Oh Christmas Tree

I took down the Christmas tree today,
Gently lifting each ornament
From dried out branches
Trying not to spill too many needles.

I thought of many of the people who gave them to me.
Many are doing this same task,
Removing the ornaments
From their trees.

"Our First Christmas Together",
"Our First House"
"Baby's First Christmas"
"Disney Vacation"

History displayed in decorations.
Trees filled with hundreds,
Thousands of memories.
My tree filled with hopes and wishes.

Despite my best efforts
The floor is carpeted with needles
Resembling a lonely,
Dark forest floor.

I tip the tree to drag it outside
Forgetting the water in the stand.
It spills and soaks my slippers.
Or is it a pool of tears in which I stand?

Changes

The God who never changes
Is always changing me.
Though He loves me as I am
He wants what’s best for me.


Softening harsh edges,
Removing sinful stains,
Adding joy and holiness,
My loss is always gain.


Wrestle, rant and rave with Him;
Tears, grief, fury, and despair.
Exhaustion overtakes me
Still I rage on my selfish war.


Life is very painful.
As He increases, I decrease.
Stretch marks, growing pains;
I beg for some relief!


Comfort and forgiveness come
In ways I could not dream,
With knowledge, insight, wisdom
That I share in Christ’s suffering.


It’s a privilege not all are privy.
Though I confess, I would prefer
He answer in other ways
But to His perfect plan I do defer.


He’s the same yesterday, today, tomorrow.
I’m glad that I am not.
What is now is better than before
But what’s to come is better yet.


I wait upon the LORD
To keep promises He made to me,
Not dreams or fanciful wishes
But solid, true certainties


Of peace, joy, contentment
Always and eternally.
No sin, no sorrow, no pain
Jesus gave us that surety. 


For He’s the God who never changes;
With kindness and tenderness He’s changing me.
Though He loves me as I am
He wants what’s best for me.

My Father the Car???

In the mid 1960's there was a television show called "My Mother the Car".  The premise of the show was of a man who's dead mother was reincarnated in his family's car.  She would speak to him through the car radio.

God, my Father speaks to me through my car.  No, I don't hear His voice coming from the radio, the glove compartment, or any other part. But He routinely has used my car to remind me of His constant presence in and care for my life.

First, there was the manner in which I got this car in the first place, back in 2008.  Then there were a number of incidents during my New England vacation of 2013. There was the breakdown that happened the day before my birthday in June.  And then there was last Thursday.

About six weeks ago, I took my car in to the shop because of a strange vibration I felt in the brakes.  I was a bit anxious that it would be a large expense, but as had happened in June, the repair costs were half what I anticipated.  A good thing, too since I knew that when I would have the car inspected in December I was going to probably need two new tires.

When I picked up the car my mechanics informed me that they recommended all four tires be replaced and that two of them needed replaced immediately, they were worn down to the metal replacement indicators and dangerous to drive.  SomeDivinehow, I was able to buy four new tires. Two times the planned expense, two months earlier than I expected.

Later I looked at the mechanic's work order and noticed another strongly recommended repair. Apparently, the protective covering around all four of my brake hoses had cracked and crumbled off, exposing the vulnerable soft hoses to damage.  If they ruptured, I would be without brakes. Understand that my daily commute is 47 miles each way, primarily over interstate highways. I drive at high speeds over all sorts of road debris and roadkill.  I don't know how long I'd been driving with exposed brake hoses, but I've always been able to stop when I wanted.

I made the appointment to have the hoses replaced, along with the annual inspection, for Wednesday and someDivinehow, I was able to pay for it all.

On Thursday morning a coworker messaged me to let me know road conditions were bad, so I left twenty minutes early.  His assessment of the roads was actually an understatement! My normal fifty minute commute took ninety minutes.

That morning's commute ranks in the top five of Worst Trips Ever.  The first third of the trip the roads were icy.  The second third, the visibility was poor with high winds and blowing, drifting snow. The final third portion of the trip, it was both! Frequently I could feel the car slip and right itself.  Ice was building up on the wipers, rendering them practically useless  I frequently adjusted the wiper speeds, like playing the gears on a bike, trying to get the most effectiveness from variable speeds and hoping to dislodge the ice.

I thought of stopping and pulling over to manually clear the wipers but because of plowed snow and drifts I couldn't see the shoulder of the road and could possibly get stuck.  There was more traffic out than usual as well, so I thought it best to stay in the car and just keep moving forward, continually shifting my attentions through small clearances that would appear in different spots on the windshield.  At times, I had to lean far over to the passenger side for the only available view.

My shoulders and neck were aching from hunching over. My back was hurting from the strain of my ever shifting positions.  Stretch up, crouch down.  Lean left, lean right.  I was starting to feel real pain, not mere discomfort.

I prayed the entire trip.  Honest, white knuckle prayers, to be sure!  Like the man in the gospel of Mark -"I believe. Help my unbelief!" (and while You're at it, please keep that FedEx semi from running me off the road).  Yet, throughout the entire trip I was amazingly calm - or at least calmer than usual. I knew I had four brand new tires with sure tread, dependable brakes and only the day before, mechanics whom I trust had deemed my car safe to drive.

My faith, though was not in the reliability of my Cooper Discoverer H/Ts or in Ford Engineering.  It was in God, who'd taken care of all these things for me, before I needed them. Cooper and Ford don't know me; my needs or desires, the hairs on my head or even my hair color, for that matter.  God does, because He made me, gave me all of those needs, desires, etc.  He planned them.

Thursday's commute was frightening, I will admit.  Despite my faith, it is an imperfect faith, being perfected daily by circumstances in which God places me. And I have no desire to find myself shivering in a snow-filled ditch on I86.  But I found that trip encouraging.  I saw evidence that some of the faith exercises God has put me through have produced some muscle.

Certainly God has spoken to people from burning bushes and clouds in the sky, but for most of us he speaks through cars, stacks of laundry, full calendars, joblessness, family disputes and the like.  He speaks through our everyday lives - lives He lovingly plotted.  And what Jesus frequently says is "Will you trust Me now?"

The Suck It Up Sisters - Part 1 Vacuums vs Milkshakes

Recently, I had a disagreement with a very dear friend.  There was a function neither of us was looking forward to attending. I sucked it up and went. She cancelled out at the last minute, which I did not find out until I got there.

Angry, I sent her a text from the party that said if I could suck it up then she should have as well and shown her face. I was wrong - for being angry and for my mean-spirited text (and for all the evil thoughts I had that no one ever saw or heard or even knows about).  I went to her and apologized - to her and to God.  Both gave me their forgiveness.

A few days later she and I exchanged texts:

ME:  I'm going to order us t-shirts that say "The Suck It Up Sisters".  Should our logo be a vacuum cleaner or a straw?

SHE:  Ha! Ha!  Definitely vacuum We suck up all our garbage. :) Plus straws make me think of milkshakes and now I want a milkshake. :D

With all due respect to my friend, she's wrong,  The logo should be the milkshake. It's not our job to do the cleaning because Jesus already has. For example:

"Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow..." (Is 1:18)

And then there's:

"For all of us have become like the one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment..." (Is 64:6) BUT...  "He spoke and said to those who were standing before him, saying 'Remove the filthy garments from him'.  Again he said to him, 'See, I have taken your iniquity away from you and will clothe you with festive robes.'" (Zech 3:4) (emphasis mine)

To support the milkshake, there are these verses:

"Taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! (Ps 34:8)

"How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!" (Ps 119:103)

"Your words were found, and I ate them; and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O LORD, God of hosts." (Jer 15:16)

Certainly, there are times when we're called to "suck it up".  There is:

"Then Jesus told His disciples, 'If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me."  (Matt 16:24)

And:

"Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ."

Yet, all too often I suck it up in the wrong manner for the wrong reasons.  I put on a mask of happiness because "God loves a cheerful giver" (2Cor 9:7) or at least that's the reason I tell myself. In fact, it's more likely I don't want people to think badly of me or I want people to think I've got it all together.

Removing my mask makes me vulnerable.  There will be people offended or who won't like the real me (ouch);or some will try to comfort or help me, bruising my self-reliant pride (double ouch); or they will confront me on some sin they see (oh, just kill me now!).

In so many instances, my reasons for sucking it up are sinful. Yet, as my pastor often says, once something is identified as sin it's easy because we know the remedy for sin - repent and believe in the gospel. Yes, I know it's easier said than done; but it's true and well worth the effort

The Promised Land was described as a land flowing with milk and honey. The Word speaks of fruits of repentance (Matt 3:8).  I see a strawberry milkshake there, folks!  Or banana smoothie whatever your pleasure.

It's really hard to suck up the milkshake through a mask.  The little mouth holes aren't big enough and they knock the straw around. To fully enjoy what God has offered us through Jesus we need to remove our masks.  Some of those around us might be surprised by what we really look like, some will be frightened away.  But those that know and love us best already knew what we looked like anyway.  And none of them know us better or love us more than Jesus.

Nature Abhors a Vacuum

Its not an imbalance
That a chemical can counter.
Its not a weight
A drug can lift up.

Its pain.  Real pain.
A hole in my heart
With raw tissue exposed,
Stinging as if alcohol is being poured over me.

A deep inhale of ice cold air
On a subzero day burns my lungs.
Breathing hurts! But its necessary;
So I suffer the searing pain.

A cavity inside me
With nerves exposed.
Air being blown inside
Jolts of agony travel my body.

Nature abhors a vacuum
And so do I.
Jacob wrestled You; Hannab begged.
And so do I.

Please, answer me
As you answered them.

Deliverance

I come in from the cold

Shivering. My nose and toes
Numb from frigid temperatures.
The sound of the furnace kicking on

Greets me, calling me deeper inside.

My fingers sting; the heat hurts

As my hands begin to thaw.

But the sound of the fan blowing

Warm air reminds me
Comfort lies in the future.

I need only wait.

Battle Cry

The battle belongs to the LORD.

Be strong and courageous.

Put on the full armor of God.

Shield of faith.
Sword of the Spirit.
Helmet of salvation.
Belt of truth.
Shoes of peace.
Breastplate of righteousness.

I'm trying.
But my fighting skills are poor
and my armor doesn't seem to fit my frame well.
It chafes.

I'm battle weary
and in need of some R&R.

Drink Offering

This page is my drink offering.

Words flow like tears upon the page.

My heart bleeds in ink and pixels.

I am an empty vessel   laid upon your altar.

Will the steam from my blood sweat and tears

Rise up to You as an acceptable offering?

Antique

It’s harder for old, broken hearts.

Antiques are worn, weathered, fragile;

And parts are harder to find.

Care must be taken when handling.

Only skilled craftsmen should even try,

But they’re rare and in short supply.

None appreciate their character,

Their strength or soft lines,

The beauty of their intentional design.

There’s still useful  life remaining!

Love untapped!  Waiting to be

Wanted.  Desired.

Needing only minor repairs,

Hidden fortunes sit overlooked!

Wondering. Dreaming. Hoping

Jesus' Curfew - A Poem

About two months ago my friend, Adiel and I went to Poets' Hall to listen to some folks read their poetry.  We had a great time meeting people from all walks of life coming together to share their compositions from a variety of poetic styles.  We enjoyed ourselves so much that we returned and now have vowed that at our next visit we will actually share some of our work (eek!).

At that first visit, a reporter from the Erie Times-News was there interviewing some of the artists and audience members.  When the article was published a few weeks later I read it with interest.  In the article, the proprietor of Poets' Hall, Cee Williams was quoted as saying their only rule was "no Jesus after 10:00 pm".  Later, on his Facebook page Cee said he hoped people realized he was only kidding when he said it.  I have no reason to believe otherwise; I've got quite the talent for quick quips that can be taken the wrong way, so I can relate. 

Yet, the idea that there was a time limit on Jesus got some ideas percolating in my head.  This is what was brewed. 

Dedicated to Cee

Jesus’ Curfew

“No Jesus after ten-o’clock”, said Cee,

Albeit, with a grin.

“They’re a rough crowd here.

We can’t possibly let Him in.

He’ll feel uncomfortable and awkward

The LORD we might offend.

To His religious sensibilities

We can’t possibly attend.

The folks that come have been abused and hurt

And down on their luck.

They need to release their pain

Quite often they say ‘Fuck’”

The Lord listened to all of this

And then He spoke to Cee

“You’ve got it all wrong

Who did I hang out with when I lived in Galilee?

They were tax collectors and fishermen

Even prostitutes.

It was to the overly religious crowd

My message didn’t compute.

When my friends and I hung out and talked

The language could turn blue

(Although when those guys cursed

It was in Hebrew).

I conquered sin and death, my friend.

I've been to hell and back.

With your repentance, God’s forgiveness

My love you’ll never lack.

So the folks at Poets’ Hall are earthy.

I really like that!

Remember when God created man

It was with dirt in which He spat.

So ten-o’clock’s my limit, huh?

That curfew I will flout.

‘Cause I’m King of kings and Lord of lords

How ‘ya gonna keep Me out?”

A Eulogy for Grace

Found beaten and abandoned to the streets, she was taken in by Because You Care, a local pet rescue organization.  She was a Yellow Lab/Beagle mix – a “Leagle”, I like to say.  BYC named her Natasha and adopted her out to a local couple.  This couple renamed her Sasha and promptly dispatched her to their backyard, where the neighborhood kids threw stones at her.  In addition, she was only fed table scraps and cheap dollar store treats.  With poor nutrition, no exercise and limited human interaction (abusive, at that) her weight ballooned to 72 pounds on her short beagle legs and she withdrew in to herself.

BYC’s mission was to keep animals out of shelters and place them in loving homes.  In Natasha/Sasha’s case, the home had become no better than a poorly run shelter.  True to their mission, BYC removed Natasha/Sasha from this home and brought her back in to the program.  It was in their “Pet of the Week” newspaper ad that I first laid eyes on her.

Nine months before I’d had to have my dog, Coach put down and after a few months of grieving, I began the process of looking for another dog.  But not any dog, it had to be the “right” dog.   For a few months I’d scanned newspaper ads, gone to shelters a couple of times, followed up leads from friends but none of the dogs were “right”.   Taking in a pet is a lifetime commitment – lifetime of the pet, at least.  This decision needed serious consideration.  But when I saw Sasha’s picture I knew she was the one.

Her newspaper portrait was anything but a glamour shot.  It was obvious she was seriously overweight, sad and withdrawn.  In the ad they referred to her as “plump”, which struck a nerve with me.  Having been more than “plump” at one time, I thought it mean for this to be pointed out.  I felt a kinship with Sasha and called BYC to apply to adopt her.

The application required more than name, address and adoption fee.  I had to provide a veterinary reference, have a fenced in yard (which in my case they gave an exception) and sign an agreement that if I ever had to give her up, I would not put her in a shelter but give her back to BYC and provide financial support until she was adopted again.  Like I said – a serious commitment.

I did all this and we arranged for a meet and greet.  The woman from BYC (Joyce) said she’d bring her over and introduce us.  Since I worked close to Joyce’s home I volunteered to go over there to save her the trip.  Joyce cheerfully declined, saying it was no problem for her to come over. 

Joyce and Sasha came over one evening.  Sasha was so overweight that her belly almost touched the ground and she had a bit of trouble climbing the four steps in to my house.  I showed them around a bit, Sasha cowering behind Joyce.  Sometime during the tour, I realized Joyce was doing a home inspection and screening me; BYC takes their job seriously!  Eventually Joyce and I sat on the couch to discuss the adoption procedure.  Sasha tried to climb up on the couch behind Joyce.  She tried to stop her, explaining to me that they don’t encourage foster families to allow dogs on the furniture since it might be a problem with their final adoptive families.  I have no problem with animals on the furniture (in her abode in heaven, my mother is scowling at this) and since I planned on being the final adoptive home, I let her sit up there with us.  It was a bit of a struggle due to her weight, but she made herself comfortable.

The only potential issue I had with the adoption was no one knew if the dog was good with kids.  Normally, BYC screens this information or gathers it from foster families.  Since she’d just been brought back in to the program and given her experience with the neighborhood kids at her last home, no one really knew.  Because of regular Barbling visits, this was a deal breaker.  The Barblings were on vacation at the time so there was no way to find out.  Joyce and I agreed to have Sasha stay with me for a trial period and if after the Barblings returned from vacation we discovered issues, I could return her with no problem.

So Sasha had a sleepover at my house for a few days.  To increase the chances of success with kids, I headed on over to the Barblings’ home and took some of the girls’ dirty laundry from their bedrooms.  I left the laundry on my living room floor so the dog had many opportunities to sniff and get to know them.

She and I spent the next few days getting to know each other.  I fed her healthy food.  I took her for walks around the neighborhood – short walks, which wore her out.  She slept on the couch, she slept in the chair that eventually became her chair, she looked out the window that eventually became her window identified by the hundreds of snout prints on the glass.  She quickly settled in.

When the Barblings returned, everyone was introduced.  The dog shyfully sniffed everyone and tentatively accepted the hugs of three excited little girls.  We took a brief walk and the girls got her running, tongue lolling from her mouth, ears flapping, a look of pure joy in her eyes!  There was no doubt she was good with kids; she was good with everyone!

Now that she was a permanent fixture in my home, I wanted to change her name.  The name Sasha is a perfectly acceptable name, but it didn’t flow with my last name.   I mulled over a number of possibilities, but one time I looked in to her soulful eyes, dug past the fear and pain and saw…grace.  And so she was renamed and reborn – Grace.

To look at her, she was not the typical picture of grace.  She had the long Lab body on short Beagle legs.  Overweight, out of shape, shy and withdrawn, her grace was not readily apparent; covered in layers of fat and fright, her true character hidden.  She did not have the lithesome body of a dancer but the solid, wide-shoulder look of the working dog she was designed to be.  She lacked the agility and speed of a runner; she lumbered and plodded, but she plodded with enthusiasm!

From healthy food, regular exercise and overdoses of affection Grace quickly shed pounds and apprehension.  Her beautiful personality began to emerge.  So did a bit of willfulness, too I must say.  Considerate of her abusive past, I was gentle in my training of her, but Grace still needed to know the boundaries of our household; I still had to discipline her.  Any sharp word or scolding from me would send her slinking away in fear.  It broke my heart and I wondered if she could ever recover from her sad past.
 
Over the years, I would occasionally whisper her old names to see if she would react.  “Natasha”, I’d speak; “Sasha”, I’d quietly say.  Sometimes I’d get a bit of a response – a flick of the ears, a jerk of the head.   It might have been my imagination, but at times I thought the reaction was a fearful one.  About three years after her adoption I called out Natasha, Sasha again.  There was no reaction; her ugly past was forgotten.

 About two months after her arrival, I reprimanded her for something when she walked away to her crate.  She turned around, slumped down and started muttering under her doggie breath.  “She’s sassing me!” I thought.  I knew then that she’d shed her Natasha/Sasha self.  She was now truly Grace.

She was full of grace in her gentle and kind bearing, her quiet demeanor, the manner in which she approached new friends, two- and four-legged.  Those who experience grace understand joy better and joy Grace exhibited at the mere mention of the words walk, treat, biscuit, or ride.  At the jangle of her leash or the crunch of a lunchmeat bag she’d practically do backflips.  We made many walks up to the local Dairy Queen often times with a Barbling at the end of her leash.  She liked trips to the playground across the street and Barbling #3 even got her to go down the slide a number of times.  Grace enjoyed the simple things in her life, perhaps because she’d known depravation.

Because grace had been extended to her, Grace extended it others.  A number of other dogs (and a couple of cats) have stayed with us over the years.  Atticus, Daisy, Tin, Bella, Buddy, Phoebe – they were all welcomed in to our home. But in every interaction, Grace had to be top-dog.  Most of the time this was a given, but occasionally a skirmish broke out as her dominance was established and reestablished.  She was gracious, but not a doormat!

About four months after her arrival, I was contacted by BYC to foster another dog.  “Sissy” had been found wandering the streets and she was extremely frightened and skittish.  Joyce had to drag her in to my house.  Like Grace and the “plump” and “portly” comments, I thought it cruel to call this dog “Sissy”, highlighting her weakness and so I renamed her Dora.  We became a two-dog, three-bitch household.

From her behavior it was clear Dora was traumatized, but she slowly came to be a bit more trusting of humans.  I think this was because she saw the two-legged being treated the other four-legged being pretty well so she didn’t have to worry so much.  Though they never became playmates or best buddies, Grace and Dora had an understanding.  And as top-dog, Grace took her role seriously, on occasion facing down another dog who might try to go after Dora.  Other times, Grace would place herself between a stranger and Dora, offering a layer of protection.  And Grace bestowed the greatest of kindnesses to Dora by allowing her to sleep on our bed – albeit at the foot, saving the honored place at the pillow beside my head for her own.

After over nine years of faithful service and loyal friendship Grace left this world on Friday,      September 27.  Almost twelve, age and arthritis ravaged her body, but her graceful heart remained strong until the very end.

That last day, as we both lay on the floor of the vet’s office saying our goodbyes, I whispered “Natasha, Sasha” and she had a little twitch, as if she was spending some time reflecting of her life, a trip down memory lane.  I was doing the same, speaking to her about how much I loved her, how she’d been a good dog and done her job so very well.

Years ago I read the book “Heaven” by Randy Alcorn in which he biblically answers people’s questions about what heaven will be like.  When I first got the book, I saw that the format was each chapter answering a specific question.  I quickly looked up the question “Will animals, including pets, live again?”  Alcorn’s answer was that though there is no definitive biblical answer, some noted theologians allude to the fact they will be.  In fact, Alcorn quotes a poem by John Piper in which he refers to seeing his old dog, Blacky in heaven.  If one so noted as Piper believes his pet will be in heaven, then there’s a pretty good possibility of this being true.

My pets in heaven – Priscilla, Dusty, Lucy, Coach – this isn’t a deal breaker between God and me.  He gave me more than I ever deserved just with their presence on earth, let alone heaven.  I’m just so very thankful to have been blessed with the most amazing, Grace.

The LORD Your God is with You Wherever You Go



The Word says in Joshua 1:9 "the LORD your God is with you wherever you go".  I have evidence of this from my recent trip to New England.

The week before the Independence Day holiday, my nephew heard a noise from his car.  He took it to his mechanic who told him it was a wheel bearing and replaced it.  However, he still heard a noise and took it back to the mechanic who said it was the Universal Joint and he should have it replaced, but the car was still drivable in the meantime.  The evening of July 3, about 30 minutes from home, the u-joint broke, the drive shaft fell off and my nephew and his family were stranded for a bit.  My sister picked them up and got them home that evening, but their car was in the shop over the holiday weekend and I helped to chauffeur them around town.

During one of these trips, my nephew commented that he heard a noise from my front tires that sounded like a bad wheel bearing.  I hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary and wrote this off as him being extra sensitive due to his own recent experience.  However, as days went by and my trip to Maine approached, I thought I just might be better off having the bearings checked.  It turned out that both the front wheel bearings were shot and needed replaced.

Though I don't like that my nephew had to go through the experiences he did, had he not been in my car and told me the sounds he heard in my tires, I might have had major problems a thousand miles from home.  God provided for me through my nephew's misfortune (for the record, his mechanic was upset at having given him bad advice so he only charged my nephew for the parts, saving a considerable sum on labor charges).

One morning when I was in Acadia National Park, I stopped to get gas before I ventured in to the park for a day of hiking.  The plastic ring that allows the cap to hang from the filler inlet broke long ago so, as I always do I removed the cap, placed it on the top of the car, and filled the tank.  Then I drove  - up steep mountains, down steep mountains, and around curvy switchbacks - at a bit above the posted speed limit, I confess.  I hiked for a few hours, returned to my vehicle and then drove around curvy switchbacks, up steep mountains, down steep mountains (at roughly the same speed as before) and returned to camp.  Hours later I was walking past the car when I noticed the fuel tank door was ajar.  Curious, I went over to shut the door when I saw the cap was missing.  A little shocked, I instantly looked up and saw the cap still sitting on the roof, right where I'd left it that morning.

A few days later, as I was leaving Maine and heading to Vermont I set my GPS and placed it on the dashboard.  The mounting device I'd had for the GPS broke a year ago so I'd always just laid it on the dash.  I didn't need to see it, anyway; I just listened to the voice and followed what it told me.  I had never driven to New England before and had no idea of what roads or highways there were so I was completely at the mercy of my GPS.

After setting the unit, it displayed that I had about six hours of driving time ahead of me, which matched what I thought.  The GPS screen out of view, I proceeded to follow it's directions - drive to highlighted area, turn right, drive 6 miles, etc, etc.  About twenty minutes in to my trip, with no reason to mess with the unit, I picked up the GPS and saw it now displayed I had 10 hours of drive time!  What???!!!

I quickly pulled over and reset it.  Somehow, I must have bumped something and set myself on a course to who knows where.  Had I not picked up the GPS at that time, I could have been hours out of my way before I caught the error; probably somewhere at the Canadian border with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arresting me for attempting to enter the country without a passport.

These are the issue that I KNOW about.  How many passed by without my noticing?

When times were tough for the Israelites, God continually told them to remember.  Remember how He got them out of Egypt.  Remember how He parted the Red Sea.  Remember how He gave them manna in the desert.  Remember...  He gave them many instances to remember as proof of His love and care for them so they could trust Him in future not so easy times.

He gave me plenty just on this one trip; not just safe travel over 1,946 miles, but also wonderful memories of hiking, the beauty of His creation, and friendships.  Now, when times are difficult and the vacation afterglow and my tan fade, I need only remember.

Waiting for Christmas

Remember as a child, waiting for Christmas to come?  We were distracted and occupied by the excitement of Halloween, then the preparations for Thanksgiving.  But after the turkey was eaten and the leftovers wrapped and packed away, Christmas and all it's trappings were dead in our sights!

The days on the calendar were checked off.  As each block was counted down, the pile of gifts stacked  up proportionally.  Every day one more house on the block was bedecked in lights and garland.

The wait was excruciating.  Curiosity was painful; the anticipation was like an electric current running throughout our bodies, making us tense and excited.  Trying to complete schoolwork was next to impossible, distracted by the thoughts of what was in all those decorated boxes.  The closer Christmas came the worse it got with the anxiety and "what-ifs" and "what-if-nots" stampeding through our emotions.

I've been waiting for "Christmas" to come for a long time.  Earlier in my life, I was distracted by work and activities that kept my mind, body and emotions busy.  But they no longer work.  I'll be 52 in a few months, all the major "holidays" behind me.  The only one looming is "Christmas".  Only this "Christmas" doesn't have a specific date on the calendar on which I can pinpoint being able to open my gift.  There's no way to countdown.  Every day is painful, as I look for signs that "Christmas" is coming.  I don't know if it ever will come for me.

My pain is compounded by the fact most all of my friends have already had their celebrations.  Now their children are enjoying their holidays, as the parents look on sharing in their joy and remembering their  own "Christmas".  I'm still anxiously waiting, wondering if there is a gift for me or am I not supposed to ever celebrate my own "Christmas".  I've had a gift waiting for someone, wrapped and ready; but no one seems to want it.

Every moment I'm on edge - curious, wondering if and when...and why.  At this age, after so long a wait, it's mostly "why?".  My prayers usually consist of two words - my heart not able to voice anything else but "Why?" and "Please!"  I repeat them over and over again, almost like a mantra.  Only this mantra does not bring comfort or peace.

Is this how Jesus feels - the gift He has to offer so many don't notice or outright reject?  Is this what it means to share in His suffering?

To climb out of this vat of self-pity I need to remind myself of the first Christmas 2000 years ago, when the King of Kings lowered himself and volunteered for a messy human birth followed by a messy human life, ending with a humiliating death reserved for criminals, not innocent Kings.  I need to remind myself that though I do not know the date or time or even if "Christmas" will come, the King of Kings knows the plan He has for me.  His plan ends with a great celebration that surpasses any Christmas that we can plan on earth. 

I wait with electric anticipation.