mental radio

migratory socks

2004-12-08T15:02:00.000-06:00

My kids must think we have migratory socks. Which we don't. But they must think that any sock, skinned off a foot and dropped at any point throughout this house, is going to get up and hop or slide or slither its way into the bathroom and jump into the hamper.

Well, guess what - that ain't gonna happen. Someone has to actually walk around this house and pick up those socks, for them to get in that hamper.

Wonder who gets to go gather the socks, hmmm?

Wonder who gets to clean up after my messes - after the dirty gunky socks I leave scattered about my life?

Makes it a bit easier, cleaning up after other people's messes, knowing the LORD does so much greater than that - in cleaning up after me.

the path through the valley

2004-12-07T14:45:00.000-06:00

One day about six months after my husband died, I was bathing my youngest daughter (she was 2 then), when she pointed at the mirror in the bathroom and asked me to read it.

The mirror had been my husband's. It has King David's beautiful 23rd Psalm printed on it. Whenever my husband used to give our little girl a bath, he would read it to her.

So that day when she asked me to, I read it through to her. And then she asked me to read it again.

It was on that second read-through that I saw something. And it amazed me, because I have known the 23rd Psalm most of my life. I memorized it for a prize back when I was in kindergarten - lo, these many years ago.

But this time, as I read it, I noticed something that really struck me. For the first time, I saw that verse 3, which says, 'HE leads me in the paths of righteousness for HIS name's sake' - leads immediately into verse 4, which says, 'yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...'

And I got to wondering - if I am being led by the LORD my Shepherd in the paths of righteousness - then how did I suddenly wind up in the valley of the shadow of death?

Unless...

...the LORD led me here?

Now, there are some people who have told me at this point, when I am relating this story, that for someone to be in the valley of the shadow of death means that they have strayed off the path of righteousness, straying away from the LORD. But I don't think that's necessarily so.

Look at the rest of verse 4: 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for THOU art with me; THY rod and THY staff they comfort me.'

If someone was really straying from the LORD, could they say that? Could they fear no evil if they were straying? And then David plainly states that the LORD his Shepherd is with him. He's not straying; he's right where the Shepherd wants him to be. He's being safely led, even in the darkness of the valley.

We are being safely led, even through the darkest valleys. The Shepherd is leading us. The dark valley - IS the path of righteousness.

And I think of this passage, also in the Psalms:

Psalms 66:10-12 KJV
10 For thou, O God, hast proved us: thou hast tried us, as silver is tried.
11 Thou broughtest us into the net; thou laidst affliction upon our loins.
12 Thou hast caused men to ride over our heads; we went through fire and through water: but thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place.

Why would the LORD do this to HIS people? Silver is tried by putting it into the fire, to melt away all the dross and impurities - all the scum. HE puts us in the fire? He brings us into a net? Lays affliction on us? Even causes men to ride over our heads? (Riding on war horses, is how I picture that.)

But why? Why would HE do such things to HIS people - to the ones HE loves?

HE does these things because it is by taking us through the fire and through the water - it is by melting the gunk out of us, and by taking us through deep waters up to our necks and even deeper - it is by bringing us through such things, that the LORD can then bring us out into the wealthy place.

In other words, sometimes the only way for us to get to the good place, the wonderful gracious place the LORD our Shepherd wants to bring us to - is by us first going through the hard and the fiery and the killing places - till we have died to Self and can truly live for HIM. For HIM and to HIM. And in HIM.

Where HE leads - there follow. Though the darkness be so complete you can see only the faint glow of HIS footprints leading away into the blackness - follow. The place of richness in HIM is ahead, through the fire and the water. As HE leads.

storyblogging carnival vii...

2004-12-06T09:41:00.000-06:00

...is now online. You can find it here.

Please have a read - and links to the carnival would be greatly appreciated.

hosting a carnival

2004-11-28T01:29:00.000-06:00

I will be hosting the next Storyblogging Carnival, number VII, at my fiction blog in about a week. My first time doing anything that ambitious. Prayers appreciated.

re: christmas

2004-11-24T22:56:00.000-06:00

Well, as long as I'm ranting (see post just previous)...

Rocky at Chapter and Verse has this post about Christmas (which he spells 'Christmass'). His views agree very much with my late husband's and mine - except I learned some stuff I never knew when I read Rocky's post earlier today.

And reading what he had to say sparked off some thoughts I have had over the years about Christmas. So...

Santa ~

Years before I ever had kids, I saw a skit at a Christian coffee house, showing a little boy telling his Momma about how his buddy had told him there was no Santa, no Easter bunny, no tooth fairy. And the little boy had faithfully told his buddy, of course there is! My Momma told me there is. And she wouldn't lie to me.

And of course, Momma had to admit to him that, yes, she had lied to him.

The skit ended with the little boy looking up into Momma's face and saying, 'Did you lie about Jesus too?'

Wow.

Can you guess that, when I did have kids, we didn't do the Santa/Easter bunny/tooth fairy thing?

I want my kids to be able to trust that if I tell them something, I'm not gonna come back later and say, 'oh that's really not true after all.' I want my kids to know that I will do my best to tell them the Truth - and especially about Jesus.

The feeding frenzy ~

My husband came from a family of 7 kids. One time, we spent Christmas with his folks, with all the grandkids there. And they did the present exchange. Oy!

They lined all the grands up on the floor around the tree. And one adult pulled out gifts, read the tags, and handed them around. While another adult stood there with a trash bag, grabbing the shredded wrapping paper from the kids as fast as they ripped it off the packages.

And there were scads of gifts per kid. They were ripping paper, glancing at what was inside, then dropping it to grab the next gift. Like an assembly line.

Like sharks with blood in the water.

And when it was all done - when there were no more gifts to wrench open - the kids were looking around, as if they were thinking, 'That's it? This is all we get?' When each one of them had a pile of new toys, etc, at their sides!

Greed. Greed central.

Ugh.

Nowadays, when Christmas rolls around, my parents (who live in another state) will usually send my kids a big box with one gift apiece in it. And one or two other relatives might do the same. And then a mysterious someone at church will give them each something. Also, my brother will send a check to get them a gift apiece with.

And I have learned that when the kids receive a box of gifts, whatever day it is - let them have the gift that day. One at a time. They appreciate the gift more, when it's the only thing they got that day.

Avoiding the feeding frenzy.

The songs ~

They will be played continuously this time of year, from the day after Thanksgiving until after New Year's Day. The 'Christmas carols.' Except many of them have nothing to do with Christmas - some are celebrations of the original pagan rituals - and the 'Christian' ones can have their facts so screwed up...!

Songs like 'Winter Wonderland' and 'Let it Snow.' These are simply winter songs. Why are they only played for Christmas? Shouldn't they be played right up through the start of spring?

Songs like 'Deck the Halls' and 'Wassailing.' These hark back to the rites of the pagans from before Christmas came into being. The Yule log and such. Hold-overs pointing back to the true origin of this winter holiday.

Songs like 'The First Noel.' Oh, that song sets my teeth on edge! They have the shepherds following the star, for crying out loud! Didn't anyone actually read their Bible before writing this one?

There are a few songs for this time of year that I do like. 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' - 'O Come O Come Emanuel' - 'Joy to the World.'

And the best of the lot, with its clearly evangelical lyrics: 'Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.' 'Born that men no more may die / born to raise the sons of earth / born to give them second birth...' (Now, that's a writer who was reading his Bible!)

The date ~

Speaking of 'this time of year'...

If the LORD had wanted us to celebrate HIS birth, don't you think HE would have indicated it clearly in the Bible just when HE was born? But out of four Gospels, Mark and John don't even cover the birth of the Savior. Matthew speaks of the birth, but doesn't bother to mention when it was.

Only Luke covers it in detail - and gives only clues as to the time of year. We know that it was six months after John the Baptist's birth - which was at least nine months after his father Zechariah's vision in the Temple while burning incense. At least nine months later - maybe more than that...

And we know that it was a time of year when the shepherds would be out in the fields at night to watch over their sheep. Which to me says, not likely in the dead of winter.

HIS death, on the other hand, is clearly dated. It was at Passover. All four Gospels tell us so.

To me, that says something. It says - the death and resurrection - that's the important part - focus there.

(But please! don't call it Easter! Which is the name of a pagan goddess - and fodder for another rant in about four months...)

it's NOT turkey day!

2004-11-24T22:48:00.000-06:00

Please - pet peeve of mine - and it may be a minor thing - but this is NOT turkey day. We are not celebrating turkeys. We are supposedly - supposedly - remembering how the LORD lovingly blesses us with good things. And most Americans have tons of good things, and frankly very little gratitude.

I live on the border with Mexico. All you have to do is cross the Rio Grande and see some of the colonias over there - shacks made of cardboard! - to see how good Americans have it. Even the poor in America tend to have it better than an awful lot of Mexicans.

And Americans don't live in a war zone, like people in Iraq or Afghanistan or the Sudan, etc. We have a LOT to be thankful for. But for so many of us, the holiday that should remind us of our blessings, and of the Giver of all good things - instead, it's 'turkey day' with too much to eat and football games. And gratitude and thankfulness nearly forgotten.

Rant done.

storyblogging carnival vi

2004-11-22T18:14:00.000-06:00

...is now up at Back of the Envelope. Go and have a read.

I volunteered myself to host the next carnival. Eek! This should be a learning experience...

70 x 7

2004-11-17T15:02:00.000-06:00

How much is too much? How often is too often? How many trips to the well can one person make before that well runs dry?

How many times can a Christian mess up and come back asking for pity, for compassion, for help - before the rest of us Christians throw up our hands and say, 'Ya! Enough! You must like to wallow. If you really wanted to be free, you'd be free already.' And we wash our hands of him, kick the dust off our feet against him, and leave him to himself.

At what point do we do that?

At what point should we do that?

Or even - should we ever do that?

Peter asked the LORD how often he should forgive his brother - up to seven times? And Jesus answered him, not seven times, but seventy times seven. Was the LORD wanting us to keep a careful count, and on the 491st time, cut off the forgiveness? What do you think?

How far do we take this? How long do we hang in there? How many days do we put up with a fellow Christian who is given the same good advice over and over again, and never seems to change? One week? Two weeks? Three?

James speaks of the farmer waiting for the precious fruit of the earth, having long patience as he waits for the early and latter rains. Just how long does a farmer wait, watching for his crops to sprout and grow and ripen for the harvest - one week? Two weeks? Three?

A whole season?

Or what of the case of a tree? A whole season is not long enough for it to grow to maturity. Jesus spoke of the impatient owner of a fig tree. Three years the owner had come looking for fruit on that tree and found none! Cut it down!

But the gardener begging of him yet one more year. One more year, before cutting it off, before giving up hope.

Four years. How many of us bear with someone that long?

How long did GOD have to bear with us, before HE ever saw us change?

Change can be long in coming. Not everyone 'gets it' quickly. Sometimes the good seed planted is snatched away by the birds of the air, again and again and again, before it can ever take root. And then there may be rocks still in the soil - so many rocks! - that need to be cleared away, and more cleared away, and more cleared away, before that root can go deep. And sometimes the weeds spring up, again and again and again, and must be rooted out again and again and again - before the good soil is at last ready to bring forth a fruitful harvest.

Patience. Patience untried, patience unstretched, is not yet patience. Mercy unstretched, unproved, is still but a pleasant concept, not yet living and active.

Mercy. James tells us that mercy triumphs over judgment. And warns us that those who show no mercy cannot count on receiving mercy when they need it.

How much is too much? Just stretch a little more. Have a bit more patience, a bit more mercy, with the person who is 'taking too long.' Let it grow you up a bit more, in love and compassion and mercy.

After all, GOD's well of love and compassion and mercy hasn't run dry yet. Why should ours?

what i've been up to

2004-11-17T00:18:00.000-06:00

When I started blogging back in sept, the first name I gave my site was 'the infrequent blogger.' And I seem to have reverted to infrequent blogging, haven't I?

I have been writing. Just not much non-fiction. Over at my fiction site, though, I've been putting up a new chapter on my story 'the child' every 3 days or so.

It's odd how that story started. I was praying, asking the LORD to give me a story to place on my fiction site. And the first sentence popped into my head. So I repeated the sentence over and over again (so I wouldn't lose it) while I finished what I was doing (laundry) and hurried to the computer to write it down.

I wrote it down, 'cause I was curious to see what would come next. That was a little over a month ago, and I now have 16 chapters online, another 4 written in the editing/revision stage - and at last, some inkling of where all this is going! Whew!

Yeah, I have a funny way of writing. Almost like just being the secretary at times.

And then what many of you may not know (as if I have this huuuuuuuge readership here!) is that I am also writing a novel. And have been for quite a while now. When I started on it, I wrote that the main character was 10 years old - because, at the time, my oldest child was 10.

My oldest is now 15, going on 16 - and the novel is not yet 1/2 done!

Well - I took a rather long break from it. I was working on it, about 1/4 of the way through, deep into the third draft - when my husband died. And it happened the part I was writing at the time featured a character that was based on him. Which made it very hard to write. It was about a year before I could come back to it and write that section.

Finally finished that section - almost done with the next - and about to go back to the beginning, I think, and read through the entire novel, do some fine-tuning, make sure the main character stays 'in character' - all that good stuff. Before going on to finish the 6th section of the book - at which point I'll be half-way through.

I keep wanting to write something to place here. But for now, fiction seems to be the focus. So that's where I am.

yassir arafat is dead

2004-11-10T23:07:00.000-06:00

Yahoo is reporting his death here.

I will admit it - it never occurred to me to pray for the man till the reports began coming out these past few days that he was near death. Johnny-come-lately that I was, I did pray in the last few days at least for him to come to the truth of the LORD Jesus Christ.

And now that he is dead... The power vacuum created by his demise could well make for a lot of chaos. So please, friends, please be praying - for the peace of Jerusalem - for the peace of the Middle East - for the peace of the world.

just a simple trip to the library

2004-11-10T22:43:00.000-06:00

...except we never got there.

After school this afternoon, my oldest daughter asked me to drop her off at the library. My oldest son decided to stay home. So my daughter and I went to pick up the five other kids from school and head over to the library.

We got on the highway and were chugging along, the usual amount of squabbling going on in the back, when there came this little sound. Like a pop.

And then a louder sound. Like a flapping.

And then the car slowed down.

I was in the slow lane anyway, preparing to get off. We were almost to the exit ramp. All we needed to do was to go uphill over the overpass.

And I was beginning to wonder if I would need to get out and push. It was slowing down sooooooo much!

Prayer got us over the hill. Somehow, we got off the highway, and then across the frontage road. And into a parking lot. Whew!

I hopped out of the car, looking for some help. Tried the door of the business we were parked at - only to discover it was a big empty. So I tried the next business. A nice young man there offered to come change the tire for me. I thought, no problem. He'll change the tire, we'll backtrack to the Wal*Mart to get a new tire, let the kids eat at the McD's in the WM - then on our merry way.

Right?

Hmmm...

One of the lug nuts was stuck. And I mean stuck! The young man tried his best, but that thing just was not budging.

I thanked him, and started making calls from my cell phone. Called a lady from church whose son has worked on my car a few times before - and got her answering machine. Tried the church next. It was nearly 5 pm, so I wasn't sure if anyone would still be there.

But bless his heart! Brother Joseph was there. He took down the directions to where we were and said he and some others would be there shortly.

After a bit, the phone rang again. This time it was my friend's son - he and a buddy were coming too.

So soon I had lots of help. But that stubborn lug nut would. Not. Budge.

One of the men said he would look for a tire shop and drove off. He returned in two minutes with a mechanic. See, it turns out that when I got off the highway and pulled into the first driveway...

...the second driveway was a mechanics shop.

So the guys got my car and my kids over to the mechanics. And they worked and worked and worked...

And then it was 7 pm. So one of the young men offered to sardine me and my kids into his car and take us to church.

Which we did.

I left the spare keys with Brother Joseph. He said he would bring the car to the church for me once the mechanic cut the lug nut off and got the 'donut' put on.

(I learned tonight that the miniature spare tire in the back of my car is a donut. I never knew...)

So - we got to church. And got home. And tomorrow, I get to take the kids to school, riding on the 'donut' - and then to the WM for a new tire (and rim, likely).

Did I mention that, out of the blue, someone in my family had sent me a check this week? So I can pay for all this.

The LORD is good. Really really excellently good.

My Jesus...

winter texan season

2004-11-10T15:05:00.000-06:00

It's beginning to be Winter Texan season down here. More and more cars are showing up around here with license plates from Minnesota and Iowa and Sasketchawan and such. A couple of times I have even seen plates from Alaska! That's a long, long drive from here!

Winter Texans is what we call them - the retirees from the upper regions of North America who come down here in their RV's to escape from the darker colder months of the year. Coming down here to subtropical Texas, where it never ever snows.

(Well...)

(A couple of years back, there was a rumor of a snow flurry in the town 50 miles east of here.)

(A snow flurry. Singular. One lonely flurry.)

(Getting back to what I was saying before I interrupted myself...)

Those of you who read my blog regularly (all two of you) know that I am a widow. And a fairly young one, too, coming up on 44 now.

(I don't mind telling my age, and wouldn't mind listing it on my Blogger profile - except that when I filled out the form for the profile and submitted it, I found to my horror that instead of the profile page simply displaying my birthdate, the thing converted the day and month of my birth into an astrological sign, and translated the year into a Chinese year-of-the-critter thing. So I, who find astrology of all stripes annoying to put in mildly - and blaphemous idolatry to put it bluntly - promptly took my birthday back down off the Blogger profile.)

(My birthday is 31 Dec 1960. See, I don't mind everyone knowing that.)

(And now if Rambling Rosie will finally get to her point...)

I had just turned 41 when my husband died, almost 3 years ago. Which is fairly young to be a widow. (Although I have met one online who was 18!) It was Winter Texan season then too, and I would walk into the store to do my shopping...

...and see all these retired couples going around the store together, gathering their groceries. Little old ladies with their little old husbands by their sides. And I would have a hard time inside myself to not feel cheated. That that was not going to be me roaming round the store with my husband beside me.

Really had to fight hard against that feeling of having been cheated!

So - to all you ladies who still have your husbands with you, who don't have only memories left of his smile and his laugh - cherish that man! Tell him frequently that you love him, and how much.

And always kiss him good-bye, too. Cause you never know if that will be the last kiss you will ever be privileged to give him.

storyblogging carnival V

2004-11-08T14:25:00.000-06:00

Storyblogging Carnival V is now up at Back of the Envelope. I haven't had time to read all the entries yet - been trying to add a Table of Contents over at Tales by Sheya. I did make a point, though, to read this story by Donald Crankshaw (the current host). It is part three of his as-yet untitled story. And I'm looking forward tremendously to more, more, more!

barely blogging

2004-11-07T01:29:00.000-06:00

I know, I know - I haven't posted a thing here since the election. I keep starting out to write a post, then deleting what I've written.

My scattered almost-thoughts then:

The Bush win seemed to have brought out a lot of what I think of as 'Bush-olatry' - Christians so exultant over his win, as if having Bush in the White House will ensure good things breaking out everywhere. I heard a lot of talk of 'reprieve' and 'now we have four more years.'

But four more years to do what? To sit in our churches and continue with the bless-me clubs?

Yes, I voted for Bush (don't let my dad know I violated the principle of the secret ballot!) - but it was more like I voted against Kerry. I don't have a whole lot of illusions about Republican-presidents-as-Messiah: we've had some pretty conservative presidents - and yet abortion is still legal, morals continue to get worse and worse, etc, etc.

Yes, who occupies the White House does matter. But so does what we ourselves are doing. (Yes, including me.) It isn't enough to vote a Christian into the Presidency and think, I did a good thing; I can go back to sleep now.

You see why I starting writing this and then deleted it?

~~~

And the other thing I nearly blogged: that one by one over the past week, all four of our month-old kittens died. And we don't know why.

election day thoughts

2004-11-02T09:08:00.000-06:00

I was thinking this morning about the election process - starting way-back-when with the primaries, carrying on all summer long till now, early November, when we finally vote -

And I was wondering: is the entire election process done this way in order to wear the voters out? I know at this point - like the final days of a pregnancy - I just want the thing to be over.

~~~

My other thought (danger! I actually had two thoughts in one morning!):

in light of all the unspun information being provided to the American people from the citizen-journalists of the blogosphere -

- someone ought to ask AlGore if he regrets having invented the Internet...

time change

2004-10-31T07:07:00.000-06:00

I like the return to normal time! The kids are getting up without me having to screech for them. I'm up and awake, instead of groggy...

Every year, it seems like the springtime change of losing an hour messes with me worse and worse. Today we gained that hour back again - and I can feel it. Feels wonderful!

It's awful to feel out of sync - and nice to get back into sync.

I wonder - couldn't we do without daylight savings time now? Do we really need it anymore?

lively stones

2004-10-29T08:41:00.000-05:00

I was thinking one day about the stones in a building, and about intercessory prayer. Gonna try here to set out my thoughts in some kind of order.

I was thinking of these two passages:

1 Corinthians 3:9b-11 KJV 9b ... ye are God's building. 10 According to the grace of God which is given unto me, as a wise masterbuilder, I have laid the foundation, and another buildeth thereon. But let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon. 11 For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ.

and,

1 Peter 2:5 Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ.

Both Paul and Peter use the imagery of people being the blocks or bricks or stones that the walls of a building are built out of. Each person, each stone, being put into its own proper place.

In every church, there are a few people (or I hope there are!) who are totally sold out for GOD, looking to please HIM more than anything else. Totally in love with the Savior. Usually those people are the intercessors - because they love GOD so much, and want the closeness they have with GOD to spread to the others in their church. They pray because their hearts flow with it - talking with GOD, not just talking at GOD.

The marks of an intercessor, I believe, are these: a heart that loves GOD, a heart that loves others, and a heart that is humble and contrite . Not all puffed up - 'Look at me! I'm an INTERCESSOR!' - but seeing themselves as not someone great, not looking to draw attention to Self. Just very simple, very lowly - and content to be so.

The intercessors, as I see it, are the stones that are placed in the bottommost part of the wall. They then bear the weight of the stones, the people, placed above them. They are in the lowest place on the wall; they get set into place first, and then the rest is built up after them.

The lowest place - the best place in the building to be.

Why? Why is the lowest part of the wall the best place to be built?

Because the only thing lower than the bottom - is the foundation. And that foundation is Jesus. To be an intercessor, you get to be right next to Jesus! There in the lowly place, the place where HIS heart is.

And the weight you are bearing above you, of all those built on top of you?

Well, that weight that you're bearing - really, you aren't. It's Jesus the foundation underneath you who is bearing up all that weight above you, and bearing you up as well.

Humble yourself - come where HE is - be the lowest. It's the best place to be.

tandem bicycle

2004-10-27T13:19:00.000-05:00

A tandem bicycle is a pretty neat thing - a bicycle built for two.

After my husband died, I had to learn to be the prayer warrior for our family. Or relearn that kind of prayer, really. Before we married, I had learned to fight in the spirit against the enemy. But then...

I don't know why, but for some reason, after I got married, I began to take the attitude that prayer-as-warfare was no longer my job - that it was my husband's job to pray like that for me and the kids.

So - I backed off. Stopped praying with him in particular. Left it all in his hands.

And then he died. And there I was, in a huge fix, getting the crash refresher course in prayer-battling!

And then one day, I saw inside my head a tandem bicycle. And how that fit with what had happened in my life. My husband and I - our marriage - had been us riding on a bicycle built for two. He had been on the front seat, both pedalling and steering - while I had been on the back seat. Not steering of course, for I knew that steering was my husband's job and I was mostly content to leave it to him. But gradually, gradually - I was not pedalling either. Just going along for the ride. Not helping him like I should have been doing. Not multiplying his efforts the way I should have.

There is a verse in the Bible that says that one can put a thousand to flight, and two can put to flight ten thousand. Doing the math there, it's clear that two together can face 5 times as many of the enemy as one alone. And that was what I was there for - to be the multiplier of my husband's prayers.

But I didn't. I slacked off on the job. And then when my husband died, there I was, stuck with a very large bicycle that I had forgotten how to make go.

sigh

Well... at least now I know better.

Storyblogging Carnival 4

2004-10-25T15:33:00.000-05:00

Storyblogging Carnival 4 is up at Doc Rampage.

Quite a collection of offerings this time. My favorites are easily Donald S. Crankshaw's Flight and Tim Worstall's Victims of Slavery v Lloyd's of London.

Go have a look!

in love

2004-10-25T03:53:00.000-05:00

Did I mention that I am in love?

A week after my husband died, as I was going through the little address book he had always kept in his wallet, making sure I had invited all of his friends to the upcoming memorial service, I ran across the name of one of his friends. A bachelor, about my own age. And as I looked at his name on the page, this little thought about him hit my brain then - about how he was my own age, and was a bachelor.

That thought got stuck there.

And it grew.

And the next thing I knew, I was in the fight of my life, fighting tooth and nail not to fall in love with him.

Why was I fighting not to fall in love? Well, for one thing, the man hadn't shown a bit of interest in me. But the main reason was that I didn't want to be in love with any man without knowing for sure that this was the man the LORD Jesus had in mind for me. I didn't think this one was.

Well, I was pretty sure he wasn't.

Well, I knew the LORD hadn't given me the go-ahead. So even if this was the right guy, it was the wrong time.

And so I fought it. Fought hard.

Lost the fight.

It was a totally miserable time of my life. Wanting to guard my heart, failing at it. Enjoying the bubbly feelings of being in love, but knowing all the while I shouldn't be having them. Wanting out, but having this little thought inside me that maybe, just possibly, the man would show an interest in me after all...

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.

And then on a certain day, as I was praying and crying out to the LORD about the huge mess I had let myself get into, I heard the LORD say to me quite plainly, 'Then fall in love with ME.'

'Oh yes please!' I responded. And I did - I fell in love with the LORD. Totally, absolutely, head-over-heels, madly, passionately...

Does that sound weird? Maybe it is weird. Maybe.

Do I care if it's weird?

Not particularly.

Because you see, I soon began to recognize what had happened within me, this falling in love with the Savior. I thought at first that this inside me was like when I had first fallen in love with my late husband - those giddy days of our courtship.

But then I realized that it went back further than that. Back to the time when I was in my teens, and I first got saved. When I first opened my heart to the Savior and HE came in.

It was the First Love! And I had somehow let that slip. Slowly, imperceptively, I had let my love for the Savior dull and die down. Now it was back, in breathless sweet fervancy.

~~~

And so, as I said, I am in love - in love with the One who ransomed me with HIS own life's blood.

As for the man, my late husband's old friend - one night when I had come to the absolute end of my own strength in the matter and cried out to Jesus, throwing myself utterly on HIS strength - HE broke it. HE delivered me, set me free. It was wonderful!!!

~~~

(Ummm... one more thing. There... is a certain man in my life now. A dear and wonderful man - a Christian - a man that I believe so much alike with that it is all but unbelievable.

And this time, it was the LORD who pointed him out to me. Who said to me, 'He is the one; you may go ahead and fall in love with him.'

So - I did.)

the cabbage story

2004-10-23T20:47:00.000-05:00

One day back in the summer of 2002, I was getting ready to fix supper for my kids. Earlier in the day I had boiled a head of cabbage, and I now had this huge bowl in the bottom of the fridge full of the leftovers of the cabbage along with the water I had boiled it in.

I decided to go over to the counter and get something else done first, intending to then bring the bowl of cabbage out of the fridge to heat it up.

Apparently my 2-year-old daughter had figured out what my plans were, because without asking me, without me seeing her, she decided she was going to 'help' me. So she went over to the fridge to bring out the cabbage. The very very big and heavy bowl of cabbage...

The first I knew of what she was doing, was the sound. A liquidy sound, like something was pouring across the floor.

Because something was pouring across the floor. It was the sound of cabbage water, spreading across a kitchen floor.

And there stood my little daughter, this huge plastic bowl dangling from her one tiny fist, an incredulous look on her face, as everything in the bowl landed splat in the floor.

And then the strangest thing happened - I started laughing.

Yes, laughing. Not screeching, not hollering, not pitching a hissy fit - all the things I would ordinarily have done. No, I started laughing.

My middle son was there is the kitchen with us, watching, his eyes bugging out at the sight of such a huge mess. I told him to go bring a towel to mop up the mess with. As he turned to go get it, I called after him to get the biggest towel he could find.

And what did he bring me back? A wash cloth. A wash cloth!

And what came out of my mouth? Screeching, hollering, hissy-fit-pitching?

No. Just more laughing. And then I sent him back for an actual towel, and then I went and got one myself, and the two of us cleaned up the mess.

(Btw - I gathered up all the cabbage from off the floor, washed it off, heated it up, and then I served it anyway. Shh! Don't tell!)

~~~

I would like to say that that was the end of my temper - that I have never pitched a hissy fit since. I would like to say that, yeah. It wouldn't be true. I pitched a fit at the kids just this past week, trying to get them to get ready and out the door for school. I still need a lot of work on my temper. A lot.

So pray for me, please.

'on the fritz'

2004-10-21T05:58:00.000-05:00

Back before I got married, I used to like to listen to Christian rocker Steve Taylor. On Tuesday, his song 'On the Fritz' kept running through my mind. Yep, the ol' mental radio had tuned in an oldie-but-goodie. In particular, these lines:

So the crowds grew, and their praise did too
and a mailing list sent you money
so they love Jerry Lewis in France
does that make him funny?

and

now victims of your double life are naming names

I didn't really think about it though at the time. Just some old tune I used to listen to, right? But then on Wednesday, I began receiving email forwards about some Christian bigname (I actually know very little about him) who has apparently fallen into sin.

I don't see any point in mentioning the man's name here. From what I read, those in authority over him tried to hold him accountable, and he refused. I did some web searching to find his response to the accusations, and didn't find anything, so at this point I only have the one side of the story.

My take: I see this as another case of the enemy - the adversary, the accuser of the brethren - doing his usual thing of stealing, killing, and destroying. Of trying to take down a ministry and smear the name of Jesus Christ, all in the same blow.

Certainly the world will use this as an occasion to blaspheme, to speak evil of the LORD and of HIS people, to paint all Christians as hypocrites. To mock, to belittle, etc, etc.

The question to me is: how will we who are Christians respond? Will we too mock and speak evil? Will we do the accepted 'Christian' sin of gossiping about the man? Or the even better, more Christianized version: gossiping about him under the guise of asking prayer for him?

Galatians 6:1&2 says:

Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. 2 Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.

Other versions translate the word meekness as gentleness. To keep a gentle, loving attitude while seeking the man's restoration. Being careful that we are not tempted to sin in doing so.

Tempted to sin? Tempted to what sin? The same sin that he is accused of? Perhaps. But also - guarding against puffing ourselves up at seeing another fall - guarding against wielding a malicious, backbiting tongue against the man - guarding against slicing up both the man and those around him with our sharpened, deadly words.

The goal is his repentance and restoration. His purification and transformation. For this evil that the enemy has planned against him could very well turn out for a mighty and miraculous healing instead, for this man and for many.

But we need to check our own hearts, bridle our tongues, and pray with mercy. (And where appropriate, beg the LORD for forgiveness - for us!)

names

2004-10-20T17:39:00.000-05:00

I love names. Good thing I had seven kids, huh? Gave me a huge opportunity to indulge my love of names.

I started collecting books on names when I was a teen. Now, most name books are of the 'name your baby' variety, so when I bought and brought home that first one at age 16 - well, you should have seen my mom's face! Wondering was there some news I hadn't told them...

Nope - not pregnant - just fascinated with names - where they came from - what they meant.

Writing gives me the opportunity to indulge my love of names as well. I've been working on a novel for some time now - lotsa characters, lotsa names to bestow. Lotsa fun for me!

How long have I been working on the novel? Well, when I started, I had it that the main character was 10 years old, because that was the age of my oldest child.

My oldest is now 15 - and the main character is now 12. Hmmm...

And the novel is 1/3 finished.

So...somebody's gotta get busy writing, eh?

i don't do a lot of linking out...

2004-10-20T17:29:00.000-05:00

...but I thought I would mention this post/discussion. Been following the proceedings there.

long time, no post

2004-10-20T15:36:00.000-05:00

I didn't realize I hadn't blogged in so many days. I had a new chapter for 'the child' to post at my fiction blog, and forgot to put it up till today.

Twould be nice if I had a good excuse for not posting, but I don't. I have been writing some posts, but then I stuck em away to ripen, so to speak...

...and to see if after ripening, they might just rot instead.

Still waiting on em...

gift

2004-10-16T20:14:00.000-05:00

A couple of years ago, I got a bonk on my head that gave me a headache for the rest of the day. Not one of the best days of my life - before it was over, my oldest child had run away. (She came back the next day.)

I grumbled at the LORD about the bonk on my head, complaining that HE had let it happen. And then I heard HIM say to me, that it was a gift.

A gift?????

Over time, I began to understand. The cramps in my feet when I was trying to pray. The kids yelling and bickering. All the little (and big) annoyances of my life. These are in fact gifts, if I look at them from a different perspective. Inconveniences, to stretch me - to show me that in HIS strength, I can endure more than I thought I could.

Praying in the midst of the storm, so to speak.

The LORD is the giver of good gifts - every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of lights. (James 1:17)

I just have to remember to see things HIS way, and not my own way.

some thoughts on the movie 'lord of the rings: two towers'

2004-10-15T15:50:00.000-05:00

I was going through some old notes (hastily scribbled in a darkened theater) from when I first got to see this movie.

From first viewing, Jan 2003:

When you ride out into the teeth of danger, expect deliverance! for you shall get it [Ps 121]

When the enemy blows a hole in the wall of defense, he doesn't do it for no reason. Plug up the hole! Rally there to defend your people.

Sam was unswervingly loyal and trusting of Frodo no matter what - even when Frodo, under the malevolent influence of the ring, turned on him. So should we be towards one another as Christians - even knowing as we do that as humans we will still fail one another, sometimes deliberately, sometimes not. Yet we should trust one another. Implicitly. But we cannot do that without first trusting the LORD unswervingly and implicitly. After all, is it not HE, the LORD, who is putting us together into one body - placing each one as HE will? Does not HE the LORD know each one of us thoroughly, what we are and will be, what we do now and will do? HE knows that we will fail one another, and when, and in what manner. and yet it seems the me that HE uses even our failures one towards the other for our good, for our training. Romans 8:28. Whatever our failures, HE graciously and lovingly turns them to HIS good. But we need to, as Peter, repent and return - and not, as Judas, despair and die.

The conversation between Aragorn and Arwen. I don't remember exactly what she said, but it had something to do with the path he was on being his destiny. I think of Ps 23 - HE leads me in the paths of righteousness for HIS name's sake. We as Christians do have a destiny - each of us a certain work, at least one, that the LORD has before us for us to do. We may not see it - or we may see it but see no way to get there to do it - but again! unswerving trust in the LORD! HE knows the work, and He knows the way. Only following HIM will get us there, following hard after HIM. HE will surely lead us aright, in HIS own timing and way.

How could Gandalf, so small, stand up against the balrog - a demon, and so large! - unless he knew (and knew with assurance) the power backing him up! And even as he was falling, falling to what must certainly be his death - even then, he was staying on mission, telling the others to run, to escape. And then chasing the demon, continuing to fight, never flagging till the demon died. So must we be, ever on mission for our dear master King Jesus, knowing with certainty and assurance the Power that backs us up.

And these, from my 2nd viewing of the same movie, mar 03:

The sensitive one is in the greater danger. (Frodo, hiding from the ringwraiths)

Sometimes a betrayal of trust happens to save a life. (Frodo luring Gollum out to be captured rather than killed)

When all hope fails - speak courage, not despair. (Helm's Deep)

How did it get to this? a little sleep, a little slumber... (Someone asked that question; I've forgotten who.)

There is always hope - for without it, all courage dies. (Helm's Deep)

It just takes one arrow to start the war. (Helm's Deep)

Into the breach! That's where the battle is - meet it! (When the enemy blew a whole in the outer wall defenses)

If you're part of this world - you have part in this war.

Turn the enemy's devices on his head! (Aragorn using an enemy ladder for his own purpose)

In the throes of the ring-spell, Frodo could not hear even Sam. (In Osgiliath)

The light of GOD shall blind the enemy. (Gandalf at the break of dawn)

~~~

By the way, in Silmarillion, Tolkien apparently has it that Gandalf and the other wizards were a class of lower ranking angels.

~~~

My two gripes about the trilogy:

No Tom Bombadil, and

Left out my favorite line, about someone having to give things up and lose them, that others might have them. That line sums up the entire trilogy - I really wanted to hear Frodo say it.

the choice

2004-10-15T04:02:00.000-05:00

About a month ago, when I first started blogging, my intention was for my very first posting to be on the topic of 'happiness is a choice.' Well...

It was while I was writing it up, that things in my life swirled out of control into madness - or perhaps maddeningness - which led to my rant-at-GOD-under-the-stars (as chronicled in 'compassion'). And things went from there. The continued snotty/foul-mouth/hatefulness-towards-each-other of my children. Misunderstandings among my friends. Long term waiting (still) for something I want very badly.

And I realize - I am being tested. Do I really believe that happiness is a choice? that I can buck the circumstances around me, and choose to be happy anyway? how bad can things get, and I still be happy?

And after all that has gone on (and still goes on and on and on...) - yes, I still believe it. I still believe that no matter how ugh-ish life gets around me, I have the choice of how I react to it. And that I still can choose to be happy no matter what.

Now whether I actually do choose happiness no matter what - well, that is another question! Do I fail to do what I believe in? Yes. Sometimes I do. Maybe often I do. But I still believe it.

can you top this...

2004-10-13T04:37:00.000-05:00

I have taken to carrying a small notebook about with me, into which I write out thoughts to become blog entries. And then sometimes, I write in my notebook, and forget to ever type up what I have written and post it...

Case in point: written on 5 oct 04 - forgotten about till now.

can you top this...

That was the name of an old tv show (from before my time). I got to see a game like that being played in real life once. It wasn't pretty.

It happened shortly after I got engaged to the man I would marry and shortly before we actually married. I wound up stuck in a room for at least an hour with two women I had never met before. The two of them were sisters-in-law, married to a pair of brothers. And these women were the ones playing the game.

And in their game of 'Can You Top This?' the category was 'I Married the Stupider Brother.'

Seriously. I am not kidding. Oh, they didn't call it 'Can You Top This' of course. But that is what they were doing. Almost their entire conversation was tales of their husbands' idiocies, punctuated with gales of laughter. 'My husband is so dumb, he did _________.' 'Oh, that's nothing - my husband is so dumb, he did ________!'

And it went on like that. And on. And on. And I longed for escape...

And I also kept wondering - what if their husbands were to show up suddenly and hear the two of them talking about them like that? How would their husbands feel? Wouldn't they feel betrayed?

It was sobering. I looked forward to my own upcoming marriage - and took instruction. I made a promise to myself right then, that I would not pull such a stunt on my soon-to-be husband. Not to belittle him, or put him down. Or especially not to make him the punch line of stupid jokes.

Respect. Isn't that what a husband wants?

I hope I always showed that to my beloved late husband. I think I did.

~~~

Of course, the thing about it was, having cut myself off from complaining about him to anyone else, I was left with only being able to complain about him to GOD.

Well, that works - GOD is the only one who can really do something about it!

There were many times that I would get furious with my husband, and storm out of the house and slam the door and go stomp around in the yard, pacing back and forth, complaining sotto voce about that man to the LORD. 'LORD, YOU talk to him! Tell him what he's doing wrong!'

And the LORD would gently - and I think, bemusedly - hear me out and calm me down, and then tell me, 'Now - about your part in this, little one, where you are wrong...'

*smile*

HE's good at that, you know.

storyblogging carnival III

2004-10-11T14:54:00.000-05:00

My story 'walk with me' was included in storyblogging carnival III. You can surf over there and have a look at the other stories, if you'd like to.

the problem with blogging...

2004-10-09T22:54:00.000-05:00

...is that once you start, you begin to feel the pressure to blog some more, to add something to the postings you have already produced - to give your steady readership (if any!) something more to read...

And so I blog this - a bit of filler, till I think of something real to say...

the traitor

2004-10-08T15:22:00.000-05:00

Paul really describes it in Romans 7:

For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do. (v 19)

What a struggle it is, struggling to do the things that are right, and to not do the things that are wrong!

I was having some pretty deep struggles lately. Under attack by the thoughts of my own head.

Does that sound strange? Has it ever occurred to you that not every thought that zips into your brain is your own? Well, these thoughts that were showing up in my head were not my own. They seemed sweet, all sugar-coated and all - but they were tempting me, sweet-talking me, to sin.

What sin it was does not matter. It is enough to say that I - the inner me, my heart, my mind - I hate this sin.

But my body loves it. And that is the problem.

For while with my mind I was battling the temptation, resisting it, shutting the doors against it - my body (the traitor!) was over at the side flinging open a window to let the sin sneak in.

So that I found myself with two enemies to battle: the temptation to sin was one, and my own traitorous body was the other.

And while I was trying to resist the foreign thoughts coming against me, here was my traitorous body, agreeing with the enemy, saying, 'aw, come on - it'll be fun!'

and, 'you know you wanna,'

and, 'look - let's just do this, and repent afterwards - we can do that.'

Till it wore me down...

And I did the sin...

And felt so crummy and stupid afterwards!

And, yes, had to repent.

Had to come up with a new battle plan, also. I can't fight two enemies at once!

Ah, but that was the problem: I wasn't really fighting my body. So next time...

Next time, I'm gonna be ruthless with my body. Body is not gonna side with the enemy and talk me into stuff. Body is gonna submit!

To the LORD Jesus.

Like James 4 says.

And once body is in line, then I can resist the enemy with all my being.

And he will have to flee.

tough love

2004-10-07T20:17:00.000-05:00

Been thinking a lot about tough love lately. And it seems to me that the place for tough love is for the unrepentant, the one who is stubbornly going on in their course - the one who hates correction.

But I have most often been seeing it leveled against the hurting, the anguished, the victim, the prisoner - the one who longs to live right, to be free, but who feels completely enmeshed in the spider's web of sin, and about to be finished off by the spider.

And instead of receiving comfort, empathy, or encouragement - they are slapped upside the head and told to stop the pity party - straighten up! stop wallowing there! if you really wanted to be free, you'd be free already.

It is GOD's kindness, Paul tells us in Romans, that draws us to repentance - not HIS harshness. And Galatians 6:1 tells us to restore the sinning brothers with a spirit of gentleness.

Gentleness.

antonio

2004-10-05T06:30:00.000-05:00

We saw Antonio yesterday afternoon. An old friend of my late husband.

Funny how we ran into him. Once again, I was pushing it on refilling the tank. Prices dropped that day, and I was gonna put a little gas in - just right after this next errand. Well...

I went to get on the highway, going uphill to merge - and the engine started to lose power. We reached the top of the hill without it dying, and it got back to normal.

Hmmm...gas sloshing, I thought. Getting way too close to empty.

Instead of merging, I stayed in the on-lane, which became the off-lane, and headed for the nearest gas station. Reached it ok - car didn't die on me. It was a gas station I don't remember ever stopping at before.

Sent my daughter inside with the money to pay for our purchase. I was standing by the car, waiting for the pump to reset so I could put the gas in when I saw him.

The bicycle with the bags of aluminum cans hanging off the front and rear. The scruffy white beard, and well-weathered face. The baseball cap.

He was washing out a thermos at the faucet at the corner of the gas station. He finished that, turned our way.

I waved.

He came over. It was Antonio all right. And he remembered us. He kept pointing at my oldest, saying her name over and over, saying, 'one year' and 'muy chiquita.' Meaning he remembered her from when she was a year old, and very tiny.

I remember it as well. It was the first time I met Antonio. My husband had met him somehow, and invited him to come into our house. He offered Antonio something to eat, and Antonio wanted beans. I looked in the pantry, somewhat flustered, not at all sure what to serve him. I opened a can of great northern beans to heat up, but then Antonio brought out a can of his own, of the spicy ranch-style beans that are so popular down here. I heated up the beans; Antonio rambled on and on, talking with my husband (who could speak Spanish, unlike me) - playing with the baby, who spoke neither English nor Spanish, and got along with Antonio quite well.

It occurred to me only today, that there's probably a very good reason why Antonio remembers that visit so fondly. Very likely, my husband was one of the few people around here who ever invited Antonio to come into their house.

You pass by Antonio along the road, and you will see an old man on a bicycle, picking up the cans from people's cast-off sodas. He collects them, then takes them over to the recycling center and turns them into money. Not a whole lot of money, but it's some - and he worked for it.

He isn't homeless - my husband once picked him up and gave him a ride home. He basically lives in a shack he made with his own two hands - and my husband wasn't entirely sure that the owner of that property knew Antonio was living on it. But it was a home, and it was his - his own efforts made it for him.

Most people, passing him by as they drive in their cars, probably don't pay him much attention - many don't even see him. There were times, I think, when I didn't much want to see him, knowing that if I waved and acknowledged he was there, I would then have to endure the man's rambling shattered English.

I greeted him warmly yesterday. He came over and pointed to my daughter a lot, saying her name, saying her name. He asked how many ninos - I said siete. (He never remembers.) I wondered would he ask about my husband - he always called him 'Rencho,' a nickname no one else used.

He didn't ask about Rencho. Apparently he did remember that now. The day that I saw him six months after the fact and struggled with my shattered Spanish to let him know his friend had died.

His friend. My husband was his friend. Others drove by without seeing him, but my husband saw him, and he cared. And because he did, now I cherish the old man too. He is a connection to the old days, when my husband was still alive, and saw the value in taking a few or even a lot of minutes, to bother to talk to a harmless old eccentric along the highway of life.

driving on fumes

2004-10-05T02:24:00.000-05:00

With the gas prices so high lately, I keep putting off refilling the tank till I have to, in the hopes of finding a better price - somewhere!

So it's not surprising that one day not so long ago, I cut it a little too fine...

I had taken the kids to the library and we were now heading for the store. I was planning to buy a little gas once we got to the store. I knew we were really low. Getting close to driving on fumes, I thought.

That was an understatement!

We were coming through town when I realized that the car was beginning to run funny. Of course, we had just passed the last gas station for the mext mile! I pulled over into the right-hand lane, in case the car died entirely, in case I might ned to get off quickly into the shoulder. We kept going...

And then the car did die, and I did have to get off into the shoulder. I could see the next gas station, about a quarter-mile ahead.

We were in the shoulder lane, but I hadn't hit the brakes yet. We were still rolling...

And it was slightly uphill...

Rolling, rolling, rolling. Praying - "LORD, just a little further!" Rolling...

Coming up on the corner - gas station on the far right, just beyond the red light.

Red light! Oh yes, it was red.

Rolling, rolling, rolling. Slowing. Praying. Coming up on the intersection...

Green!

Rolling on - right through the intersection, into the parking lot, right up to the pump.

Yay!

Thank YOU, Jesus!

apologies

2004-10-04T15:46:00.000-05:00

Sorry I haven't blogged anything in the past few days. I finally got my computer back - FIXED! - yay! - thank YOU, LORD Jesus! - and was swapping into it the stuff I had been working on in the other computer.

Also, twas the weekend, and my kids think the Internet is theirs allllllll weekend...

Hope to get something new up tonight.

why i live here

2004-09-30T02:51:00.000-05:00

I live in southmost Texas, right on the border with Mexico. I didn't always live here; I was born in Georgia, then lived a lot of years in Kentucky as well. The reason I now live in Texas is very simple: that's where my husband was about to move to when he and I first met.

Except he decided to hang around in Kentucky for a bit longer - long enough at least to gain himself a bride. And then we were off on a month-long, rambling honeymoon trip going to Texas.

Before we met, my husband had lived in and out of the border area for years, as well as living down in Mexico a few times. He had even spent a year in Paraguay down in South America.

Missionary work is what he did. His heart was with Spanish-speaking people - especially the people of Mexico.

When we first arrived down here in Texas, an old missionary friend of my husband let us park our little step-van on his property while we looked for a place of our own. It was while we lived there that I learned a few quick lessons.

First, that south Texas in June is hot!

Second, that the tap water down here tastes terrible.

And third...

The missionary's wife had in her kitchen a dispenser of good, cold, tasty drinking water. And she would invite me into her kitchen and offer me some of her good water to drink. But you know what? She didn't do that for the Mexicans who came by the house every day, the people that her husband worked with and pastored. She didn't invite them in her kitchen, and she didn't offer them any of her good water to drink either.

Hmmm...

Now, she did tell me her reason for sharing her water with me - that it was because I was pregnant. (yes, that quickly - it was a very good honeymoon!) She said she was concerned that the chemicals in the water might be bad for the baby. Which sounded plausible. At first.

But then the real reason came and stared me in the face.

She wasn't sharing her water with me because I was pregnant. She was sharing her water with me because I was Anglo like her. Or to be more accurate about it, she was not sharing her water with anyone who wasn't Anglo.

She despised the Mexicans.

I never learned why she did - I never really asked. But I did pay attention to it and learn from it. I learned to be very careful and guard my thoughts and heart. After all, we had come down here to minister to the Mexican people. But how can you minister to or serve or help a people - how can you show the love of GOD to people - when you despise those people?

Well...

You can't.

It's like what Paul said in 1 Corinthians 13 - Love is the main gift. Without love, it's all sour, shallow, empty. Wasted effort. GOD's anointings operate through HIS love - nothing less. Without the love, it all goes haywire.

So I learned that it's a matter of guarding that love - of guarding my heart. Of watching out for thoughts that will mess with my mind, and with my attitudes.

Because it's so easy, when someone treats me bad, to get into thinking, "He's bad, and he's X color, or speaks Y language - therefore everyone who is X color or speaks Y language is bad too, just like him."

Hafta guard against thinking that way. Stay in the love, and out of the hate.

~~~

I remember the first time I saw prejudice face to face. I was twelve, and was staying with my grandparents for a few days. The first morning there, my brother and I needed to go to school, so we walked out to the road, hoping to find the bus stop.

We found it all right. Because there was my friend Sallie from school standing at the side of the road, already waiting for the bus. I hadn't known she lived so close to my grandparents. She and I stood together, chatting, till the bus came.

Oh - did I mention that Sallie was black?

At the end of the school day, when the bus dropped us all off again, and Sallie walked up the road to her house, and I walked down the driveway to my grandparents' house - it was then that I got my ugly surprise. My grandmother was waiting for me, white with fury, horrified that I had stood there at the bus stop that morning, standing so close to that, that, black girl!

Except Grandmother didn't use the word black. Grandmother used the word that continues to get Mark Twain in trouble.

I was stunned. My own grandmother? I didn't have the heart - or maybe it was the guts - to tell her that Sallie wasn't just a classmate, but was one of my closest friends.

Grandmother went on and on, ordering me not to stand there with that girl the following morning.

"But that's where the bus stop is."

Oh. Then, she amended, don't stand near her. Stand far away.

Which seemed ludicrous to me. Separate but equal bus stops?

Well, I was left with a choice to make. This was my grandmother after all; my parents had told me to obey her.

But she was wrong. I knew she was wrong.

And anyway - how could I obey her? I could picture it in my head, you know - what it would be like for me to do what Grandmother said. Standing aloof from Sallie the next morning - and the questions she would ask, wondering why I was acting that way - and I would have no answers for her. No answers that would avoid hurting her feelings - or avoid showing disrespect to my grandmother.

Really, my choice was made for me.

So...

The next morning, I walked out to the bus stop and stood there with Sallie, chatting till the bus came. I never said a word to her about what Grandmother had said. I knew Grandmother would see and know I had disobeyed her. I wasn't looking forward to what would happen that afternoon when I got back from school.

And when I did get back...

Nothing. Nothing happened. Grandmother didn't say a thing to me about Sallie and the bus stop anymore. My parents never said anything to me about my disobedience to Grandmother either. I don't know if she ever told them, frankly.

I was amazed, though, at how well my parents had sheltered me all my life up to that point. Here I was, 12 years old, and only then finding out that my grandmother was like that. Here I am now, 31 years later, and the memory still haunts me.

Was I right, to disobey my grandmother? I think I must have been right. Love is always better than hatred.

Isn't it?

tales by sheya

2004-09-27T15:01:00.000-05:00

I started another blog today, one for me to place short works of fiction on. It is can be found here.

how my husband died

2004-09-25T08:32:00.000-05:00

I have told this story many times since it happened on 25 jan 02. And people find it amazing. So I think I will post it here.

We were married nearly 14 years, and had 7 kids. He was the LORD's own gift to me, I know. We matched soooooo well together.

About two months before he died, my husband made arrangements to sell the stock he'd been given in his dad's company back to the company. This would give us a steady income three times a year for the next couple of years.

And then a month before he died, he bought us a new car. Not a new new car, mind you - it was 10 years old - but it was new to us. And newer than the car we were driving.

And right after he bought the car, he got sick.

Vaguely sick. Nothing concrete. He just didn't feel well. Listless. No energy. Suddenly gained about 20 pounds. Began talking in his sleep, too. Weird things, like calling out to me about a bicycle.

???

The day he died, all the kids were sick except for our oldest son. Just about the whole family spent the day in bed. Myself included - not because I was sick, but because our little one was, and fretful. So I laid in the bed by her, soothing her and nursing her all that long day till she at last fell asleep.

My husband slept almost the entire day; I don't think he got up at all. And at about 3 in the afternoon, he started talking in his sleep.

For once, though, it wasn't a bunch of nonsense! Instead, he was saying, 'Praise YOU, Father! Hallelujah!' And he was swinging his arm too - yes, in his sleep - kind of punching it in the air before him the way he would during singing at church when he was praising and worshiping the LORD.

This went on for about 10 minutes. And I thought as I watched and listened, 'He must be feeling better.'

Later I realized that, yes, he was feeling better - but not in the way I was thinking!

About an hour after this, with the little one finally asleep, I asked my husband if he wanted to go to the store. One of us needed to go, and I thought maybe after what I had overheard, he would feel up to making the trip to the store. He said no, that I should go, and for me to take our oldest boy (the only kid who wasn't sick) to help me with the shoppping.

I kinda argued with him. I thought it was more likely that he would need our son there with him to help out with the other sick children. But then I walked into the kitchen and found that they were all up and watching the tv. So I figured they could help Dad out after all.

I went back into the bedroom to say bye. It had been my habit for a long time to give my husband a kiss good-bye whenever I was going somewhere. I had figured out that one day, our good-bye would be the last we would ever give each other, so I made sure to kiss him before I left the house.

I didn't kiss him that day though. He was lying in the bed with only his feet close to me. For me to kiss him, I would have had to crawl across the bed to reach his face. And the little one was in the bed too, where she had finally - finally! - fallen asleep. I didn't want to disturb the bed and risk waking her up.

So I said bye, I love you. And I think I touched his foot. And I left for the store.

Got back about an hour later. Called out to him, 'We're back!' Don't remember him answering. He was still lying in the bed where I had left him. I puttered around the house some, then sat down on the sofa, feeling a bit drained and sleepy myself.

A knock at the door. The neighbor, bringing a bit of food which I gave to the kids. I walked into the bedroom and through it, going into the little bathroom beyond.

While I was in that bathroom I suddenly heard a voice. Very clearly, it said to me, better go check on him; perhaps he's dead.

Immediately I called out my husband's name. No answer. I went to the bed and shook him. No response.

No response. Because he was gone.

The ambulance came. The police came. The justice of the peace came. The pastor and his family came. It was a dazed evening that I remember little of. I do remember cutting a lock of his hair before they took his dead body away, and telling everyone there what a precious blessing my husband had been to me.

I thought of what I had overheard, of him praising the LORD in his sleep three hours before. And then I understood it. He had indeed been feeling better - wondrously better. He was half-way home to Heaven, and I hadn't figured it out.

I have never mourned his death. There was no need to. He is Home - Home where I wanna be. He is happy there, and safe, and not sick anymore. I have no need to mourn him, because I live in that Hope.

As Paul said, we do not sorrow as those who have no hope.

I have indeed that Hope. And in that hope is Peace.

the washing machine!

2004-09-25T07:47:00.000-05:00

Finally remembering to post about that washing machine...

Back in March, my washing machine started acting up. It stopped spinning properly, so that the clothes would come out of the cycle still fairly wet. Some of them in the bottom would even be sopping wet. I would have to wring them out by hand before putting them in the dryer. And even with wringing the water out of them, I would often have to run the dryer an extra cycle to get them dry.

And what did I do? What do you think I did? I grumbled about it!

I didn't have any spare money to fix or replace the thing. And with 7 kids, the washer is in just about constant use. And I would stand there at the machine, pulling out wet clothes, wringing them by hand, murmuring and complaining under my breath.

And one day as I was doing that, I heard a voice very clearly in my head say, 'Why don't you thank ME for a new washing machine instead?'

That floored me. It was the LORD, of course. And I knew better than to be whining and complaining. So - I apologized. And started doing what HE had just told me to do. I started thanking HIM for a new washing machine. Every time I stuck my hand into the old machine and pulled out those very wet clothes, it would remind me to be grateful that the LORD was going to provide me with a new washing machine. And I would thank HIM for it.

I didn't know how HE was going to do that. But HE said to thank HIM for it. So I did.

It was about three weeks later that I got an envelope in the mail from my parents. Big envelope full of legal papers and such, stuff about their wills. I pulled out the papers and tossed the envelope on the desk top.

As I was looking over the legal papers, my 6 year old came and picked up the envelope I had discarded. 'Oh,' I said, 'honey, would you throw that away for me?'

She started to, then looked inside it first. 'Momma,' she said, 'there's something still in here.' And she reached in and pulled out

A small envelope. And inside that was

A check. For $2000. Which I had not expected would be in there.

And I had nearly had her throw it away!

Well.........

Can you guess what I did the next day? Yep - I went to the store and got me a new washing machine!

Thank YOU, LORD Jesus!

peace, happiness, and office furniture

2004-09-25T06:39:00.000-05:00

~~~as originally posted @ the infrequent blogger on friday, 17 sept 04~~~

Several years ago, before I met my late husband, I worked in an office. I was the file clerk. Business was booming back then, and every so often one of the file cabinets would become so full that I could barely cram another sheet of paper in - much less, put my hand in to pull the files out to find things. When that would happen, I would tell my supervisor, and she would order a new file cabinet.

One day, during the interval between ordering a new file cabinet and it being delivered, I was trying to fit just one more bit of paper into an already overstuffed drawer. I remember saying to myself in frustration, ‘I’ll be happy when I get that new file cabinet.’

And I distinctly heard a voice (but no one was there) say to me in reply, ‘Why can’t you be happy now?’

Hmmm…

I’ve thought about that one for years.

~~~

As for peace…

For months now, ever since April, whenever I pray, I hear the LORD saying to me, ‘Be at Peace.’

Hmmm…You’d think I would figure it out, that if I’m being told to be at peace - it means I’m not really at peace. Right?

I am notorious for being slow on the uptake. sigh

Well, from April till now has not exactly been the most peaceful period of my life. Mostly on the inside - the battlefield of the mind.

But then a few days ago, I had a vision of the LORD giving me swimming lessons. I saw myself floating on my back in the water, and could feel the LORD’s hand under my back, holding me up. No matter how deep the water would get. (And I don’t like being in water that’s over my head.)

Sweet vision. So peaceful.

Then came Saturday’s night yell-fest at GOD - and Sunday morning, as chronicled in ‘Compassion.’ And now?

Peace is my choice. I can’t always choose my circumstances, but I can choose my reactions. I choose Peace. And I may mess up tomorrow! Because the enemy of our souls is relentless, and he does not want me to be at Peace, but in turmoil.

But I choose to be at Peace even in the heart of the storm, as it rages all around me.

So help me, LORD Jesus.

~~~

This is the last post I plan to import from the infrequent blogger. I could probably go ahead and shut that blog down, but I guess I'll at least give it a couple more days, just to see if anyone is even looking at it anymore.

back seat of the station wagon

2004-09-23T14:23:00.000-05:00

For a long time, one of my favorite sayings has been, "You can't drive in the rear-view mirror." Meaning it's hard to move forward, when you're constantly looking backward. It's easy to see that when it's applied to driving a car - not so easy sometimes when it's applied to living a life. But to be constantly looking back, grieving over the past - well, it makes it hard to go forward, doesn't it?

On the other hand...

I drive a station wagon. I need to; I got a whole slew of kids (hmmm - that's assuming that 7 kids = 1 slew). So I need all the seating of a station wagon. All the seating!

If you're not familiar with how a station wagon is set up, the front seats, naturally, face forward. And the middle seats face forward. But the seats in the very back face backwards.

And those back two seats are where my youngest two kids sit. Not that they like sitting back there. Any time they see a chance of sitting elsewhere, they will go for it: "Can I sit in the middle? Please? Please please please?"

Which explains why so often as I'm driving, when I glance in the rear-view mirror - I will see two young faces looking back at me from that rearmost seat. Instead of them sitting properly in their seats, facing backwards, buckled in (the way they were when we started out), they will have turned around and are now obviously up on their knees, facing forward, hanging over the seat.

Argh!

They were doing it again Wed morning. And here I was trying to drive forward while glancing repeatedly in the rear-view mirror, calling out their names, demanding that they sit down the right way and stay in their seat belts!

Which is what triggered off this set of thoughts.

You see, so often lately, I have been either trying to live in the rear-view mirror, pining for what is behind me that I no longer have, cringing over past mistakes that can never be undone. Or I have been craned around peering over the seat at what's coming, trying to see it before I get there: "Are we there yet? How 'bout now? Well, how 'bout now!"

And the driver gently - not hollering, the way I do too much - but very gently - sits me back down the way HE wants me to be, and fastens my seat belt around me, and tells me not to worry. 'Cause HE's the one driving, not me - and HE knows the way HE's taking me, and how long it will take. As for me, I should get relax and enjoy the scenery. And just let HIM drive.

King Jesus knows where HE is taking me. And HE likes to tell me about what it's gonna be like, when I get there. Or when we get there. 'Cause HE's going with me.

I just gotta remember to let HIM drive.

No running ahead - no lagging behind. Just content. Content where HE has me now......and again now......and again now. For every now of my life.

Now, that's the way to ride!

the post that titled this blog - updated

2004-09-23T13:32:00.000-05:00

I originally posted this on my previous blog, the infrequent blogger, last wednesday, 15 sept 04:

Timing. Timing is everything; remember that.

Monday afternoon, I was just starting to compose a new post for this blog, writing about what I call 'mental radio' - when I suddenly couldn't get into the blogger site anymore. So I decided to reboot.

And my computer died.

Wonderful.

That was Monday afternoon. Monday evening, I got an envelope in the mail.

With a check in it.

A very nice substantial check.

So...Tuesday, I went and bought a new computer!

Like I said, timing is everything.

~~~

And, by the way, there is no such thing as coincidence. Things like this happen to me a lot. This was GOD's doing, arranging for the money to show up just when I needed it.

[Mental note: remember to blog about the washing machine.]

Most of the time, the 'coincidences' of my life are not about money, though, I might add. More often, it's things like I mentioned in 'Compassion' - three different people giving me the same Bible verse within 24 hours - things like that.

Nice when it is money though - when I need it.

So - thank YOU so much, LORD Jesus - for my new computer. May I only use it to please YOU.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog...

~~~

Mental radio - that's what I call it. When you get a tune stuck in your head, and it just keeps playing over and over again in the back of your head. And sometimes it is horribly annoying, because it's a tune you hate!

For me, most of the tunes on the radio station of the mind are from my growing-up years. 70's mostly. Some 80's. Some 60's. Even some 50's, from before I was born. Ancient history!

Monday's tunes were a lot of ABBA: 'Take a chance on me' and 'Knowing me, knowing you.' (I wasn't especially an ABBA fan, by the way.)

The weird part lately is that I have been noticing a correlationship between what's playing on Mental Radio, and what's going on in my life.

For example...

I have a dear friend. We are so close, our nickname for each other is 'twin.' I love him like I love my own brother.

He has had a lot of hurts in his life. A lot. And I pray for him a lot.

He was recently going through a particularly rough time. And during that time, it finally dawned on me (took a few days; I am well known for being clueless) that the tune that kept running through my head was Elton John's 'Daniel.' Not all of it; I couldn't remember all the lyrics; I still don't. Mostly, it was the phrase 'Daniel my brother' and the line 'Do you still feel the pain from the scars that won't heal?'

And it hit me - that song was in my head because of my friend, my twin. All those old wounds (and new ones too). And that this was a call for me to pray for him. A lot.

~~~

I mentioned that sometimes it's a song you hate. That happened this morning. I was fixing my son a sandwich for his school lunch. Not a PBJ, but I had noticed the jar of marmalade when I was bringing out the sandwich fixings. And suddenly that song about Lady Marmalade started running through my head!

Ugh - I do not like that song. I know enough French to understand the French portion of the song - NOT one of my favorites!

(Can you tell that I was annoyed?)

Ah, but remember what I said earlier about timing?

Lady Marmalade in the song was in New Orleans. And when I recognized that in the song, I was truly floored.

You see, a little earlier while I was online, a friend had pointed me to this posting here.

That post ends with a call to pray - for New Orleans. And my mental radio was also a call to pray.

So please, everyone who reads this: please pray for the people of New Orleans - pray for everyone in the path of Hurricane Ivan - for mercy, for repentance, for opened eyes. As when Jonah went and preached to the people of Nineveh, and they repented and disaster was averted (for a time).

Please. Please pray.

~~~

And now for the updates: as I was contemplating reposting the above here at mental radio, I was considering editing it, since the part about Hurricane Ivan was no longer timely - and anyway, he missed New Orleans.

Well...seems ol' Ivan is back somehow - churning away in the Gulf, and not far from New Orleans again!

He is actually supposed to hit further west than that, I understand. But still...please...be praying for those in the path of the renewed Ivan.

Thank you.

(Timing is still everything!)

~~~

Oh. And I took the new computer back, and I'm trying to get the dead one fixed now instead.

(Hmmm...Still need to blog about the washing machine...)

pot holes

2004-09-22T10:43:00.000-05:00

It rained over the weekend. And I mean, rained! I told the kids it was raining cats and dogs, and one of the kids asked if they could go outside and get them some pets then.

Seriously - one of the kids really said that. No doubt about it - my kids take after me!

And with the rains, came the potholes. The road that goes by my house out front seems to have popped out with new craters overnight.

Yes, craters. You should see the one down at the corner - a real axle-buster. I found it (the hard way) the first time while it was still hidden under a great puddle - kachunk! It was just as I got to the four-way stop though, so at least I was going very slowly when I hit the thing. And now I know where it is, to be careful of it.

There’s one stretch of road near here that I call the minefield. No matter how many times they fix all the potholes, next thing you know, that road is full of them again.

I guess the pavement has become weak there. So as soon as the storm comes, it finds the weakness, and breaks the pothole open again.

Storms are like that; they always find the weakness.

I’ve been going through some storms lately. Storms of emotions. Storms of situations. They swirl in, roar all over me, come nigh to drown me - and lay bare every weakness within me.

Ouch.

On the other hand…

The area where I live has endured drought conditions for about 10 years now. So to get rain at all is a wonder. To get a gully washer is spectacular.

And yet, we get the rain we so badly need - and we complain about it. Like rain is a curse and not a blessing.

Hmmm…

Same with storms of the emotions and situations. They stir things up, lay bare our weaknesses, throw us for a loop. And we complain. But maybe, just maybe, they are watering something in us that is dry and perishing. Maybe we would have shriveled up and died if the storms hadn’t come along and battered us.

And maybe the storm are useful to lay bare the weaknesses that need mending.

Hmmm…

Paul spoke of light afflictions working in us an eternal weight of glory. [2 Cor 4:17] Paul, who was arrested and imprisoned and beaten and nearly stoned to death. Paul, who went through false accusations and shipwrecks and desertions by his friends. Paul counted these things in his life as ‘light afflictions’ - makes me feel like such a wimp!

Storms - big and small - gully washers to hurricaines - eventually they past. They leave behind a mess; they expose all the weaknesses in our lives.

But then we can see where we need to rebuild. And especially, we can hand the weak areas over to the Master Builder, the LORD Jesus Christ, and let HIM do the rebuilding.

Rebuilding in HIS image.

compassion

2004-09-22T09:54:00.000-05:00

~~~ the following was originally posted at my previous blog, the infrequent blogger, on monday, 13 sept 04 ~~~

I really needed some compassion yesterday. Deeply badly achingly needed it. What I got instead, though…

I was hurting. Why does not matter; this is not intended to be a personal diary, after all. Just - I was hurting very deeply; my heart was empty and breaking.

The night before, Saturday night, I had gone outside and yelled at GOD for quite some time (well, whispered yelling, if you can picture such a thing - intensity rather than volume). I had had it; I was fed up; what I was seeing was not what HE had promised me. I was at the end of my rope, and I wanted out!

And when I was all yelled out and sat down, HE reminded me gently that it was a package deal - out was out - either stick with HIM and see things through, or…

I didn’t want the or. But I was still hurting. Aching, aching.

And then it was Sunday morning. So I got the kids ready and we went to church. But once we actually got inside the building, I started crying and crying. I wanted/needed some privacy, so I went into a back room by myself.

There my best friend found me. She sat with me, heard me out, started to comfort me. But then she said something that made me livid. I know she did not mean for it to come across this way - often what one person says and what the other person hears are not quite the same thing - but what I heard her saying was that my troubles were because I was sliding back from GOD. Accusing me. Judging me.

I blew up at her. Stormed out of the church building and away down the sidewalk. Angry, angry, angry! All the things I’d been yelling at GOD the night before came roaring back up again on the inside.

I went around to the shady side of the church building and sat down, leaning my back against the building. Praying, hurting. “LORD, sent me someone to comfort me who won’t judge me. Someone who won’t try to make me come into the building (as if getting the hurting inside a building is the goal - as if setting foot in the building will magically make the hurting go away). Someone who won’t just talk, talk, talk at me. No, what I want, LORD, is someone who will just sit here with me in silence - just wrap an arm around my shoulder and let me cry . Someone who will just love me with YOUR heart.”

I heard a motorcycle drive up to the building and park. Moments later, a young man I vaguely remember seeing at the church came over. He introduced himself, asked me some questions. I poured out the story of my anguish.

Did he sit down by me? No. Did he wrap an arm round me? No. Did he keep silence, as I had prayed for? Oh, no!

Did he judge me? You betcha! Started in about walking in victory, blah, blah, blah. Pity party, blah, blah, blah. He was just filling the empty air with words, words, words.

And I sat there, thinking about Job. And how when his three friends came to comfort him, they first sat by him in silence for a solid week. And that had been their wisdom. It was when they opened their mouths to speak, that was when the trouble began.

The young man offered to go inside and get someone else. Fine. So he did. He brought out a lady who is very sweet and dear to me, who is like a grandma to my kids.

Did she sit by me? Yes. Did she put her arm around me? Yes. Did she keep silence?

No. Did she ask what was wrong? No. She began to talk.

And all the things she was saying were true things. But they didn’t apply to my situation. And, frankly, they came across as more accusation - you aren’t close to GOD anymore! More judging me.

Then my friend, the one I had blown up at, came outside and found us. She apologized, bless her heart.

Finally, they all left me alone again. Alone felt better. I sat there for a while, thinking over what had happened, analyzing it, praying about it.

Gaining a heart of compassion.

You see, for some time now, I have been visiting a Christian chatroom online. And I have seen people come into the chatroom who are hurting, asking for help, for compassion. And I have seen them be helped.

But I have also seen people come into the chatroom, asking for help, for compassion, for comfort - and seen them be judged: “You’re just looking for attention! You’re just having a pity party! Are you a Christian?”

And having now been on the receiving end of such compassion - may I see more clearly how to comfort others who are hurting! It’s not that my comforters didn’t mean well for me. They did. I know they meant well with their words, especially those who have known me for so long.

But it all came across as just words, words, words, filling the empty air. Band-aids being stuck on a heart attack.

After a bit, I needed to visit the bathroom, so I went inside. Came back out into the lobby and stood there, not sure what to do next. Go in and hear the last of the sermon? Or what?

And here came my friend, looking for me. She had brought me a cup of water. A small thing, I know. But so thoughtful!

I went inside then. The sermon was nearly over. And when it was over, as we stood to our feet praying, as I was praying privately…HE came to me, the LORD Jesus did, and filled my heart with joy. So I am much better now, tremendously better.

But I hope I never forget the lesson from this, on how to show compassion - and how not to.

~~~

And it occurs to me that about three weeks ago, a friend quoted a Bible verse to me over the phone. Later that night, another friend online gave me the same verse. And the next evening at church, Pastor finished his sermon by quoting that same verse.

And the verse?

2 Cor 1:4 Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.

Hmmm………

mental radio - my first post!

2004-09-21T05:40:00.000-05:00

welcome to mental radio! just a brief note now - bbl with more.

your hostess - sheya joie