So I've been writing, and there is one word that I can't seem to get right. I stare at it and can't think of another way of spelling it. I try to sound it out, but it's just not coming. It's such a small little word. I don't know how to spell "usual". Wait. Did I just spell it correctly? I will now go look it up.
I did it! It is right.
usual
usual
usual
The funny thing is that a day or so after I mastered this word, my son asked if I knew how to spell "usual". And I could tell him -- yes, as I matter a fact I do.
And while I am on the topic of things that no one cares about, let me just say that I must be the world's worst potty-trainer. I wish I could hire someone to do this for me and save me from the daily routine of washing out stinky underwear. My husband, true to himself, is optimistic. "It will probably take three or four weeks," he says. That to me would have been a miracle. Now that we have passed the four week mark and still daily clean out underwear, he again reassures me, "Don't worry, when he turns 18 this won't be our problem anymore."
So I press on...only 15 more years.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Something New
My sister-in-law and a friend, both have wedding anniversaries near the same date. They both have blogs and they both happened to write about the years since their weddings; and I happened to read both blog posts on the same day.
It was one of those days when you remember anew the pain, when tears come easily, when you think a little more about the sweetness of Heaven...
One post was about the joy of their life together -- and the time they had spent celebrating it. One post was about the memories -- because my sister-in-law had lost her husband.
Memories...that's all you have left when the one you love has passed on. I know you may have trinkets, or heirlooms, pictures, or books. But there is never anything new. Never any new pictures, never any new letters. Memories -- our friend and our enemy.
This week I'm missing my brother a little more than usual. Perhaps because this week of their wedding anniversary, I remember their wedding. I remember the brick church building. Talking with friends at the wedding. How my brothers hair actually laid down pretty flat that day. Their matching green and yellow knitted sweaters. I remember the happiness of their seven years together, and I am left wishing things didn't have to be this way.
Or maybe because this week my husband's brother was in another accident. The week before I went to West Virginia for my brother's surgery, my husband's brother was in an accident. He was rushed to the hospital. People were frantic and calls were made, but he survived. (He actually made the news because his son had been the one who had been instrumental in saving his life.) But a week later, my brother went in for surgery and never came out alive. Two brothers. Two different outcomes. So my husband's brother got in another accident this week and I am reminded.
Wouldn't we be worse off if I couldn't remember? Couldn't remember the funny things he said? His funny ideas and his unruly hair? They way he liked to talk and how everyone was his friend? The music he liked? Or even the pain when you finally said goodbye? But at the same time these memories are the enemy because they leave you hungering for something more. It gets old... you want something new. You want to experience life with them, but there is no life. Everything is old, old, old. So I long again for the day when God will make everything new! New! What a beautiful word.
It was one of those days when you remember anew the pain, when tears come easily, when you think a little more about the sweetness of Heaven...
One post was about the joy of their life together -- and the time they had spent celebrating it. One post was about the memories -- because my sister-in-law had lost her husband.
Memories...that's all you have left when the one you love has passed on. I know you may have trinkets, or heirlooms, pictures, or books. But there is never anything new. Never any new pictures, never any new letters. Memories -- our friend and our enemy.
This week I'm missing my brother a little more than usual. Perhaps because this week of their wedding anniversary, I remember their wedding. I remember the brick church building. Talking with friends at the wedding. How my brothers hair actually laid down pretty flat that day. Their matching green and yellow knitted sweaters. I remember the happiness of their seven years together, and I am left wishing things didn't have to be this way.
Or maybe because this week my husband's brother was in another accident. The week before I went to West Virginia for my brother's surgery, my husband's brother was in an accident. He was rushed to the hospital. People were frantic and calls were made, but he survived. (He actually made the news because his son had been the one who had been instrumental in saving his life.) But a week later, my brother went in for surgery and never came out alive. Two brothers. Two different outcomes. So my husband's brother got in another accident this week and I am reminded.
Wouldn't we be worse off if I couldn't remember? Couldn't remember the funny things he said? His funny ideas and his unruly hair? They way he liked to talk and how everyone was his friend? The music he liked? Or even the pain when you finally said goodbye? But at the same time these memories are the enemy because they leave you hungering for something more. It gets old... you want something new. You want to experience life with them, but there is no life. Everything is old, old, old. So I long again for the day when God will make everything new! New! What a beautiful word.
Food and Raiment
My jeans have big holes in the knees and other smaller holes. Soon I will throw them away, but I really like this pair so I'm keeping them as long as possible. I am happy to wear out clothes. It was after reading Revolution in World Missions that I decided not to buy clothes. It's hard to remember now exactly how this all started. I know I was reading and feeling like I have so much in America and wanting to give more to my brothers and sisters in other countries. Why should I have a closet full of clothes when they have so little? Why not spend less money on myself so I could give more away? Especially when such a little bit of money goes so far in other countries. I kind of made an agreement with God that I would wait to buy clothes until our IRS tax debt was paid off.
It's been over two years now. After a quick look through the clothes hanging in my closet, I realize that there is only one shirt that I have bought for myself. I have been blessed by generous friends. I have been taken care of by God. I have had what I needed. At times I have wanted to be more stylish, or wanted to wear something but didn't wear it because I didn't feel I had the right pair of shoes or other accessory. Often my clothes might not be what I would choose, but I have learned something. I have learned (am learning)self-control in this area -- that I don't have to be the picture of what I think I should look like.
But I have wondered sometimes, what ever happened to those men in the Bible that vowed not to eat or drink until they had killed Paul. Did they die of starvation? Did they eventually just eat? I think at the heart of these questions I am asking "Will God continue to take care of me?" I was listening to a sermon recently and the pastor said that the question of whether we will serve God or money is really a question of where we place our trust. In what our we finding our security?
My husband and I were joking about the verse that says, "having food and clothing, be content" Eric was saying how that is all I really ever want anyways -- good food and nice clothes. It is true that those are the things that I like. Unfortunately the verse doesn't say the clothes have to be stylish or the food exciting. I need to learn to be content.
So what is God teaching me through something as simple as clothing?
I hope that through this I will be able to learn to give generously and joyfully to those in need; that I will trust God as my security and my provider; that I will be clothed with humility.
It's been over two years now. After a quick look through the clothes hanging in my closet, I realize that there is only one shirt that I have bought for myself. I have been blessed by generous friends. I have been taken care of by God. I have had what I needed. At times I have wanted to be more stylish, or wanted to wear something but didn't wear it because I didn't feel I had the right pair of shoes or other accessory. Often my clothes might not be what I would choose, but I have learned something. I have learned (am learning)self-control in this area -- that I don't have to be the picture of what I think I should look like.
But I have wondered sometimes, what ever happened to those men in the Bible that vowed not to eat or drink until they had killed Paul. Did they die of starvation? Did they eventually just eat? I think at the heart of these questions I am asking "Will God continue to take care of me?" I was listening to a sermon recently and the pastor said that the question of whether we will serve God or money is really a question of where we place our trust. In what our we finding our security?
My husband and I were joking about the verse that says, "having food and clothing, be content" Eric was saying how that is all I really ever want anyways -- good food and nice clothes. It is true that those are the things that I like. Unfortunately the verse doesn't say the clothes have to be stylish or the food exciting. I need to learn to be content.
So what is God teaching me through something as simple as clothing?
I hope that through this I will be able to learn to give generously and joyfully to those in need; that I will trust God as my security and my provider; that I will be clothed with humility.
Friday, May 6, 2011
To Name A Few
I have been privileged to know some amazing women. I have often thought that I have had friends that were a lot more accomplished than I. Some people talk about marrying out of their league, well, I have "friended" out of my league.
My friend Jeannette...
I look to her as an example of how I would like to love others. She is full of a desire to think what is true even through the toughest situations. Her faith in God is firm and is her anchor.
My friend Sandy...
one of the most genuine, hospitable ladies I know. She is quick to feel others' pain and is welcoming and uncondemning. You never feel like you don't measure up.
My friend Fawne...
so full of surrender. Graciously accepting what God has placed in her life; and shining with a selflessness and love for her Father, when she could be filled with self-pity.
My sister Mel...
a servant unlike any other. Sacrificing her desires for others. Willingly walking in obedience to God even through pain and difficulty.
My Mom...
in the midst of trial and betrayal she has chosen to forgive and to teach her children to hope.
My friend Jeannette...
I look to her as an example of how I would like to love others. She is full of a desire to think what is true even through the toughest situations. Her faith in God is firm and is her anchor.
My friend Sandy...
one of the most genuine, hospitable ladies I know. She is quick to feel others' pain and is welcoming and uncondemning. You never feel like you don't measure up.
My friend Fawne...
so full of surrender. Graciously accepting what God has placed in her life; and shining with a selflessness and love for her Father, when she could be filled with self-pity.
My sister Mel...
a servant unlike any other. Sacrificing her desires for others. Willingly walking in obedience to God even through pain and difficulty.
My Mom...
in the midst of trial and betrayal she has chosen to forgive and to teach her children to hope.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Good Morning
It's almost 7:30 in the morning. Time is quickly passing. My morning is almost over. Soon I will need to go start breakfast for the family. I love mornings. I love the peacefulness. I love the sun rising and everything becoming bright again. Mornings to me are a time to think, to read, to write. I suppose I like mornings because I am basically selfish and mornings are my time. When I wake up the house is still quiet. No one is asking for anything.
I lay in my bed and read my Bible, or sometimes I go to my "office" to read, which is really just my large closet. Sometimes I am working on paperwork and spread it out on the floor in my closet, and then if I don't finish I just close the door and turn off the light. Everything in my office is kept safe and unseen until later.
Sometimes I go for a walk before breakfast. The sun is still working on warming off the night's chill. The air is crisp. The mountain is beautiful. I see deer and geese as I walk along. I think and pray.
In the morning sometimes there is time to snuggle next to my husband before the rush of the day when we go our separate ways.
In the mornings I have a chance to check my e-mail, to check my friends' blogs, and to write some of my own.
Mornings bring a new chance, a new start. The psalmist says that weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Mornings to me are times when it is easy to be joyful, to think the right thoughts and want to do the right thing. I suppose that makes sense, because it is usually free from stress, work, and problems.
Mornings are just too short. Breakfast and children are calling...good bye morning.
I lay in my bed and read my Bible, or sometimes I go to my "office" to read, which is really just my large closet. Sometimes I am working on paperwork and spread it out on the floor in my closet, and then if I don't finish I just close the door and turn off the light. Everything in my office is kept safe and unseen until later.
Sometimes I go for a walk before breakfast. The sun is still working on warming off the night's chill. The air is crisp. The mountain is beautiful. I see deer and geese as I walk along. I think and pray.
In the morning sometimes there is time to snuggle next to my husband before the rush of the day when we go our separate ways.
In the mornings I have a chance to check my e-mail, to check my friends' blogs, and to write some of my own.
Mornings bring a new chance, a new start. The psalmist says that weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Mornings to me are times when it is easy to be joyful, to think the right thoughts and want to do the right thing. I suppose that makes sense, because it is usually free from stress, work, and problems.
Mornings are just too short. Breakfast and children are calling...good bye morning.
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