)

Christmas Season has Begun

Some scenes from Christmases past....

2007~ This was the first year EVER that we put up lights. (Can you tell what humbugs and scrooges we are?). K found the reindeer relatively cheap at BiMart, on sale before Christmas!! So we put one with his front feet on the tree, like he was eating it, as deer (and horses) do. 2004~ This is Joe Kitty hiding under the tree. She would hide and every time we walked by, she would attack our ankles.

My favorite Santa and Elf.

G's favorite elf. ------->

Our favorite poodle and the Grandbeagle.

But for the creative baker in our family, K, the REAL tradition (besides lights and presents and tree and ritual cartoons like the Grinch and Frosty and Shrek the Halls and..and...and...) is our homeschool group's annual gingerbread house decorating party. Where we all come with our undecorated creations and pool our candies, make giant batches of frosting, and get loaded up on sugar. Fifty kids high on sugar. Football in the parking lot afterwards!!

2006~

I think if you click on these, you might get bigger images. Notice the K on the roof and the pretzel fence...Not for the faint of heart or unsteady of hand!

2007~ Anyone who knows K, knows how he loves trains, so this was a natural.
We got the idea from Family Fun Magazine. We learned a lot and hope to improve still this year!




2008~ (photo coming soon). K and I actually designed our own creation this year. (Not saying what it is, lest the cat get out of the bag and spoil the surprise for Friday!) I had K actually build his creation out of paper, then explained to him that gingerbread doesn't bend like paper, so we then made his creation out of cardboard, altering it slightly where the paper wanted to bend and imagining how we could make it out of flat pieces. Hoping it actually works...no one to copy....no magazine patterns...We made three batches of gingerbread dough and tomorrow mornng we roll and bake....Will post pictures later, assuming anyone is actually interested....

Notice the gold "treasure", the cannon and the pile of cannon balls, the sharks in the water with the guy overboard (don't know why K threw him both an anchor AND a life preserver, the fruit roll-up sail (gotta work on that aspect), and the snow on the deck--It IS Christmas after all! We definitely know where to improve next year!

2008~ All of our cats have been showing their kitten sides, ambushing one another around the tree, batting the bell, chasing ormanents all over the house and, of course, leaving a mess of needles that needs to be swept several times per day. What fun that the humans brought a tree in the house! Now, where is the nest? It's gotta be in there somewhere!


And just for fun...

Christmas 1965~ The REAL Santa.

Christmas 1966~ He's not the real one, he must be one of Santa's helpers.......

By Faith or By Sight?

I remember taking psychology in college (probably the easiest course I ever took) and I read about an experiment done with babies, probably about 6 months old, and the development of depth perception. The experiment involved putting a plexiglass floor over another floor about 3 feet down. Babies would crawl up to the edge, but not crawl across it. Another study was done where the babies again crawled up to the edge and stopped, but a parent was on the other side coaxing them across. The younger the babies were, the more eagerly they crawled across to their parents. As they got older, they had learned to put more trust in their own judgments.

With regard to my brother's health and my own prayers for and confidence in his healing, I feel like I am in a tug-of-war between faith and sight. By faith, I see a miraculous healing of all of this that plagues him now--the pneumonia, the Guillain-Barre syndrome, and ultimately the cancer. By faith, I see him completely restored to the man God created him to be. By faith, I see him in a relationship with God, gaining an understanding of his immense value, joyful that the One who knows him best loves him most, dancing and singing and playing his accordion again. By faith, I see any shyness about expressing his love for people gone. By faith, I see him accepting a hug from me and not blushing.

It's my flesh that struggles. My emotions get me every time. I hate riding the emotional roller coaster of better-worse-better-worse. I just need to close my eyes, I guess, and walk by faith. Oh for the trust of that 6-month-old who unhesitatingly crawls across the glass to her mother. My faith is more like that of Peter, who was eager to believe, but took his eyes off Jesus, and seeing the waves and being buffeted by the wind, he began to sink.

From "Walking on the Water" by Marcellino D'Ambrosio: "The most frequently repeated phrase in the gospels is “Do not be afraid!” The Lord is not speaking to our emotions here, since you can’t command emotions. He is speaking to our will. We must make a conscious decision not to allow fear to paralyze us. Peter sank because he stopped walking. Faith means to keep walking even when your knees are knocking."

They plan to take Cliff off the respirator Thursday. They plan to do this according to human sight. (Do not read judgment into these words. These decisions are being made by people who love Cliff and are doing as Cliff would wish.) I am still praying for and believing in complete healing.

From Cousin Jamie

I Am Thankful

I am thankful that when things happen that we don't expect, God is faithful in ways that we don't expect.

And I'm thankful that we can't see what's coming, either.

God is good!

(I thought this was well worth repeating, in case you don't happen over to Jamie's blog!)

I'd like to add that I am thankful for kindred spirits to walk through the hard times with, whose courage gives us strength, and whose love gives us courage.

Focus

Needless to say, if you have been following my blog lately, you probably know that I have been thinking about prayer A LOT.

K accompanied me to BiMart today and he found these cute little antlers. On the way home, the following conversation ensued, which brought my thoughts about prayer into clearer focus.

K: I'm glad I forced you to get me these antlers.

Me: You didn't force me. You asked and so I said okay.

K: Would you have bought them for me if I hadn't come?

Me: No, I probably would not even have seen them if you hadn't been with me.

I'll let you make your own inferences.....

Cinderella

I was three when the movie version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella was made, starring Lesley Ann Warren as Cinderella. I don't know how I old I was when I first saw it on TV, but it aired every year, as did The Wizard of Oz, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Sound of Music, and many other favorites. I suspect I was about four or five when I first saw it. But to me, THAT version is the quintessential Cinderella. As an adult, I saw the Julie Andrews version (1957), but as much as I love Julie Andrews' acting, she did not outdo Ms. Warren. The animated Disney version was cute, but the Disney version starring Brandy was horrid, because Brandy brought an air of haughtiness to the character that was never a part of MY Cinderella.

MY Cinderella, though she was in a tough situation and was treated poorly, never gave that attitude back. She remained respectful of her elders and obedient. She was kind to those who were not kind to her. Nevertheless, she never let them tromp on her dreams. She was my ideal. She taught me that people can control your environment but they cannot control your mind.

She had faith that her kindness would be rewarded and that her inner beauty would be seen. When she meets the prince for the first time, she offers him a drink of water and he says, "Thank you most kindly." And she replies, "You are most kindly welcome." When she meets him at the dance, the same lines are exchanged and he vaguely remembers them. Then, when he comes around to her house with the slipper and she is made to go outside and not be seen, she is in despair, thinking she will never see him again, but offers him a drink of water and he again says, "Thank you most kindly" and she replies, nearly in tears, "You are most kindly welcome, Your Highness." At that point it is the kindness that he recognizes, not her beauty. And then he remembers, "We have spoken these words before...Not only here, but in a moonlit garden." To me, this is the culmination of all her hopes and dreams--the answer to "Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you?"--It is her kindness he sees, not her lovely fairy-godmother-crafted gown, not her breeding, not her family, not her education. It's what is on the inside that makes her beautiful to him.

This is the palette of my dreams growing up. This is the standard by which my hopes were set. She didn't have to be sassy to get her way. She didn't have to be unkind and stand up for her rights. She just held to her guns and tried to be kind, and in the end her dreams came true.

And this is the essence of my fairy tale with God. I remember being a teenager and listening to Second Chapter of Acts, singing from Revelation 19, "On a white horse riding is He, incorruptible. He is called faithful and true. He rules in power and wages war in righteousness, holiness and justice and uprightness. His eyes blazing like fire, and on His head many kingly crowns. He is dressed in a robe of red, by dipped in blood, and He is called the Word of God."

Wow, Christ is my Prince Charming, white horse and all!! But not only that, just like Cinderella's Prince, he sees what's on the inside of me. He treasures who I am on the inside. And he knows me! "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight." (1 Peter 3:3,4)

He understands all the times that I have been kind to those who have not been kind to me. "...Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps. 'He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.' When they hurled insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats."

(1 Peter 2: 21-23)

I could never have imagined the Prince who came to my rescue, riding on a white horse. Of lowly birth I may have been, rejected by some, wounded by some...my story is no different than yours; but Behold! He comes!!

The Pillar of Cloud

Did you ever wonder what that "pillar of cloud" looked like that accompanied the Hebrews in the wilderness? Around here we often see "dust devils" in the summer, and they are awesome enough when they are big. But that pillar of cloud was the manifestation of God's presence--it must have been nothing short of terrifying!

Once, when I was visiting my folks at the coast, I was sitting on the floor facing the ocean. The sun had just set and I saw shooting from east to west coming from over the house and going toward the ocean, the most beautiful green light. It took my breath away. I gasped in wonder, fear and anticipation. I think I was momentarily speechless. I don't recall that anyone else had seen it. When I finally spoke, I'm sure I was a bit incoherent, but I finally put into words what I had seen and Dad reassured me that it was just someone on the beach shooting off flares. I tried to believe him, but that feeling of anticipation and excitement mingled with fear stayed with me. The next day, I read in the paper that it was a huge bolide that had been seen from all over the Northwest, mostly going from north to south, but breaking up and with a big piece going westward. That was what I saw!!

I have had that same "breathtaking" experience on a handful of occasions, usually in dreams. But I know that when Jesus returns--if I am still here--that is EXACTLY how I will feel--only magnified!

We have been enjoying watching "Storm Chasers" lately (sort of sane, sort of reality TV). And I have been fascinated by the tornadoes. There tends to be a pattern to them. Like the whirlpools we see as the bath water slurps down the drain, tornadoes start as BIG, slowly swirling cloud masses. The speed picks up, the circle tightens, and the funnel forms and often appears to be looking for someplace particular to land.

I'm thinking that is how it is with God's spirit, the manifestation of His power in our lives. The mighty, massive, ominous cloud begins to circle slowly overhead. It picks up speed and the funnel forms, looking for a particular spot to touch down, a place where He is being praised, where people are in a posture to allow the tornado to work through them. But when it hits, it is no dust devil; there is no doubting the presence of God in the place.

Note: It is important to note that funnels do not usually form in sunny skies and that just the presence of people postured to allow God to work through them does not automatically bring the manifestation of His power...We don't know which way the wind blows; but we need to be ready for it when it comes!!

Proverbs 14:10--More on Free Will

"Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy."

I feel very strongly that it is not God's desire for my brother to die from whatever ailment is befuddling him just now. I have decided that I know how to pray--that I will continue to pray for complete healing of his body and mind and soul, being confident that that is exactly what God's will for him is. I will ask unabashedly and with all my heart. No reservations.

After seeing my brother today, I stopped at church on the way home to weep for a while, alone. The sanctuary was beautifully decked out for a banquet tonight. I found a quiet, dim place on the floor in the back and wept...and wept...and wept....And I came to realize that, though this is not God's choice for my brother, it seems to be my brother's choice for himself. He probably doesn't understand the ramifications of his choices--we seldom do--but what a magnificent juxtaposition: God's mercy and healing and compassion and forgiveness, waiting, and all my brother has to do is ask and the floodgates will open. But he doesn't ask.... God has all of this, and so much more, for all of us--but we don't ask!

And it isn't just this that hurts. Other people love my brother too. Other people are hurting too. And I hurt for them as well. But as much as we hurt, it does not even compare to how God hurts. We love Cliff much. Mom loves Cliff with all her heart. Who can love a man more than his mother? Our love for Cliff is a grain of sand on the beach, and God's love for him is the rocky cliff that stands against the waves. Our pain is miniscule compared to God's. And how many, many more Cliff's are there all over the world? throughout time?

Suddenly, I realized that I was hurting for God too....And that His tears were so much bigger than mine. I just wanted to comfort Him. And I don't know how to do that. I think of Lucy, in Narnia, crying into Aslan's mane. I want to run my fingers through Aslan's mane and wipe his tears away.

What is "Safe"?

November 17, 2008

I went with Mom to go visit my brother today. On the way home I heard a song I hadn't heard before. It started out talking about a baby and how, though the storm was raging outside, the baby was safe in her mother's arms. I wasn't able to listen as closely as I would have liked, but I would guess there is probably an analogy there about us being safe in God's arms.

That's a nice thought. And our pastor always says that God is safe. I don't think God is very safe. Aslan is not a tame lion. I am guessing the truth of the statement lies in our definition of "safe". In God's arms, what exactly are we safe from? Famine? Bankruptcy? Hunger? Homelessness? Illness? Suffering? Pain? Rejection? Loneliness? Heartache? I don't think so.

In reality--that is, God's reality--yes we are safe. He is the master potter. He may remake us, and in the end, we will be exactly what He intended us to be; however, the "remaking" will not feel very safe. Jeremiah 18: 3-5 says, "So I went down to the potter's house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him."

So what ARE we safe from, if even in the master potter's hands we can be marred? Certainly we are not safe from pain, from demolition, from rebuilding from the ground up...

I attended a church throughout all my teenage years, and I made many close friends there--at least I thought I did. But from all of those people that I loved, very few still love me--or even remember me. When I run across them, they aren't interested in me at all. It makes me question whether I ever really fit in. Not that it matters, really. It's just hard when your perception doesn't seem to jive with reality. You start to question your sanity a little bit. It was the same with my high school "friends". It's the same with some of my biological family as well.

So for ME, what I am safe from in God's arms is a world that disowns me or that says I don't have the right parents, the right financial status, the right manners, the right connections, the right upbringing, the right car, the right clothes, the right smell. My God made ME exactly as I am, and He accepts ME, exactly as I am, exactly where I am, exactly how I smell, and exactly how I dress. The world may reject me, but the Creator of the world accepts me. The world may disown me, but my Father in heaven has adopted me.

I am safe in that I will not get to the end of my life and look back and say, "What did I accomplish?" because even if I have been marred in the potter's hands, as long as I remain in the potter's hands, he will reshape me into a usable vessel, as seems fit to him. And the potter will never discard me, deeming me unusable. I may not look like what I want to look like. I may not be the vessel that I would have chosen to be. But I will be a vessel, "as seems fit to him".

And I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate me from the potter's hands....

Mermott on My Desk

Just in case you can't tell, the picture is actually of my black cat, Mermott, sleeping in my viola case. Mermott was the only kitten in her litter. Her fur is softer than you can imagine. I have never actually touched mink, but I expect that is what her fur feels like.

Mermott and I have a special relationship. Each cat is unique, of course; but Mermott is gentle and soft-spoken, and unobtrusive. She is an excellent mouser, but she is also an excellent napper. And being black, she is often hard to spot. In fact, our camera does not like to take pictures of her. She just absorbs the light and the camera doesn't know what it's taking a picture of. But often, when I pass by her sleeping in some shadow, she will chirp to me, and reach out and pat me as I pass, and I of course respond by petting her and speaking to her in a tone of voice and words that I save for her alone. (Please, don't call the men in white coats just yet...you have time!)

Almost every morning, at some point while I am working, Mermott will jump up on my desk, plop herself unashamedly down on the schedule in front of me and block my view of my computer screen. She sits there prim and proper, facing me, and chirps to me. So I, of course, pet her and bump my forehead against hers and talk to her in quiet low tones and scratch her cheeks. And she will often reach a paw to my cheek or lay her paw on my wrist. And we share a minute of enjoying each other's presence. Then she excuses herself and curls up on the printer, or finds the warm spot on the desk behind my monitor, and curls up for a morning nap.

But there is a calmness and an expectancy to our interludes. She doesn't pester me like her niece WrongWay, who jumps on my desk, walks all over my keyboard, insists on being petted and held and when I put her down, jumps right back up...over and over, until I put her outside! Mermott just comes, says hello, gives me a pat, gets a pet in return, and then goes on her way.

Probably one of the weakest areas in my relationship with God is worship. I have a lot to learn in this area. Feel free to make comments and help me out. And please be tolerant if what I say is way out in left field...or in the cornfield altogether. My problem is that there is no pretense in me. And worship at home, in private, is one thing. But it's hard for me to worship in church. It's too close, too raw, too exposed, too intimate. And I am not comfortable being like that in public. And I don't know how to worship in truth, and maintain my composure.

But as I thought about Mermott today, I realized, perhaps that was what public worship needs to be for me. Not the passionate, never-let-me-go kind of thing that WrongWay demands; but the quiet, forehead-to-forehead, paw-on-wrist, quiet conversation that Mermott and I share.

A New Take on Autumn

We drove over to the coast on Halloween and enjoyed the rich colors of the changing seasons. I remembered our trees in Grants Pass; great big deciduous trees that shaded us in the summer and dropped their leaves, providing much-needed, mood-lifting light in the winter. And I realize what an incredibly creative God we have that He even thought of deciduous trees. I'm sure I never would have come up with that concept.

As we drove home Halloween night, though there was little wind, the leaves rained down on us the entire way. In the following week, I watched as the leaves quietly dropped off the maple tree in our back yard. As some unseen force was calling them downward little by little, the blanket of leaves on the ground beneath became thicker. Then today, when I looked outside, there was a mighty, rushing wind that came to finish the job. I was reminded of a Keith Green song from decades ago--in fact, this was the song Arden sang as we walked out of the sanctuary when G and I were married. (Rushing Wind)

And I think about my life in God, how very much it is like a deciduous tree. All the ways of thinking I learned throughout life that were not God's ways of thinking; all the selfish habits I acquired; every aspect of my behavior, my thinking, my speaking, my attitudes--all of these are leaves on the tree that is ME. And over the last decades, dead leaves have been falling little by little, one by one, coaxed to the ground as I let go of this or that and trust God that He knows better. But I am so READY for that rushing wind to come and strip my branches of those final leaves, to lay me bare. I'm prepared for that season of rest, that season of death, when everything I have known will be redefined....what some people would call the "desert" or the "wilderness"... as the sap falls, and the tree just waits, helpless. This is the season when pruning takes place; when the branches are easy to see and wounds and scars can be mended or cut away. It is THIS season when the Master's hand can form the tree to fit His vision and His purpose.

And then, Spring will come. Buds will form, leaves will open and the tree, now wearing a shawl of green, will reach to the sunlight, the source of all its life. Daily converting the sunlight into energy, the tree will grow and provide shade and sanctuary, and maybe even a limb for a tire swing.

And the leaves that had fallen the previous autumn, during the rain and cold of the winter, while the tree was sleeping, have become soil around the tree's roots, providing nutrients and mulch and an environment for other plants to grow--flowers and grass--just as our wounds and our old selves provide a connection to and empathy for those who are hurting.

So come, Holy Spirit, and scour my limbs of the clinging dead leaves. Come, Father, and prune away all that is in me that does not bear fruit. Come, Jesus, sun of my soul, and be my source of life. I will be still this Winter, enjoy my rest, and await Spring with hopeful anticipation.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue, but with actions and in truth." (1 John 3:18)


Rushing Wind (Keith Green)

Rushing wind blow through this temple,
Blowing out the dust within,
Come and breathe your breath upon me,
I've been born again.

Holy Spirit, I surrender, take me where you want to go,
Plant me by your living water,
Plant me deep so I can grow.

Jesus, you’re the one, who sets my spirit free,
Use me Lord, glorify, your Holy Name through me.

Separate me from this world Lord.
Sanctify my life for you.
Daily change me to your image,
Help me bear good fruit.

Every day you're drawing closer.
Trials come to test my faith.
But when all is said and done Lord,
You know, it was worth the wait.

Jesus, you’re the one, who set my spirit free,
Use me Lord, glorify, your Holy Name through me.

Rushing wind blow through this temple,
Blowing out the dust within,
Come and breathe your breath upon me,
For I've been born again.

Just Do It

Yesterday I went to visit my friend who is now in a rehablitation center. L went with me, but the room was hot and she was coming down with something, and so she excused herself to go out and get some fresh air. On her way she met "Bob", an 82-year-old WWII vet who is dying from lung cancer. In the short time that she visited with him, she sure learned a lot about him and it was interesting. I think she plans to go back to visit with him some more.

In church this morning, Dennis got up and gave us a word about just having God's heart for the people God brings to us. A while ago, at our ladies' meeting, a woman spoke about just reaching out to her neighbors, just touching that little bit of her world, bringing God's light and love to her little corner. This seems to be a theme that we are hearing over and over this year!

It occurred to me that L didn't HAVE to accompany me to visit my friend, but she did. And God was able to use her to touch another person simply because she was there and she wss 'connected' and she was willing to have God's heart for a stranger.

May we have the capacity this season to slow down and really see the people around us, and to have God's heart for them, and to be His hands and His mouth.

Missing Grandma

My grandma died last January, just shy of her 92nd birthday. These pictures were taken the morning of her birthday.
Some years, we don't get snow at all. Some years we might get a day here and there. Seldom does it last too long, so we try to drop everything and go play in it when we get the chance.

So to have snow on Grandma's birthday, the first birthday she wasn't here to share it with us, was kind of special.

This will be the first Thanksgiving without her, the first Christmas without her. But I'm sure she will be with us. I miss her sometimes, like today, for some reason. But I'm thankful I had a grandma who loved me. Sometimes we stood nose to nose, sometimes we didn't see eye to eye. I probably criticized her way too much. But I always knew she loved me....ever since I was very little.

I hope I can leave a legacy like that--that when I am gone there will be someone (oh, make that lots of someones) who can say, "We didn't always see eye to eye, but I always knew she loved me."

It's Gonna Be Okay

I'm still chewing on testing the boundaries and getting Egypt out of my system. Pretty meaty stuff. But life has a way of just trouncing on, whether we keep up or not. Orchestra practice comes around every week, whether I have practiced or not!

So here we are, one week out from the elections and I don't feel very prepared at all. There are always ballot measures and both sides always predict dire outcomes if I don't vote their way. And I can seldom see the logic to the arguments. I'm just not cut out for politics. I'd rather deal with people one on one than try to judge or rule or even suggest what should be done in general. I mean, for the most part, I think we have it pretty good, especially compared to the rest of the world. Why do we need to change anything? No government system is perfect, there will always be inequity. Even Jesus noted, "The poor you will always have..."

Politics aside, there is a bigger picture. We got a double whammy at church this week...and it just winds in and out of my life like a vine climbing a trellis. I know I'm going to sound like I'm rambling, but I promise, it all ties together, like this vine--so much so, I can't seem to chop it into little bite-size tidbits. So, here it is....again, just from a little different perspective.

Gordon talked about the prodigal son recently. (If you are not familiar with the story, you can find it in Luke 15:11-32.) Essentially we see the story of a man with two sons, one who is faithful and stays and works for his father and the other who takes his share of the inheritance and squanders it and comes, repentant, back to his father. Of course, the father is delighted to have him back and throws a big party; while the faithful son is jealous.

Then Mark took it one giant step further on Sunday. He told the story of David and Absalom. (You can find this story in 2 Samuel 13-19.) To sum it up, Absalom does a bad thing, flees his father David, and even when he gets word that David is willing to forgive him, still plays the politician and plots to take his throne. In battle, when Absalom gets stuck in a tree, the leader of David's army, Joab, kills him despite David's prior admonition, "Be gentle with the young man Absalom for my sake." And when David learns of this, he weeps.

In 2 Peter 3:8-9 it says, "But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance."

Clearly, God has the father's heart toward the repentent prodigal, and He has David's heart toward the unrepentent Absalom. He has not returned yet because He is not wanting ANYONE to perish, but EVERYONE to come to repentance. Who are we to argue? We clearly need to celebrate over the man we have known for 20 years who FINALLY starts listening to God. But just as clearly we need to make every effort to present even those who are yet unrepentant alive before God, so that HE can deal with them. We don't have God's permission to write ANYONE off--not the one who slips off the wagon again; not the one who has never wanted to hear about God before, so why should I tell him again; not the one who disagrees with me on political issues; not the one who disagrees with me on moral issues; not the guy across the street who yells at his grandkids; not anyone.

It's my job to present the gospel, to be the truest representative of God's heart for other people as I can be. It's God's job to change people's minds; it's God's job to change people's hearts; it's only my job to facilitate that relationship, in any way I can.

No matter who wins the election, it's my job to pray for them. No matter how my neighbors, parents, friends or husband vote, it's my job to love them and to encourage them in their relationship with God. No matter WHO wins, it's gonna be okay.

(And even if the "wrong" guy wins, this is still the best country on earth to live in. )

Control

My oldest brother was always the policeman in the family. Mom would leave him in charge, and I remember as a preschooler I would always push him to the limit, and then one step beyond, which usually ended in a chase and eventually a paddling...but I didn't care much. I liked the game. I think it's human nature to push the limits, to confirm the boundaries. There is a sense of security in knowing where the boundaries are. When I was in college, I read about a study that had been done with children where they put one group outdoors in an area and told them where the boundaries were and another group they put in the same area, but used a rope to delineate the boundaries. The children who had the clear boundary played in more of the allowed area than the children who had only the verbally given boundary. So, knowing where the boundaries are not only gives us more of a sense of security, it also gives us more freedom.

Our indoor cat got out the other day, and it was almost a whole day before we noticed she was missing. When I finally found her outside, she was cold, hungry, and frightened. After I had brought her in and held her and reassured her and warmed her up for a little while, I set her down by the food to eat, but she had something more important to do. I watched her as she explored the house, walking around the perimeter of each room, checking under the couch and the table, walking all through every room that was open. Then she ate. She was checking the boundaries. She was making sure things were where she thought they were, the walls were where she thought they were, the furniture was in place. Once she established that, she felt secure enough to eat.

When I think back over my life, the times I misbehaved the worst were tumultuous times. I felt insecure because of things that were going on in my life and I was "checking the boundaries" by my bad behavior. When my mom left the house and left my brother in charge, I had to check the boundaries. When unexpected things happened, I had to check the boundaries.

I think of Paul, in Romans 7, when he says, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." Keith Green paraphrased it, "The very things I hate, I end up doing. The things I wanna do, I just don't do."

Pastor Gordon spoke Wednesday about "flushing Egypt from our souls". When Moses led the Hebrews out of Egypt, they ended up wandering in the wilderness for 40 years before going into the promised land. They had been slaves in Egypt for generations and no doubt had a slave mentality. Perhaps it took them 40 years to quit "testing the boundaries".

It's that way with us too. God leads us out of Egypt, out of bondage to this world and its rules of operation, out of our slave mentality, and He wants to lead us into the promised land, a land where the rules are different, where we have authority. But every time something changes, we feel insecure and we "test the boundaries"--the very things we hate, we end up doing--just to verify that the "cause and effect" are still the same.

A wise counselor told me, when I was in high school, "Why do you try to control everyone else? The only one you are responsible for is yourself." That was a huge eye opener for me, and very freeing. But I soon learned that I wasn't even very good at controlling myself. The very things I hated, I ended up doing, and the things I wanted to do, I just could not do.

I have said of my son that he was born to be king. He is like me in that. He wants the world and everything in it to be under his control and it is very frustrating for him when it is not--when Mom and Dad tell him to do something he does not want to do....or that interferes with his plans. I think I have just about decided that life in general is really not in my control at all. I can only control my response to it...and sometimes barely that. And I think the reason for that is that I have not flushed Egypt from my system. When something unexpected or undesired happens, I revert to my old ways and start "checking the boundaries".

Maybe when I finally admit that I am not in control, and stop grasping for control of all I can, in any way I can, then perhaps I may actually have some control....not necessarily control over life, but at least over my response to it.

A Tale of Two Men

Cliff & Gma Smiley (Nov 2005)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.....Oh, wait, that's been done before! How about, it was the worst of times, it was the worst of times? I kind of feel like that has been my story this week. My heart is aching for two men today. One I love because I have known him all my life and I have loved him all my life, and I will love him all my life. There is nothing unlovable about him, really. The other I love because God loves him, I choose to love him, but it is hard. I kinda understand where he is coming from, and I see how his attitude affects his life, and I wish I could help him, but I don't find much lovable about him.

The two men have, ironically, led similar lives. They are about the same age. They are about the same socioeconomic class. They have about the same education. In many ways, they could be brothers. They have both endured big hurts. They both have divorced parents. Both have been married, but neither are now. Neither has children. And right now, they are both struggling with their health. But, they are completely different in their outlooks on life. One has a "Yes, let's!" attitude and the other a "poor me" attitude.

The one is my brother. He had a skin cancer removed almost two years ago, and last winter we got word that it had metastasized. He decided he did not want to go through chemotherapy or radiation. I have been living rather happily in denial, thinking that perhaps the doctor was wrong. From what I had heard throughout the summer, he had been doing okay. I got word today that he is not doing okay. But he is not one to complain. He doesn't want everyone to know he hurts, so he doesn't make a big deal about it. He doesn't want people around him to be sad. He calls things as he sees them, but there is nothing at all malicious about him. And when hard things come, the loss of a job or a grave diagnosis, he has a way of rolling with it. Maybe he worries on the inside, but I never see it.

Yesterday I got a call from a man I have known for a couple of decades. I met him through work. In all the time i have known him, he has never been short of a story about how someone has wronged him. He is always the victim. Nothing is ever his fault. There is very little he finds joy in. He was calling me from the new "resort" in town, Riverbend. Apparently, he pulled out in front of a van doing 45 mph. Hit him right in the driver's side door. Broke about everything on his left side, as you can imagine. He sounded lower than low when he called. Like Eeyore on depressants. But he will get better.

What a contrast in outlooks. What a contrast in my opinion of each. One I want to take his pain on myself so that he won't have to suffer so much. The other I want to slap across the face and say, "Buck up, everyone has it hard!"

I'm sure to God, they are just different types of soil. One needs more sand, the other more humus. I guess I just prefer the one to the other...probably something in my genes.

I wish I knew the end of the story. It will be interesting reading for sure. No lesson today, just observations, and a sad heart.

More on Free Will

I was thinking today--well, it was a nice day, so I was out cleaning in the pasture.
Dr. Root used to say that analogies always have their limits. This is so true of my analogy about free will and pets and grown children. There are parallels to a point, but there are huge limits too. For example, at least in our culture, as my daughter gets older she will become more my "equal". Perhaps this is not so true in other cultures, where the elders are much respected; but I was thinking about Adam, and wondering how many greats he attained in his grandpahood before he died. (I'll have to do the math on that one.) I'm sure it was LOTS, and I suspect that his children, only having one less great in their titles, were on a nearly equal status with him, even IF elders were highly revered back then. On the other hand, no matter how OLD we get, we never even come close to approaching equality with God.

Another limit is in God's provision for us. With the exception of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness and gathering manna daily, and of course isolated individual episodes, by and large God allows us the illusion that we provide for ourselves. We plant the seeds, they grow. We tend the fields, we reap the harvest. He allows us the illusion, if we choose to believe it, that we can survive without His provision. My cats can hunt My dogs can scavange. My horses could break through the fence and head west to lush fields and plenty of water.

I think God allows us the freedom to "provide for ourselves" in order that we don't love Him BECAUSE he is the provider. I don't think He wants us as pets. I think there are times in each of our lives when we have to be trained that He is trustworthy. Today, I mowed some grass for my horses and I took the mower bag out into the pasture to dump it and Pablo pulled back from it. Whenever he shies from something, I make it a point to "desensitize him" to it; because I want him to know that when I am present, he need not fear anything. (When I ride him someday, I don't want him spooking at things.) So he is learning that if he shies from something, it will follow him until he quits moving away from it. He also is learning that if IT is in my hand, it will not hurt him. Anything in my hand is safe, because I am safe.

I think sometimes God lets our "crops fail" so that we will remember to trust Him. It is healthier for us to live without worry--it is healthier for us to trust Him. But it is also essential to our relationship with God that we know we can depend on Him.

An Unfavored Day

Our true character is evident when we try to get through our day and only hit the same brick wall over and over and over. Do we keep butting our head up against it, give up, or look for a gate or a ladder? (or, all of those?)

I suppose my day really started last week when my life (and the lives of those in our homeschool group) touched the life of a woman we don't know who was horribly injured and had to be transported to the hospital in a helicopter, which used the field next to the school we were in as a landing area. She has been on my heart very much ever since. Top that off with the fact that the same day in the mail I recieved a letter notifying me that my adopted grandmother had died earlier in the week, not unexpectedly, but still final. And so I have been emotionally exhausted.

G woke me up at the usual o'dark hour and I was tired. I had not slept well, but did not remember why until later in the day. My friend had brought me some fantastic grapes Saturday and I should have made grape juice of them Sunday, but had too much work to do, having taken Saturday off to rest. So I had called L on Sunday to see if she would come help me, and she said she would come Monday afternoon.

So I spent the morning cleaning the kitchen. It took a good portion of the morning, finding all I needed and washing jars... During lunch L called and said she couldn't come until evening, as she had forgotten she had lessons in the afternoon. Oh, well, K would help. I needed sugar and lids, and so was planning to go to Safeway, but K wanted to come, so I found things to do until he was ready. And then there's always the "while I'm there we also need...". I had almost bought some stew meat the other day, thinking that sounded really good on these cool, rainy days, so I found a lesser expensive roast (nothing at Safeway could ever be called cheap these days, especially beef!) and had the butcher cut it into stew meat for me--did you know they would do that? Saved me a lot of time and fingers. But they had no canning lids. So we went over to BiMart...no lids there either, unless you bought jars to go with them. (I have no shortage of jars, some dating back half a century!!)

So I'm standing in the aisle at BiMart, my eyes filling with tears, thinking of those lovely grapes. Then I remember that L probably has lids left over from canning peaches last year. So I go home, call her and ask...I have a key, so I go over and sure enough, lots of lids. While I'm there I nab her canner (which turned out to be MY canner) but it has no basket, and in my cursory scan of her garage, I see no baskets. So I get home and start washing grapes to put in jars...but as I'm getting ready to put the jars in the canner, I realize I don't have any baskets either (you know, the wire frames that keep the jars from 1) sitting on the bottom of the canner where they will get too hot and break and 2) banging together and breaking during the boiling process). So I call and leave L a message that when she comes, she needs to bring the wire baskets, as I left them all at her house when we canned peaches...and wide mouth bands too, please.

So I start the stew, thinking at least I can accomplish SOMETHING. The meat is cooking, but when I look in the fridge, the only onion is inedible...and there is no celery...and, as a last resort I check the garlic, but that also is moldy. WAH! So I go to the office to lament to G, and L calls and says she doesn't know where J put those things when he cleaned the garage. And I ask G if he will get me some onion and celery, as I'm pretty much exhausted and don't want to inadvertantly kill someone (yup, I'm in a fine state of mind--even though this whole time, there is that little thought in the back of my head, 'you really do have it very easy'--yup, when I can cry about not finding canning lids at BiMart, I know I'm absolutely spoiled!). Gary clearly does not want to go get onions and celery. So I just pack it in. There is no way past this brick wall. The grapes will not wait one more day. I have no guarantee that L will be able to find those racks...The way my day is going, if I stood there and washed all the grapes and put them in jars in anticipation, she would not be able to come....and even if I made the grape juice in concentrate form, I would have no way to store it unless I put it in bags and froze it.

So I went to bed. Gave up. Finally, G consented to getting celery and onion, and I got my stew going...And then, as I was nibbling on a roll, I realized why I did not sleep well. I had had nightmares about losing K. And I had had my recurring nightmare of my teeth falling to pieces and me spitting them out in little bits. And I realized that a molar I had broken a third off last spring and had a temporary filling in, about which the dentist's office called last week to ask if I wanted to make an appointment to get that crown--that molar was missing its temporary filling. Either I had spit it out during my nightmare last night, or I just swallowed it with that bite of roll. Fun.

But the ladder over my wall finally came in the form of L, carrying another canner, every rack I owned, more lids and a box of bands.

We got all the grapes processed, no one died, and my precious L once again saved the day, tired as she was as well.

Of course, K did not want to go to sleep last night. He has been having nightmares about who knows what, he won't say. Monsters I suspect, as he won't come down off his bed at times. So I taught him how to change the dreams, and I also gave him my secret sleeping weapon from when I was little. I told him to ask Jesus to come hold him in His arms, and then K could sleep and not worry, becuae Jesus would not let anything bad happen to him. Then I took some of my own advice. I think I slept clear through the night.

(side note: when I went to get that tooth refilled, the dentist said I had broken more of that tooth off as well, which is probably what I was spitting out in the middle of the night, and probably is now buried deep in the carpet.)

Free Will (Relationships with Adult Children)

I stood in the rain watching K's soccer game this morning, standing next to and making friends with the wife of the man who called K a "bully" this summer during swimming. My mind keeps going back to that. I guess it hurt more and is harder to forgive than I thought, since it keeps coming to mind...or perhaps I haven't learned all I need to from it yet? But I was thinking, in K's case, anything that looks like "bullying" is K trying to build relationships with other kids, but not fully knowing how to do that, added to the fact that K doesn't understand yet the concept of "free will". But then, many people don't. I would almost go so far as to say that most people don't, given the abundance of controlling behaviors I see in people and how angry people get at God for allowing bad things to happen--myself included. It's a tough concept.

I often wonder if my animals think of me as 'god'. They pretty much see me as chief cook and masseuse, and occasionally will come to me if they need something else. They also offer up sacrifices. (I can think of at least 3 live snakes this summer, and quite a few mice, in all states of health.) --Of course, I do have one cat, Nermal, whom I know does not think of me as 'god' but rather 'servant', and quite possibly as 'dumb servant who doesn't speak cat'. The utterance she offers when I open the door is as likely "What took you so long!" as it is "Thank you." But by and large they acknowledge that I am provider. The days I am late with breakfast there is an awful lot of mewing, whining and whinnying going on.

And our young children...that is, those who do not yet have an income, do not pay rent to us, and take the meals and refrigerator and laundry and cleaning service for granted--understand their dependence on us and obey us chiefly because we wield the power of comfort and survival. We would like to think they obey us because they love us, and, depending on their degree of maturity, they might; but mostly I think they obey because we hold the keys to the refrigerator, the car and soccer practice (cell phone, nintendo, etc...you fill in the blanks). Their love for us is based on dependence more than free will. (I love you because I need you.)

But where we see free will is in our relationships with our adult children. My sister, once she got away from home, seldom looked back. Now in her 40s, she might contact Mom and Dad once a year, twice in a good year. Or she may go years without contacting them at all. On the flip side is my precious daughter. She could go as far away as she liked, but she lives a mile from me. She chooses to be a part of my life. Sometimes I ask, sometimes she volunteers, but by and large, we are friends. She chooses a relationship with me. She doesn't have to. She has a husband, a job, her own house. She doesn't need me for her survival. I can't ground her anymore. Now if she takes my advice on something, it is because she freely chooses to. Her relationship with me now is based on her free will. And it is all the more delightful because of this. The whole house lights up when she comes in the door. (I need you because I love you.)

I love both my children with all that I am. Their love for me is precious to me. I treasure both relationships. But the relationship that is based on free will is all the sweeter because she chooses me. I know she doesn't have to....and oh how painful that would be!...but she does. And it is good--no, it is the best.

Relationships

This summer, I was looking an ultrasound picture of a friend's soon-to-be-born daughter. It reminded me of when K was born. He had a tough delivery. At first, the medication they gave me to induce labor worked too hard all of a sudden and they had to give me medication to slow labor, break my water, and then add more saline to take the pressure off his head. He was trying to be born ear first, goofy kid. That was the first stress on him. Then, he insisted on being born facing sideways rather than facing up or down, and every time the doctor tried to turn him, he beligerantly rotated back. At one point his umbilical cord got compressed, and his oxygen levels plummeted, as well as his heart rate. At that point the doctor was working hard to get him out and caused a brachial plexus injury (damaged nerve in the neck from the head being pulled or turned too hard or too quickly or too far).

He was born with a huge bruise on the side and top of his head, from trying to come through ear first, and had a paralyzed, limp left arm, from the brachial plexus injury.

We were happy he was alive and seemingly well.

It wasn't too long after that that I remembered his ultrasound from a day or two before his birth. Both arms were moving. In the first few weeks, when we weren't sure if he would regain the use of his arm, or how much he would regain, it seemed to us that it really didn't matter. We loved him and he was ours, no matter what worked and what didn't. The arm is mostly healed now. It is a little weaker and the shoulder blade wings a little, and there is a little less range of motion; but the average person cannot tell. And K himself does not know.

As he has gotten older and we have seen more of his personality, we wonder how much, if any, was caused by the trauma of birth. He is bold and impulsive. Is this the brain injury or his genes? He has very poor vision in one eye. He has trouble processing words that he hears. He has more than a few ADD characteristics. Is any of this attributable to his birth?

We can see his arm moving clearly on the ultrasound, but we cannot know how well he sees, or how well he listens, or how well he focuses.

I think, if I had to choose, I would rather have to deal with a physical disability than a mental/social one. We can easily see the paralyzed arm and know that if someone doesn't extend their right hand to shake ours, it's because they cannot. We cannot easily see the mental/social/perceptual disability. If he calls a boy "kid", the boy thinks he is being rude, but doesn't realize he lacks the ability to remember his face or his name. If he is bold in wanting to "enforce" the rules, he gets perceived as a bully by others, rather than as someone who lacks inhibition by means of a brain injury.

I guess the reason it's so much harder to deal with the "disabilities" we cannot see, is that it affects his relationships with people. Not that a physical disability doesn't, but people can SEE a physical disability and just accept it as fact; whereas they cannot SEE the mental ones and they are less accepting of this kind of thing.

Maybe someday I will get to know the K as God intended him to be, before the injury of birth. But until then, I will just love the K as he is, for who he is, and enjoy and mold those attributes that tend to irritate others. I don't know if he is who he is by design or by accident; but it doesn't matter, because who he is is all I know. And it just breaks my heart that the rest of the world cannot love him like I do...and that I cannot love him like God does.

I guess what I will take from this, for the rest of my life, is not to criticize other people for this or that; but to just accept them as they are and be happy about who they are.

A Place So Dark....

In the very front corner of our property is a thistle patch. When we first bought the property, there was thick plastic up there that kept anything from growing there and when I pulled up the plastic, only thistles grew. I have battled the thistles and had made great progress, but they got away from me in the past two years and there was a great thislte patch there again this year (my soil must be PERFECT for growing thisltes!!) Anyway, I was mowing that thicket last week and I noticed that on Bill's side of the fence, nothing was growing on the ground, not even weeds. It is so dark under there--under the firs, the apple tree, the ancient lilac and the climbing roses that have made a little hedge along our fence, blocking out nearly all light.

I have been mulling over the implications of that...a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow...wondering what God was trying to show me with this.

I have been thinking about that plastic, laid down who knows how long ago, and by whom, and for what purpose? --but having the effect also of making a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow. And then I came along and took it up, and what grew? Thistles. God's light shines into a place that has been devoid of light (and moisture) for who knows how long, and what fruit is born? Thistles-- prickly, stickly thistles. But when the ground is tended, watered, grazed, mowed, the thistles leave and grass grows. And then, again, when the area is neglected, what grows back? Thistles.

I think the lesson is twofold. First, if there are thistles growing, there is hope. A friend once said that some things are beyond prayer. I don't know what she meant, but I respect her enough to believe her. There are places so dark that even weeds won't grow. So, if there are stickly, prickly thistles, there is hope.

Second, a once-for-all submission to God does not work. A place tended will bear fruit, but when untended will revert to thistles. We can't just say, "Okay, God, I'm yours. Use me." and be done with it. We have to keep submitting and keep looking for those areas that need submitting. We have to keep cutting the thistles down. We have to keep using the land--mowing it, grazing it, watering it, weeding it.