Break from 1 Kings

The semester was almost over. The halls were decked out in green, red, silver, and gold. Every doorway was shimmering from the decorations. Snowflakes and angels swung from the ceiling. There was laughter and merriment everywhere. It seemed something marvelous was filling the air.

I was not feeling it. Yeah, yeah, another Christmas. I rarely got what I asked for. It meant going to church extra times whether the snow was creating a white-out or not. Others seemed happy and excited. I just couldn’t get into it. Once upon a time, in the deepest recesses of my memory, I anticipated Christmas (and the break from school), like everyone else. Not anymore.

I prepared little gifts and hid them in the mailbox or dorm room of the person to whom I had been assigned the role of Secret Santa. And, it was nice to get little gifts or notes everyday from my Secret Santa, but I wasn’t expecting much.

I will never forget that time in my life.

My Secret Santa included little rectangular white cards in each day’s surprise. There were words on them. I remember eventually figuring out that the words were from the Bible (so many women on my floor believed that stuff). Yet, I read them. Day after day for a week, the cards built the story of Christmas. One of the last cards I got said,

“But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people.”  Luke 2:10

I remember thinking I could use some “great joy.”

The next day, the card read,

“for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:11

Something struck me! TODAY. For today, that day, whichever day I wanted, a Savior – Christ the Lord – could be born for me. I pondered that a few days. Another, different woman on my floor, who had been willing to hang around with me all semester cornered me a few days later. She talked about why I felt so inept at pleasing God. She talked about how Christmas is all about the way to be pleasing to God, Jesus. I didn’t make any instant decisions, but I had a lot to ponder.

When I tell my faith journey story, I usually focus on the love, patience, kindness, and words of the second woman. Someone recently pointed out to a small group I had just shared my story with, that God used a seemingly benign college dorm activity to prepare my heart for Him. The activity was something rooted in the traditional celebration of Christmas – Santa! God intertwined the traditions and the truth of Christmas to call me to Him and into right relationship with the real meaning of Christmas. That’s a miracle. That shows that God is in control of everything.

The Past and the Present

I’ve been reading old journal entries and emails to Jean from 2006 as I write my next book (working title: The Journey Continues). I’m noticing some things that are the same and some things that are different.

First, one thing that is the same. I didn’t like taking my psychotropic medications for my bipolar disorder. I would agonize over it or just plain refuse to take them. I would conveniently “forget” them. I would not tell my therapist or my psychiatrist until they asked. If they didn’t ask the right question, they didn’t get the whole truth. I wouldn’t volunteer any information that might make it seem like I was being non-compliant. I would struggle with this for weeks, until it became obvious to everybody that something was wrong. I usually ended up in the mental hospital.

Some of those things are still true, however, there’s one big difference. I still don’t like taking my psychotropic medications for my bipolar disorder. I constantly question whether they are working or not. I question the psychiatrist and my therapist all the time as to whether or not they think the meds are really helping and how do they know. That’s something that hasn’t changed in the last nine years. I doubted their effectiveness then and I doubt their effectiveness now. What has changed: I actually take them now, whether I want to or not. The psychiatrist is aware that I don’t want to be on any more meds than is absolutely necessary and she works toward that goal. My therapist also knows I don’t like taking my meds and asks me on a regular basis what I’m taking and whether that’s the doses and drugs recommended by the psychiatrist.

Another thing that is the same. I struggled over the relationship I had with my mom. In 2006, my mom was still alive and we regularly had contact with one another. There were many things from my childhood that were amiss because of my mom’s actions and attitudes toward me. While she was still alive, it didn’t matter that I was an adult, she still had the means to offend me or raise my ire.

However, that has changed in some ways. I still struggle at times with the way I was raised and the things my mom said and did. But I’ve learned in the intervening years that my mom was the way she was because of her childhood upbringing and because of her experiences. She did a lousy job of being a mom to me, but she did the best she could. I’ve learned that I don’t have to follow in her footsteps and treat my children the same way she treated me (as children or as the young adults they now are). I no longer hold a grudge against my mom. I’ve come to a place of forgiveness and acceptance. That is easier now that she has passed away (however, I forgave her before she died and told her so). She no longer has the opportunity or the means to insult me or my husband, my children or my decisions regarding my children. So it is easier to live with the memories and have a peace I didn’t have before.

Another thing that is the same. Trusting others has been hard for me all my life. I see now it stems from the childhood I had where I couldn’t trust my parents to meet my emotional needs. I still struggle with that. I just have a really hard time trusting those people God has put into my life as caregivers (including my husband, my therapist, my psychiatrist, my internist, etc.)

However, what is different is the way I deal with those thoughts and feelings of distrust. I remind myself that those people are not my parents who failed to meet my emotional needs or to demonstrate the appropriate emotion regulation coping mechanisms that allow for a maturity in adulthood. I now tell myself these are good, caring, loving, and accepting people in whom I can place my trust.

So there are some things that are the same, but with those come some different ways of dealing with those thoughts and feelings that could lead to the self-destructive behaviors of the past. I’ve learned some things in the last nine years. That is good to discover and gives me encouragement for change in the future.

More December Thoughts

Last week when I said there would be more December thoughts I had an idea. However today, as I sit to write, I don’t remember what I was thinking. So I decided to write about some memories from December 1978. That was probably the first time Christmas ever really made sense to me.

I was struggling with my alcoholism back then. I was probably drinking everyday and every evening and had been for at least a half of the semester of college. I was only a freshman but being free from my parents made drinking in excess even easier and I took full advantage of the freedom I had. That’s not to say that I hadn’t drank to excess in high school; I did on many occasions. And I hid it from my parents but not from some other adults who tried to help but didn’t really know what to do.

In college, I had made some friends who didn’t drink but most of the friends I made did partake of the alcohol available at parties. But I drank even when there weren’t any parties. I didn’t really realize that it was a problem until I tried to stop and found out that it was not as easy as I thought it would be. One of my non-drinking friends confronted me about my life and my beliefs. Another one sent me Scripture passages about the Christmas story throughout December.

One verse I remember to this day, because it made an impact on my life then and even now. “For today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:11. I memorized that verse because it spoke to me. It told me what Christmas was all about. But it didn’t stop me from drinking. That happened as a result of being shared with about the saving power of Christ and that it required a decision on my part. The verse that was shared with me at that time was Revelation 3:20 which says, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.” I realized that there are only three possible responses to a knock on the door. 1. Ignore the knocking. 2. Ask who it is and then not let the person in. 3. Ask who it is and invite them in. Christ had been presented to me and was knocking on the door of my heart. I had a decision to make about how I would respond to His knocking. It was too late to do the first option and ignore the knocking so that left me with a choice between keeping the door shut on Christ or letting Him in.

I realized that was a big decision. So I tried to stop drinking to make it sober. That’s when I realized that I had a problem. I had nightmares and shaking and felt sick – and really wanted another drink to take the edge off. I managed to not take a drink and made a sober decision to invite Christ into my life. I told God I’d give Him some time to make my life better. I think I mentally gave Him two years because that’s the longest anyone had been my friend and God would have to work in those two years to make me believe He could make a difference.

Well, things didn’t get automatically better for me. There was a struggle with depression and relationship issues. I needed help from a lot of people; friends and professionals. And things still, thirty-six years later, are not always perfect and without troubles, but without Christ in my life I’m pretty sure things would be worse and less hopeful. Telling you this story reminds me of the hope that I have in Him and gives me encouragement for the day. I hope it encouraged you also. Happy December.

December Thoughts

It’s already the first week in December 2014. It doesn’t seem like the year is almost over, but it is. There have been a lot of things that have gone on in our lives in the last year. Some of the events have been causes for joy and some have brought heartache. But every year, as December begins, I remember back to other Decembers and think about significant events that happened in several of them.

In December 1963, my baby sister was born. I was almost four years old and I don’t remember anything about that event. Yet it is significant because my sister and I have grown close over the last few years. I treasure having her in my life and wish we lived closer together so I could go see her more often. We talk weekly and over the last year, we’ve been communicating regularly using Facebook messaging. There’s nothing like having a sister on your side through thick and thin. She’s been a great prayer-warrior for my family. That has great value to me as sometimes I just don’t know what to pray for. She always seems to have a perspective that I am unable to see.

In December 1978, I met Jesus for the first time face to face and became a believer in His salvation. When I think of that event, I think of the people God placed in my life to help me meet Him and make a decision. Some of the people I only recall by the role they played in my life, like the woman on my dorm floor who sent slips of paper with Scripture written on them as part of her Secret Santa gift to me. Others, I remember by name for the roles they played were significant in big ways. Jill (Spalding) Slater was the person God used to actually share the gospel message with me that December resulting in my turning to God in faith. And there were people who were praying for me: Diana (Keim) Schultz, Jean (Hayes) LaPlante, Mark and Mary Bonham, to name a few. It seems like such a long time ago, but those people are still very dear to me.

In December 1989, my son was born. He was actually born on December 13^th, which is the same day of the month that I accepted Christ on in 1978. He was born two weeks early and at the time I didn’t link together the two “birth” days, but I have thought about it many times since then. My son will be 25 this year. Where has the time gone? I cherish every day I’ve had with him over the years and still cherish the time we get with him now. He lives in Chicago now so we don’t see him much but we do talk on the telephone – sometimes it seems like it’s daily. I guess our relationship is changing from parent and child to friends. That’s a good thing . . . and it reminds me to hurry up and get his birthday present in the mail.

In December 1997, one of our daughters was born. She wasn’t born to me and I wouldn’t meet her for another 15 years when she would come to live with us. We didn’t know her when she was born, but we get to celebrate her birthday with her now in December. Our lives would be so very different, and less somehow, had she not come into our lives. There are challenges, but there are also moments of joy. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without her as part of it.

So December is a special time of year for me. There are memories from past events and events happening now that will become the memories of the future. December is worth celebrating for oh so many reasons . . . more next week.

Thirty Sterling Principles, Part 13

Skipping ahead a few principles to #24. Principle #24 is found in Proverbs 24:10 and says,

“If you fall to pieces in a crisis,

            there wasn’t much to you in the first place.”

This is a thought-provoking statement. When I think back on my life and try to isolate the crises in my life-story, I don’t really have that many of them. Once I was in a severe car accident where there were deaths in the other vehicle. At the time, I didn’t know there were deaths, but I knew things weren’t good. But my daughter was with me in my truck and I had to remain calm for her sake. I was able to check her out physically while we waited for emergency personnel to arrive, I was able to use my cell phone to call my husband, I was able to take account of my injuries, and I was able to assist the firefighters in getting both my daughter and myself out of our flipped over vehicle. I didn’t panic. I was possibly in shock to some degree, but I didn’t “fall to pieces.”

Another crisis in my life was when my daughter was born. She had pneumonia and was very sick. The doctors and nurses in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) didn’t know if she would make it or not. They prepared my husband and I for the worst. However, I was able to remain calm throughout the five days she was in the hospital – in large part because I had faith that God would work everything out according to His plan including whether she lived or died. I didn’t fall to pieces in that situation either.

There have been other crises in my life of a more minor sort ranging from disagreements with my husband to situations requiring disciplining our children. In all of them I did not fall completely apart. There was something to me in the first place. I believe that what I had was a faith in God and an ability to trust Him no matter the outcome of the situation. That’s what there was in the first place.

Even in times when I was severely depressed and thinking about taking my own life, I didn’t fall to pieces. I was able to think rationally enough to know to get help from therapists, doctors, and even the hospital when necessary. What caused me to seek help? I believe it was the prompting of the Holy Spirit. God and His Spirit in me is what “was to me in the first place.”

Thirty Sterling Principles, Part 9

Who are the people who are always crying the blues?
    Who do you know who reeks of self-pity?
Who keeps getting beat up for no reason at all?
    Whose eyes are bleary and bloodshot?
It’s those who spend the night with a bottle,
    for whom drinking is serious business.
Don’t judge wine by its label,
    or its bouquet, or its full-bodied flavor.
Judge it rather by the hangover it leaves you with—
    the splitting headache, the queasy stomach.
Do you really prefer seeing double,
    with your speech all slurred,
Reeling and seasick,
    drunk as a sailor?
“They hit me,” you’ll say, “but it didn’t hurt;
    they beat on me, but I didn’t feel a thing.
When I’m sober enough to manage it,
    bring me another drink!” Proverbs 23:29-35, Principle 19

This principle spoke to me due to my struggles with alcohol. I especially like the reminders of what it’s like to be under the influence of alcohol. When I was drinking I was “always crying the blues” and reeked “of self-pity.” My eyes were bleary and bloodshot as was my mind. This passage reminds me that the result of a day of heavy drinking is a hangover, a splitting headache and a queasy stomach.

It’s been several 24 hours since I took my last drink and it’s easy to forget the effects alcohol had on my life. This passage brings all the distress and trouble back to the forefront and I’m reminded why I do not choose to drink. For me it was not a matter of having one drink and enjoying the taste. One drink always led to getting drunk. Scripture clearly says we should not get drunk with wine for that is a waste of time and energy (Ephesians 5:18). This passage gives a bunch of other good reasons for not getting drunk.

I remember seeing double and having my speech slurred. I remember reeling and being seasick. I remember waking up with bruises and having no idea where they came from. I remember when all I could think about was my next drink. After 15 years of sobriety, I need the reminders this passage of Scripture brings me because I have a built-in forgetter that makes remembering the effects and problems alcohol brought to me difficult on my own.

I’m always amazed at Scripture and how it addresses each of my needs. This is one passage that I can turn to when I start to think that a drink sounds good (which still happens from time to time). I don’t have to try and remember what drinking (and getting drunk) was like. It’s laid out for me in clear terms. Life was miserable when I was drinking. Life still has its struggles, but at least I don’t have to deal with the effects of being drunk on top of everything.

December Thoughts

I just realized that if I don’t write something about Christmas this week, my next post will be after Christmas. In realizing that I also realized that I failed to take note of a very special day to me, December 13^th. So I will start with December 13 remembrances.

In 1978 – that was 35 years ago – on December 13^th I wrote in my journal: “I believe!” I wrote it in big letters with several exclamation points after it. It was my first proclamation of a belief in Jesus Christ. It wasn’t proclaimed publicly for several days after that, but December 13^th is the official first day of the rest of my life. It’s the day I put my faith and trust in my Higher Power for the first time.

Since that day I have experienced God in many ways in my life, but when I’m struggling with my faith, I need to remember to go back to what life was like before that December 13^th in 1978. I see that I was only able to make a sober decision to trust in Christ because of God’s power in my life. Up until that time, I drank alcohol on a regular basis. I was surviving college and managing to do okay in my classes but my social life was wrapped up in parties and drinking (even when there wasn’t a party to go to). I don’t have any explanation as to how I stayed sober long enough to make a decision to trust in God. The only explanation is that God was at work in me. He was providing a small miracle to help me see Him more clearly. I stayed sober long enough to make a decision to follow Him and He helped me stay sober after that for quite some time. I only returned to drinking when I lost sight of the One who got me sober in the first place. When I doubt God’s existence, I return in my memory to those days in 1978 when all seemed hopeless and I felt so alone. There was a change in my life because of Christ. There’s no other explanation and I need no other proof that God exists.

There’s another December 13^th that is meaningful to me. On December 13, 1989, my son was born. He was another miracle of God that I can hold onto when I doubt God’s existence. He was born healthy, more or less, in spite of my insulin-dependent diabetes. He has made huge difference in my life and I cherish the memories of his infancy and childhood. I also am excited to see what the future holds for him. His name means “gift of God,” and he has proven to be that for me.

December, in general, is a special time of the year for me. Besides the two births – mine into Christ and my son’s into this world – there was a baby born over 2,000 years ago. That brings me great joy. I’ve been doubting a lot lately, but the Christmas season reminds me that there’s hope. It seems like such a fantastic story . . . a virgin giving birth, a boy growing into a man who would die for my sins, etc. But, those things took miracles to happen. There’s hope in miracles. Maybe there will be miracles for me in my future. Christmas brings the hope of miracles with it.

So I choose to look at the joy and miracles of the Christmas season. I choose to believe in the birth of Christ and in all the stories found in Scripture. There are miracles happening all around us everyday. I just need to choose to see them and believe in the Giver of miracles. That’s where I get joy from in the month of December.

Excitement

Off the top of my head I’m not sure what I think excitement is. There is an element of anticipation to it that kind of scares me. When I think of anticipating something, especially something good, I am afraid that whatever I’m looking forward to happening won’t happen or won’t happen the way I hoped it would. So it’s hard to get excited about something that is going to happen in the future.

However, maybe I can learn to be excited about things happening right now. One definition of excitement is enthusiasm. If I can do something with enthusiasm maybe the feeling of excitement will exist also. I can see how if I’m enthusiastic about something, I might be excited about it, too. Is enthusiasm an emotion? I’m not sure. I always thought that enthusiasm is something I decide to pursue something with. So can pursuing something with enthusiasm lead to excitement. I think so.

Another aspect of excitement is adventure. When I think of the times in my life when I’ve planned for an adventure, whether it was backpacking in the Rockies or exploring different towns with my family, there was definitely excitement. But there was disappointment when the planned adventure(s) didn’t happen. I remember one year when we planned a camping trip to the Boston, Massachusetts area. Before we were able to leave on the trip, which included several days in upstate New York and a trip to the Cooperstown Baseball Hall of Fame, our van’s transmission failed. We could not afford the trip and the transmission and since we couldn’t pull the trailer at all without the transmission, the trip was scrapped. I don’t know if I’ve ever let myself get excited over possible trips since then. I’m not sure I’ve let myself feel excitement over any adventures since then.

Excitement also has the element of passion with it. I sometimes have the passion to do things, a drive, a motivation that maybe resembles excitement. One of those things is Bible Study. I usually enjoy Bible Study and can get excited over reading the Scriptures and the commentaries and figuring out how God wants me to apply His Word to my life. Another passion I have is to write. I get excited when I have an idea and that idea can be put down in words in such a way as to convey understanding to someone else. I often get excited about writing my blog articles for instance. Today is one of those days.

The opposite of excitement, for me, is apathy, boredom, and dullness. I could not identify those emotions without the help of a dictionary. I can see now, after having looked it up, how excitement is the opposite of those three things. I can also see that by not planning adventures in my life, I’m opening myself up for the boredom and dullness that I dread. I don’t want to be apathetic about the things happening in my life. I want to be excited. So I guess I better plan an adventure. Maybe it doesn’t have to be as big as a trip to Boston. I can start small and plan an adventure to someplace nearby or for an activity I might enjoy doing.

I could maybe plan to get out my scrapbooking materials and continue a project I started a while ago but lost interest in. That could be an adventure in a way and I don’t have to go anywhere to encounter it. Can I experience excitement in a situation like that? I think so. Even a little excitement would be nice to feel.

First Priority: Remember and Celebrate Our Redemption

Last week at my mom’s funeral, the priest talked a lot about passing over into a new life with Christ. It just so happens that I believe that is what happened with my mom on January 11^th, when she left this world and passed over into the next. I agreed with the priest’s assessment that Mom is now with Jesus in heaven and enjoying all the pleasure of her passing over.

It also so happens that today I started a study on the Biblical Feast of Passover that Israel celebrates once a year. I was taken by the fact that when God started Passover as a feast or holiday for the Israelites that He made the month it occurs in the first month of the Jewish calendar. A priority month. A month to start the whole year off with a bang. A month to remember and celebrate God’s delivering Israel out of the slavery of Egypt and the beginnings of bringing them into the Promised Land. He wanted to make sure that the Israelites remembered where they came from and how God miraculously brought them out from the pain and suffering they were enduring.

As a Christian, remembering my personal Passover is just as important. It is a chance to remember and celebrate the gift God gave me in His provision of a Savior who would mark for the world and for eternity that I am one of His, marked by the blood of Jesus, the New Testament lamb, to be spared the wrath of God. Like the Old Testament Israelites, who were marked by the sacrificial and celebratory lambs they killed and roasted on Passover night, the lamb’s blood on their doorposts marked them as children of God. And God’s wrath passed over their doors and homes as He went about killing the firstborn of the Egyptians because they would not acknowledge God or God’s special people.

Fortunately today, and since Jesus died on the cross to accomplish the New Testament Passover, we can all be God’s special people. But, it does involve making Him a priority in our lives. It does involve living life, each day and not just once a year in a special month, as people set apart for Him. I think of my mom when I think of such people. She was not perfect. She, like all of us, had her little quirks, but she loved Jesus and looked so forward to going home to Him at the end of her life. She often said to me that the life she had left to live she wanted to live in such a way that she would be able to direct people to Jesus. She wanted us all to experience the ultimate Passover and for it to be a priority in our lives. I hope I can do that each and every day as my mom strived to do.

Memories of Mom

Can you remember your earliest memory of your mom? I can’t come up with a specific memory that is my mom from a young age. What I remember about my mom is a presence, a personality, a practical influence in my life.

My mom recently passed away and it has sparked thoughts of how she influenced my life. To some the influences may seem trivial but in reality they are profound to me. The things I remember about Mom helped form who I am and who I’ve been as a mom myself.

Mom was a trooper in the sense that she was game for anything. One memory I have is being taken, with my three siblings and my dad, to Florida for a couple of weeks one summer. She packed our clothes, planned our route, scheduled motel stops, packed lunches, planned dinners (often made in an electric frying pan in the motel room), organized the station wagon, and arranged for games to play along the way. The organization involved in taking six people, including four children, ages three to ten, from Michigan to Florida baffles me as I think about it today. Yet Mom did it, for us, to give us a trip we would never forget.

Mom also developed into a seasoned camper. We bought a camper when I was about nine and never looked back. We would spend long weeks during the summer camping all around Michigan and Canada. Again, Mom organized and orchestrated all kinds of details regarding these trips. I remember her enjoying the camping trips but she was not work-free during these trips. There was still the cooking to do, the dishes to wash (which meant boiling water on the stove), laundry to wash and activities to plan. The lazy days of summer were not lazy days for my mom as she strove to provide us kids with memorable summers of camping fun.

Mom was rightly proud of her professional life. She was a college-educated woman. She was a Medical Technologist at a time when many women didn’t get a college degree. She worked for several years in a doctor’s laboratory and then took time off to have her growing family take priority. After many years as a stay-at-home-mom, she went back to work in a nuclear laboratory which involved getting retrained, right along with the current staff of the lab, in new ways of doing medical testing. She worked for many years after that, using her money to help put all five of her children through college. She loved her job, but that was not the goal of working. She wanted to provide for her family. She valued education and expected each of her children to complete their bachelor degrees as a minimum. That happened, not just because of her financial support but because of her encouragement to achieve academically.

Mom was still supporting education into the lives of her grandchildren. Her financial resources were such that she could give large chunks of money towards college educations for each of the grandkids. I know I appreciate that interest and support as my kids have benefited from her generosity. She will continue to influence her nine grandchildren based on her encouragement to value their educations as much as she did. My kids have strong memories of their Yiayia supporting and being proud of their academic achievements. She came to each of their high school graduations and was proud to be included in the celebrations of their successes. Mom was true to the end on valuing education.

There are other thoughts I have of Mom. Not all of them are positive, but over the last year or so I’ve come to understand that Mom did the best she could and what she did do was not half bad . . . it was much more than half good. I’m successful in the things I do today, in part, because Mom invested so much into my life. For that part, I am forever grateful.

Recalling What God Has Done

As the book of Joshua ends, Joshua recalls for all of Israel to hear their history from the time of Abraham through their most recent history where they conquered the nations and took over the good land. Joshua emphasized what God did for them throughout history. Then Joshua challenges them to choose who they will serve. The Israelites respond by saying, “Far be it from us to forsake the Lord to serve other gods!” Another translation of this verse says, “We’d never forsake God! Never! We’d never leave God to worship other gods.” They responded this way because of the memory of their God working for them throughout history.

I can learn from this lesson. I need to choose who I will serve just as the Israelites had to. What will help me decide? By recalling my history with God. As I started thinking about this I realized that the Israelites remembered not only what God did for the present generation, but for several generations before, all the way back to Abraham. I need to start looking at my history from the same generational perspective.

I don’t know a whole lot about the spiritual condition of my ancestors. I don’t know what their relationship with God was like. But, I do know my ancestors accomplished some pretty amazing things. I come from a family of immigrants, so those first ancestors who chose to make the trip to the Americas set out on a dangerous path. They set aside everything they knew and headed out for something new. They may have left Europe due to the Irish potato famine or because of the constant struggles in Greece, but there is no doubt the unknown awaited them in the United States. God brought them through. He kept them alive on the long ship passage. He allowed them to find employment once they were here. They married and were able to have children of their own, who in turn lived to adulthood. God was there. This pattern could’ve broken down at any point but God was at work to see that it didn’t and that eventually I would be born from these adventurous ancestors.

God was there when my mother went into labor. She made it to the hospital even though it was the dead of winter and I lived. My parents believe in God. They raised me to believe in God. When I eventually had to choose for myself, denying God did not seem possible. God had been a part of my life and even though I did not agree with my parents on their views of God, I knew He existed.

When I was a child, I suffered a bit. I was not an easy child for my parents to raise. I did not know how to be any different than I was and they did not know how to raise me any differently than they did. But, it was not all a happy childhood. But, it was also not all a bad childhood. God was there, protecting me. Things could have been a lot worse and then where would I be today? I’ve seen children whose home lives are much messier than mine was. It could’ve been me. I don’t know why some people have to suffer more than others, but I know God only allowed what I could handle. He was there even when I did not recognize Him.

To be continued.

Books

I’ve started working on converting my son’s bedroom into a study. You wouldn’t know it by looking into the room, but I’ve spent 6 – 8 hours working on sorting through some of the stuff he left here after his move to Muncie, IN to go to grad school at Ball State University.

I am most impressed with the number and types of books he’s accumulated since he was born. He’s got a little of everything. Science fiction, fantasy, historical fiction, mysteries, picture books, legends, Vikings, explorers, missionaries, kings, cowboys, and many more. It was kind of fun to note the books that are well worn, the books he’s read and reread many times. It was fun to remember him propped up in bed near bedtime reading a novel. He loved to read. He still does.

Sometimes, even as recently as last year, I’ll catch him reading through a Three Investigators book. It used to take him a few days to read through one of these children’s mysteries. Now it takes an hour or two. So I packed them up so we could move his bookshelf as I get ready to paint. But, those books, along with his Harry Potter series, Brian Jacques books, The Lord of the Rings series, Susan Cooper books, and his other favorites will be back on the bookshelf once the painting is done.

The thing is, I’ve read most of his books, too. They were good reads and remind me why I was able to recommend books to him that he would enjoy. Because I enjoyed them!

Time to stop writing and return to the sorting and cleaning. However the room looks like more of a mess than when I started cleaning it. I can’t do much more until I have some place to put the boxes of books and knick-knacks while I prepare the walls for new paint (like in my daughter’s room once she leaves for college!)

I’m getting excited to see how things turn out. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

King of the Mountain

One who possesses supreme or ultimate power. The fancy word for this is “sovereign.” One definition called it “Super Power.”

Biblically, that means God, the Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be His Name. Yet, I want to try to have that kind of control. I want to be God with the ultimate power. I want to be in control. In Psalm 47 the Psalmist calls God the “King of the mountain.” That brought to mind images from my childhood when we would play a game called King of the Mountain. The object was to be the one on top, holding all attackers off the mountain. Sometimes the mountain would be a playground structure, a snow hill, or the family room couch. The “King” would throw snow at, push, and/or pull to keep any attacker from gaining the top and pushing the King off. The game lasted until there were no more attackers. Until everyone had surrendered.

In God’s realm, all attacks are worthless, because He is the Sovereign King holding off all would be kings. But we still play the game and strive for the top. The game continues on. And I’m right there with all the other foolish attackers, thinking I can gain some advantage, and become the Sovereign King over my own life. I am not able to push or pull God out of the place of supreme or ultimate power, but I keep trying. The result is I grow weary and give up for a time; but I have not surrendered. I live to fight another day.

There are so many areas in my life where I need to become willing to surrender the fight and rest at the foot of the mountain, under the protection of the Supreme King. Recently I’ve resumed the fight again in one area: Dietary restrictions and insulin dosing. I want to be in control. But, all the striving in the world will not give me the control I want. I haven’t yet learned how to surrender to the sovereignty of God in this area. So for another day, the game of King of the Mountain continues.

Memorial Day Remembrances

As tradition would have it, I visited cemeteries this Memorial Day weekend.

When I was a kid we would go to the cemetery where my father’s parents are buried. We would clean off the headstones, pull weeds, plant flowers, and light incense and candles. We would position a U.S. flag at the top of my grandfather’s headstone to proclaim his military service for all to see. He served in the U.S. Army in World War I even though he was an immigrant from Greece. Then we would go to a brief service in the cemetery performed by a Greek Orthodox priest. Finally the priest would come to my grandparents’ gravesite and say a few prayers (in Greek) while we listened and silently said our own prayers (my prayer was usually something like, “God, make us done with all this praying so we can go eat lunch at a restaurant.”) Then, my aunts and uncles, cousins, and my family would go to a restaurant and eat lunch. (My prayers answered.)

So this year, en route to an Open House in my hometown of Royal Oak (Michigan), we drove to the cemetery where my dad is interred. My husband, mother and I parked the car along the edge of the driveway and walked the few yards to my dad’s gravesite. Some things were reminiscent of the past and some things were very different. My husband cleaned off the headstone using his jackknife to clear dirt from the engraving. We poured water on the stone cleaning off grass cuttings. We placed a U.S. flag at the top of my dad’s headstone proclaiming his military service in the U.S. Army in World War II. We said a few silent prayers (my prayer was “God, be with my mom and comfort her as she needs right now.”)

And, after the Open House, we stopped into the cemetery where my mother-in-law is buried. Again, we cleaned the headstone, checked for weeds, and made sure the U.S. flag was waving over her gravesite to proclaim her military service in the U.S. Marines. She served during peacetime in the late 1950’s. We said a few silent prayers (my prayer, “God, help us live lives worthy of the sacrifice of the soldiers.”)

With all in order at the cemeteries, another Memorial Day has come and gone. But, my prayers for our U.S. servicemen and servicewomen continue. “God, bring them home safely.”

Summer Plans

A friend asked us what camping trips we have planned for this summer. The answer: “None.”

Summer is coming. For the last 25-plus years I’ve had to plan a summer trip, usually a camping trip. But, we sold our pop-up camper last summer. Maybe that was premature. I miss the trips and summer is not even here yet.

It was the logical, practical thing to do. Selling the camper while it was still in very good condition and knowing we would not be using it with the kids moving on into their adult lives, was fine. But, I did not realize the emotional toll it would take on me. We are approaching another summer and I have no plans. I know there are hotels and such, but those accommodations are so much more expensive than the camping option. Not only do you have to pay for the room, you have to buy food at restaurants. Packing our own food was a lot less expensive.

It’s not just the money thing that prevents planning a trip. Without the kids to “expose” to new and different events and/or sights, I don’t have any motivation for figuring out where to go. The campground was a good-enough destination for the kids with a pool or lake for swimming, campfires, hikes, or even just sitting around enjoying the fresh air. No television to distract, DVD player to tempt, or computers/internet to draw our attention. However when camping there is always a table upon which to set up marathon games of Risk, fire pits to build fires in for roasting hotdogs, and quiet in which we could read or have extended conversations.

Destinations also introduced our kids to historical events, geological phenomena, cultural differences, scientific discoveries, and so many other new things. Art museums, submarine tours, natural history museums, rock formations, wildlife, zoos, river-carved ravines, local cuisine, birds, fish, deer, historical museums, historical monuments, NASA, horseback riding, canoeing, etc. Our trips provided opportunities to learn things from map reading to outdoor cooking to getting along in cramped places. Now I have to figure out what might be interesting for me to go see. It was easier to figure out new things for the kids to go see and/or do.

So that’s where I am with my summer vacation plans. No camping trip(s), no trips at all. Time to figure this out. Time to plan a trip. Where should Mike and I go? Any ideas or suggestions? I’m open to ideas.

I Don't Want To Miss Anything

I was always afraid I would miss something. When I was a little kid and my parents would have guests over in the evening, I’d get sent to my room to go to bed. I’d lay on the floor, with my toes in the bedroom doorway, my body laying out into the hallway. I didn’t want to miss anything that was going on. When my parents would tell me to get in my room, I’d say I was in my room, by my toes. Did I say I just did not want to miss anything?

I had a lot of trouble sleeping when I was a kid for the same reason. What if something important happened when I was asleep? I’d miss it. I would do almost anything to avoid missing out on something. I’m not sure which came first: trouble sleeping or staying awake to not miss anything. Either way, it became a pattern that I still struggle with today.

The key thing is that I know I don’t want to miss anything. Big happenings are going on around here these days. Award ceremonies, graduations, open houses, college orientations, and college registrations. I don’t want to miss any of them. The thing is if I don’t sleep, things will spiral out of control and I will end up missing things. [See “Insomnia”]

The question is am I still willing to do almost anything to avoid missing out? Sometimes I am and sometimes I’m not. Right now I need to be willing to follow the suggestions and instructions given to me by my medical team. If that means taking a prescription sleeping medicine, I guess I have to be willing to do so. There are other medicines, too, like insulin for my diabetes, I have to take to make sure I don’t miss out on the exciting happenings. It is worth it to do these small things to not miss out on the big things. And, I don’t want to miss anything.

Bridges, Roads, and Ditches

Job interviewing. My son, who is graduating from college this spring, is off to Chicago for three busy days of job and internship interviews. Wow. Where has the time gone! Sending him off for the first day of kindergarten seems so fresh, yet so much has washed under the bridge, over the road, and into the ditch since then.

We’ve been kept safe from the rushing water so many times. Catastrophic illness, pre-mature deaths, severe childhood accidents, loss of financial means, divorces, broken bones, broken hearts, and so many other things have happened to people we know. We observed the mishaps of loved ones, prayed with and for them, and thanked God it wasn’t us. Those things have washed under the bridge, passing us by, not touching us, but close enough for us to see what could’ve been.

Other events have touched us, but not required drastic changes in our lives: the deaths of parents, both of my husbands’ and my father; passing grandparents; physical and mental illness; loss of employability; unexpected symptoms of illness; losing touch with once-close friends; losing cars and the sense of driving safety we took for granted; and having to adjust dreams and goals. These things have washed over us, nudging us in different directions than we wanted, or expected, to go. But, in the end we are still standing on the road setting new goals and looking ahead toward new adventures.

A few things have put us totally into the ditch and we have left part of ourselves there – not all for our detriment, however. Unrealistic goals, unimportant belongings, material desires – everything from “fancy” vehicles to bigger and better houses, one career that was too stressful to maintain mental health, extravagant vacations, and other things and ideals we thought we could not, and would not have to, live without have been abandoned or adjusted. We, as individuals and as a family, have climbed out of the various ditches, looked back at what was gone, and moved on again.

Some of the ditched stuff is still missed, but maybe there will be a time when they can be pulled out, dusted off, sand-blasted to get the rust off if needed, and retrieved for future use. Some we just don’t need and are not part of God’s best for us. Acceptance comes hard sometimes when looking at what’s lost or gone. But, when acceptance is found, peace rushes in behind it. That’s what I really want anyway – peace.

Why?

“Why?” I was asked this several times over the last several days. It was like they didn’t believe I had thought things through. And, I didn’t think I should have to explain myself. They did and persisted.

“Why are we using these ‘real’ plates?” I bought two 4-piece table settings in the after Christmas sales last year. I thought they would be festive. I liked them. And, contrary to many of the past 13 years experiences, I had the energy to entertain, cooking from scratch. I wanted the table to look as energetic and festive as I was trying to feel. I even told them I would do the dishes, if no one else wanted to (the normal “rule” in our house is: The cook doesn’t clean). “Doing the dishes” in our house means hand-washing everything; we do not have a dishwashing machine.

So, I understand that they may consider washing the dishes an arduous activity that interferes with socializing and/or “toy” playing, but without being asked to, my college-aged son, home for the holidays, got up as we finished eating, started clearing the table, ran water into the sink, and started doing the dishes. As the drainer became full, my daughter got up and started to dry and put away the dishes, pans, silverware, etc.

“Why are you making all these ‘extra’ food things?” They are right. We don’t need them. I wanted them, and I had a good reason, too. These food items, these “extra” food things were important to me. They brought back some of the happy childhood memories. And they had been the Tradition, the special once or twice a year treats. Ethnic treats, one of which I have not made in a long time because it was normally my sister’s contribution to the meal. She was unable to come this year . . . so I made the Spanakopita (Spinach Pie).

My normal contribution to the family get-togethers comes in the form of dessert. I used to make the pies – apple, cherry, pumpkin – but I taught my daughter well and she makes them now (by the way, did I mention she makes the crust dough from scratch, using a very good, no problem recipe that’s been handed down in our family). So, another dessert I usually make is Baklava. It was not the humongous pans of Christmases past, but it was enough to give everyone a taste of the tradition.

We usually have some kind of green salad with the meal, but my mom and/or dad would usually make a Greek salad with the feta cheese, peppers, and Kalamata olives. This year it was not convenient for my mom or dad to take on this task, with one living in a small apartment and the other watching us from heaven. So the generation of the grandchildren made the salad, with the feta cheese, peppers, and Kalamata olives. It was a way for them to feel connected to their grandparents.

That kind of sums up my answers to the “Why?” questions. It helps me feel connected to the people in my past that are no longer with us. Those loved-ones from my dad’s generation, the first-generation Greek Americans, are slowly but steadily leaving us with only our memories, traditions and a few heirlooms to mark their existence. So, why? So I can be connected to my heritage and my ancestors, so I can keep my memories alive, and so I can pass down to my children at least a little bit of the rich qualities of their heritage.

The Extras. Why?

Reflections and Thank You

December 13^th is a special day for a couple of reasons. Most recently it marks my son’s birth 22 years ago. However, my marriage, children, career, everything and anything of value, even life itself, is only possible because of December 13, 1978.

Listening to my favorite Christmas song, O Holy Night, released a flood of memories. It was that song, and a series of acquaintances and friends, that brought me to the point of trusting Jesus as my Savior. The first verse hit me right where I was. I identified with the sorrow and disobedience (sin and error) and I saw the way out I had not seen before (He appeared).

“O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”

I was invited to a Christmas party off campus. As a college freshman with no car, getting off campus was all I needed to say yes. I found out that my idea of a party differed significantly from these weirdoes, but there was a warm fireplace, good food, some mildly entertaining games and skits, and Christmas carols. There was also a message of some sort after the Christmas carols, but my attention was stuck on the lyrics to O Holy Night.

Back on campus, the secret Santa activities on my dorm floor continued. Trinkets, food, and notes were passed around. Someone left me something every day. Each gift included a Scripture verse from the Christmas story. One note quoted Luke 2:11, “For today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Today? For me? Those words ricocheted inside my skull. I was supposed to be studying for exams, but I couldn’t stop thinking about this Savior-thing.

It was just Christmas stuff. But I took it all differently than previously in my life. It meant more. And, on December 13^th, a friend put it all together for me. I saw Jesus for who He claimed to be and trusted Him.

I started this note off thinking I would share some of the names of those acquaintances and friends that got me where I needed to be to figure out the point of Christmas. I’m still going to list a few; some may not even know, even now, 33 years later, that they were used by God to work in my life.

Nancy L., Ruth H., Diana S., Jill S., Charron, Mark B., Mary B., Becky M., Mary D., Mary R., Anne, my secret Santa, Elaine B., Carol K., Dale B., Randy S., Rick G., Jeff W., Phil N., Jean L., and the four women in the end room, and others.

Simply. Thank you.