Childless

Sometimes it can be discouraging when it seems the entire rest of the world has children and year after year goes by and you still do not. Sometimes it can.

But then sometimes I remember.

6 sponsored children through Compassion International. (Two of them call me mom.)

25 children in the preschool ministry I'm director of at church. (Doesn't hurt when one excitedly drags her mother across an amphitheatre because, "I SAW MY TEACHER AND WE MUST GO SEE HER!!!!")

35 infants and toddlers I see day in and day out for therapy (which of course means play for infants and toddlers, and hey, how many people get paid to play all day?)

20 foster children at the summer camp I'm getting ready to volunteer at

A niece and a nephew who glue themselves to me whenever possible. And another nephew who's too young to do it yet but almost certainly will before long. And another foster nephew to play with, on top of all that.

By my calculations, that's 90 children I have the opportunity to influence in this present season of my life. That doesn't count the hundreds who have come and gone (and come and GROWN!) over the years.

And I call myself childless??

“Sing, O barren one, who did not bear; break forth into singing and cry aloud, you who have not been in labor! For the children of the desolate one will be more than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord. ~Isaiah 54:1

The View

I've been looking at thousands upon thousands of rental homes for our family's vacation next summer, and examining their location on the map for proximity to the ocean... and all those google map images, zooming in as close as possible to measure how many feet the walk to the beach is, and zooming out to see where in the big picture each house is must have crossed the barrier into my subconscious mind.

In that stage between wakefulness and sleep, when you're still conscious enough to think but your thoughts blur and don't quite make sense, I had this thought.

When I'm examining google maps, the middle ground on the zoom button doesn't do me a whole lot of good.

I zoom way in to find out what I need to know specifically about the house in question and its distance from the beach access. And I zoom way out to see where in the grand scheme of things this house is located. But the middle? It doesn't tell me anything much.

And somehow, in that dreamy stage before sleep, I got to thinking about how this is sort of like our view as humans, and God's view, of our lives. We get the way zoomed in view of our life -- we see it up close and personal, in the here and now, what today looks like. God gets the way zoomed out view of our life -- he sees today, and our life as a whole, in the grand scheme of things -- the plan for the universe. So we both have very different views of the exact same thing (except of course that He knows the zoomed in view as well since He's omniscient...).

But there's a third view -- the middle ground. From this view, you can see the bigger picture -- in a way. It's not a big enough picture to give you any true knowledge about the location's place in the universe. And it's not a small enough picture to give you any intimate knowledge about the details in the here and now. Basically, your view is almost useless.

And I thought that maybe -- just maybe -- that is representative of others' view of our life. They see parts of it, and they see it from a bigger viewpoint than we ourselves do because they are outside of our personal frame of reference. But they don't see the BIG picture either. They see just about enough to make them feel like they have the authority to make judgments, yet not enough to truly have any authority to do so.

Don't we do this all the time? We judge people by what we see and think of as a bigger picture? Someone shares their thoughts on a certain subject, or a particular happening in their lives, and we think we know better than they do what's really going on.

I guess we're all going to have our opinions on other people's decisions and actions, but before we act on those opinions (by stating them to the person or to others, or by treating someone differently because of our opinions on what's going on), maybe we ought to remind ourselves that we have neither the big picture nor the detailed one. Maybe -- just maybe -- we don't know it all. Maybe we know just enough to get us into trouble.

Or maybe I've just been looking at too many maps.

The Water Fountain

Sometimes, children's ministry workers feel underappreciated, and maybe in some situations, even like they're really not doing anything valuable for the kingdom. After all, when one is cleaning up cookie crumbs and spills or changing diapers or taking children to use the potty or finding themselves barely able to even tell a story for all the interruptions and disciplinary reminders needed, one may not feel like they're really accomplishing anything at all.

But they are.

Last night at church, I was leading our line of preschool girls to the bathroom -- one of those "is this really ministry??" moments -- when one little girl asked for the fifth time that evening if she could have a drink. I had told her and told her we'd get a drink when we went to the bathroom, so I was finally able to tell her yes, now she could have a drink.

As I lifted her up to the tall water fountain, my mind flashed back thirty years. To that exact same spot, that exact same water fountain, and a tall handsome elderly man who stood by it Sunday after Sunday. Elderly to my little girl eyes, anyway -- it's strange how the older you get, the older "elderly" becomes. He would have been the age my dad is now, and that is certainly NOT elderly at all.

Anyhow, this man posted himself every Sunday morning beside the water fountain for one reason only -- to be there for any little children who happened to pass by and needed a drink. The fountain was too tall for any child younger than 8 or 9 to be able to reach it on their own, and he wanted to be sure no little one went thirsty because they couldn't reach the fountain. He always referred to the passage in Mark 9 where Jesus, with a child in his arms, said whoever shall give someone a cup of water because they belong to me shall not lose their reward.

It's the little things sometimes that can make such an impact, and the gentleman would likely have been shocked if he were told that his little granddaughter would three decades later be blogging about his faithfulness in giving children drinks of water in Jesus' name. (Especially since blogging didn't exist in those days!)

The story reminds me of another fine lady who has earned my utmost respect and admiration: Laura Ingalls Wilder. You see, when Laura was visiting at the local elementary school in Mansfield, Missouri, years after achieving national fame, she saw a little girl who wanted a drink of water and couldn't reach the fountain. And the little old lady who is loved by millions all over the world decades after her death leaned over and lifted the girl up so she could get a drink. I love that. I love that despite the fame and fortune that had come to her, she maintained her humility. And again, it had an impact on the little girl, who is still telling people about it sixty years later.

So if ever there's a season in life where it feels you're doing nothing of value, think again. Even something so small as giving someone a drink of water may be having an impact far beyond what you could imagine. Maybe thirty or sixty years from now, someone will be telling others about you -- he's the man, or she's the woman, that gave me a drink. And that drink meant a lot to me. More than just the water that satiated my thirst for a few minutes, that drink told me that someone cared about me.

And after all, isn't that what ministry really is?

Lessons from Disney

Yes, I said lessons from Disney. Disney isn't just pure entertainment, you know. There's tons to learn from Disney, and especially on a trip to Walt Disney World.

(At least, that's what we told Little Girl's teacher when we pulled her out of school for a week last January because we don't do Disney in the summer.)

Well, I don't do Disney in the summer. But my brother and sister-in-law? They did.

They've been down there for a week now with Baby Boy. Nobody wanted to miss his first Disney trip, and yet nobody wanted to go to Disney in June either. So they went alone, but at the last minute, I just couldn't resist, and decided to fly on down and spend a couple days with him after all.

I called my brother one day last week to see how the trip was going so far. "Well, he loves everything, but it's so hard to get him to do things," he responded. "We can't even get him out of the hotel room without a fight because he just wants to watch tv. Then, when we get to the park, everything we ride, he doesn't want to leave. He just wants to ride it again. It's like he doesn't get it that there's other fun stuff to do."

However, by the time I got there, he was no longer having that problem. Not realizing this, I said, "Uh-oh," when he turned on the tv first thing in the morning after waking up.

"Oh, it's not a problem, he'll turn it off when it's time to go," said my brother.

"I thought you said..." I began.

"He's figured it out now," my brother answered. "He's finally realized that if he just goes where we want him to go without a fight, we always take him to something fun, so now he just does whatever we tell him."

What an analogy can be drawn from that! It seems so silly for him to scream and cry because he wants to watch Dumbo on tv when what awaits him if he'll leave the tv set is so much more wonderful than television. Yet, he clung and cried to keep what he had rather than trust his parents that the unknown ahead held better things.

How like us is that? Me anyway. I've always had issues with clinging to whatever is known... from a very early age. I remember Graduation Sunday in Sunday School as a child, how I dreaded it for weeks and would cry and cry when the day came. When I was 5, I actually didn't go when they came to take all the kids going into first grade out of our class. One of the other girls told on me and the teacher came back after me, and I just sobbed. I didn't want to go to a new class with a new teacher that I didn't know, I wanted to stay in the class with the teacher that I already knew and enjoyed. This happened year after year, in school too.

The funny thing was, each class and each teacher I loved more than the one before it. Each year was filled with new and exciting adventures that I'd have missed out on if I hadn't been dragged kicking and screaming into the new class. And yet year after year, I continued to cry to leave and go on to the next class, thinking it couldn't possibly be better than the class I was in.

That's just one example. I handle transitions much much better now, but watching Baby Boy is a reminder as I move into each new phase in life and have to give up things from the former phase in order to embrace the new things that it really is a smart thing to just listen to my Father, to go where He tells me to go and do what He tells me to do without putting up a fight, because what He has planned for me is better than what I'm clinging to right now.

Baby Boy caught on pretty quickly. Hopefully I can do the same. :)

(And hopefully his parents have caught on that Disney in June? It's HOT, y'all. HOT.)

Notes from the Field

I really do have a fun job. I say I get paid for playing with other people's kids, and in a way, it's true.

Today's story comes from a day at the pool. Yes, I said the pool -- I told you I have a fun job.

I had a child whose daddy had custody of him -- but daddy had an amputated leg and wore a prosthesis. He was unable to take his son to the pool for the playdates that were held weekly for children enrolled in our program because he couldn't go in the water lest the prosthesis get wet (and obviously he didn't want to hop around in a pool on one leg) and of course he couldn't allow his two year old son to wade in the pool without him -- so I agreed to meet him there from time to time for therapy sessions.

The great thing about early intervention is its emphasis on "natural environments" versus clinic settings, which means not only a child's home or daycare, but also parks, restaurant playplaces, and yes, even pools, are all fair game as they are all places that are naturally a part of a young child's life. :)

So to the pool we went. As the little boy and I were wading through the water side by side, he stumbled and started to fall forward. Instantly he reached his hand up to me, and I grasped it and steadied him before he fell. The entire incident happened in less than a second and we continued wading.

Later, when we came out, the little boy's father mentioned it, as he'd been watching from the edge. "That's my favorite part about being a father," he told me.

I was confused. What could he possibly mean by that?

He explained further. "The trust they have in you," he said. "The way he instantly reached up for your help, KNOWING you'd be there and would save him from falling -- as a dad, that's just the best feeling in the world to know your child has that much confidence in you and knows you're there for him."

I pondered that one awhile.

Isn't it a perfect example of the way we ought to be, with God? That if we even start to stumble, we instantly reach up for His hand, in full confidence that He will be there ready to save us from falling? Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when He instructed us to have faith like a child. If we had the same faith in Him that that little boy had in me that day, how many falls might we avoid in life?

I hope the next time I begin to stumble, and every time after that, I'll remember that day at the pool, and the lesson I learned from that little boy... and his father.

It's Not Fair

We hear that line all the time from Little Girl. Usually about the most ridiculous things. "It's not fair -- THAT little boy got a Tinkerbell wand and Tinkerbell is MY favorite." (Heard at Disney on Ice show...) "It's not fair, I want another Webkinz!" (How many Webkinz do you have?? "Only 8 or 9!") The best one was when Baby Boy was allowed to eat bread for the first time at a restaurant (milk allergy he's finally outgrown) -- Little Girl scarfed down seven slices of bread and then was stopped because, 1) other people wanted bread too, and 2) she still had a meal coming to her! "It's not fair -- HE gets bread." As he sat there with his ONE piece of bread, first ever in his two years of life. Yes, it's not fair indeed.

She knows about children who have nothing. She even writes occasionally to my Compassion kids. She fills shoeboxes at Christmas. She does get it. But that all goes out the window when she doesn't get what she wants, and suddenly everything is unfair.

This morning, I felt like saying it. The nursery worker in Baby Boy's class has been bringing the toddlers out into church and seating them on the front row during the singing. From where we sit, we have the perfect view of Baby Boy, and we love watching him. This morning, however, we saw the little boy next to him start poking him. Baby Boy shrugged away at first, then as the child continued to poke and then hit at him, Baby Boy tried to block him and push his hands away. He then scooted as far down the pew as he could and the other boy followed him, still hitting. Meanwhile, the nursery worker was singing and completely oblivious to the entire situation. The moment Baby Boy had finally had enough and reached out to hit the other child back is of course the moment that the nursery worker finally looked down. "Now HE'S going to get in trouble!" gasped my mother in a whisper, next to me, and sure enough, the worker started shaking her finger at Baby Boy and scolding him.

Not fair. Not fair at all.

I'm getting ready to bring children in my home to whom "it's not fair" has such a different meaning. The people they were supposed to be able to trust have hurt them. It's not fair. Through no fault of their own, they've been taken away from everyone and everything they loved: their parents, their grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, neighbors, teachers, classmates, pets, favorite toys, their house. Everything.

I hadn't really thought before of how significant their losses are. It's hard to lose someone close to you. It's even harder to have two or three losses back to back. But to lose everything, all at once? Devastating.

It's not fair. I hope that once these children enter my life, and our lives, that Little Girl begins to realize what we try to tell her now, but it goes in one ear and out the other. Life isn't fair. You can bemoan the unfairness of it and wallow in your misery for the rest of your life, or you can accept that life isn't fair, accept your challenges, and move on.

That's what I hope to impress upon my own children. And that's what I hope Little Girl can learn from them.

Pierced...

If a fellow Hebrew, a man or a woman, sells himself to you and serves you six years, in the seventh year you must let him go free.... But if your servant says to you, “I do not want to leave you,” because he loves you and your family and is well off with you, then take an awl and push it through his ear lobe into the door, and he will become your servant for life. Do the same for your maidservant. (Deuteronomy 15:12, 16, 17)


Several weeks ago, out of nowhere, Little Girl announced that she wanted to be baptized on Easter Sunday. She asked Jesus into her heart about a year ago, but has never been interested in baptism before, and we're not sure where this came from all of a sudden. But she remained consistent regarding this decision over a period of two or three weeks, so arrangements were made for an Easter baptism.

Thursday night, my sister called and said that Little Girl wanted to get her ears pierced, and did I think she should let her? (Yes, I find it ironic that she calls to get my opinion on something like this, but won't listen to me regarding important things like diet and medication...) I simply responded that if she (my sister) didn't care, and that if she (Little Girl) really wanted it, I didn't see any reason why not to let her. And so Friday Little Girl went and had her ears pierced.

I've been thinking this over since then and couldn't help but see the symbolism.

In Old Testament times (as indicated by the passage above), fellow Hebrew slaves were to be released during the Year of Jubilee, which occurred every seventh year. However, if the slave willingly chose to stay with his master, he could do so -- and his (or her) ear was pierced to show his willing servanthood.

I no longer wear earrings as anytime I try, my ears get infected, but when I did, I most often wore cross earrings. It was symbolic to me of my willingness to "enslave" myself to my Master, Jesus. And this is why I find Little Girl's ear piercing decision coming on the heels of her baptism decision so meaningful.

And that it just happened that she had her ears pierced on Good Friday, the day that represents Jesus' own piercing on our behalf, and she was baptized, which is a picture of the burial and resurrection of Christ, on Easter Sunday -- well, that has to be more than coincidence.

God is so clever at drawing pictures for us in His Word -- the Old Testament is just full of pictures that were intended to show His people the plan of salvation that He was creating for them. But the concept that God would still be drawing pictures today, drawing them in the life of a little six-year-old girl, well, that's a novel idea to me. But I love it.

I know that Little Girl had nothing of the kind in her head when she decided she wanted to get her ears pierced... I know she was probably only thinking it would be pretty. She intended no symbolism. But the people in Old Testament days didn't realize the things they were doing were pictures either; surely Moses didn't understand that when he was told to speak to the rock and water would come out that this was a picture, and Abraham surely could not have understood when God asked him to sacrifice his promised son that God was painting a picture of His own sacrifice of His own Son. Nonetheless, God was busy drawing pictures through the lives of men and women throughout history. And apparently He's still drawing pictures through the lives of men and women today. And little girls too.


Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare. Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but my ears you have pierced. Psalm 40:5-6a.


Every Sunday afternoon, Little Girl draws a picture, and it nearly always is a "spiritual" picture of some sort -- such as the picture she drew of heaven a couple weeks ago.

I just love that this week God drew a picture for her.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5

Things I've Learned in 2009

It's only been two months so far, but it's been a very full two months.

I've learned that:

*Real estate contracts are meaningless.

You know the whole, "Once you've signed the contract, there's nothing to worry about!" notion? It's a lie. Sure, there are often contingencies on the contract, and you know there's a chance that one of them could end up doing you in. But what if the seller just up and decides he doesn't want to sell his house after all? After the contract is signed. With no contingencies to allow for such a change of heart?

Well, I thought he just couldn't do that. After all, wasn't that the point of the contract? It made it legal. He had to go through with it, right? Apparently not, from what I was told. You can't MAKE someone sell their house.

Well, I didn't make him put it on the market, I didn't make him agree to an offer, and I didn't make him sign a contract. I am still of the opinion that yes, since all of that was done of his own free will, I could indeed MAKE him sell his house, even if I had to take legal means to do it. But... my opinion means nothing, and I was told too bad, so sad, if the seller wanted to back out, he could.

Fortunately, after an extremely stressful few days in which I believed that I would soon be homeless, the seller changed his mind again and the sale went through as planned. Whew. A lot of prayers went into making that one happen, I can tell you.

*I have entirely too much stuff.

I honestly didn't think I had a lot of stuff. I used to be a hoarder. A collector. I had to keep everything I'd ever owned. And then a few years ago, I met Flylady and I've never been the same. "Do you use it? Do you love it? If not, out it goes." And so I am no longer a hoarder, and my piles of stuff have decreased significantly as a result.

But when I moved, I realized that I still have way too much stuff. The trouble is, everything fit under one of the two categories: either it was something I truly do use, or it was something I truly do love. Books and Laura Ingalls Wilder collectibles are my downfall.

What really overwhelmed me during this move besides, "how full can I pack my car up this trip down?" and "where am I going to PUT all this stuff?" and "will this house EVER be empty so I can LEAVE it?" was the discrepancy. I thought about my Compassion kids. I pictured their houses. I pictured their stuff. And then I looked around my house at the boxes upon boxes of stuff and wondered, why do we need so much? And how do they get by with so little?

It was a sobering thought, and one I haven't finished thinking through.

* When you lose touch with people you like, you never run into them again. But when you lose touch with people you don't, just hold tight. It's guaranteed they'll show up in your life again. And again. And again.

Just think Nellie Oleson. (as in the book character Nellie, not tv show Nellie, and not her real life counterparts... although Genny Masters still fits my example...)

Just imagine Laura's face, when after having left Plum Creek and Nellie Oleson behind forever, who should trounce into her classroom in her new hometown but Nellie herself. Not the Kennedy girls, mind you, whom Laura would surely have been quite pleased to see. Oh no, it had to be Nellie.

I felt like poor Laura must have felt the day I logged into facebook and discovered that my own personal Nellie Oleson had requested to be my friend. I haven't seen this girl in probably fifteen years, and was perfectly happy about that. WHY did she have to show up, and WHY must she add me as a friend on facebook???

I will confess... I left the request sitting there for three days while I thought about it. "Do I HAVE to?? No, I don't HAVE to... I COULD deny it... But then how they'll all talk (the entire Oleson family)... and someday I just know it will come back to haunt me..." Finally I gave in and clicked accept. And I've been sorry ever since.

Oh, it would have done no good to have denied it either. After all, she went and added my entire family, and half my friends too. She's everywhere. Unavoidable. And after fifteen or so years of childhood torture-by-Nellie, followed by fifteen years of adulthood bliss due to absence-of-Nellie -- well, I just don't know what the next fifteen years of Nellie on Facebook is going to hold. I hoped that age would have improved her -- after all, it certainly worked for tv Nellie. Well, it hasn't.

Yes, I know my attitude about this stinks. I'm working on it, okay? Somewhere I have a prayer journal from when I was 13 years old, asking God to help me love Nellie, because I knew it was right to love your enemies. He actually did answer the prayer... though Nellie never changed, my attitude toward her did. At least I thought I did. Obviously upon Nellie's reappearance, it was my initial attitude toward her that resurfaced, not that new and improved one.

So I guess I need to take a lesson from my 13-year-old self who was clearly a better person than my 34-year-old self, and start praying again to love Nellie.

Sigh.

*Don't judge others by their behaviors. You don't know the whole story.

Yeah, yeah, I know I need to apply this to Nellie. And I do. I just still don't like her. Sorry. Working on it.

Okay, back to the topic -- I shared this in a previous blog post, of the girl who hated me (or at least appeared to) many years ago, when in fact an awful lot was going on behind the scenes that I had no idea of that was causing her to do the things she was doing. In what seems like record time, this once-upon-a-time "enemy" has wormed her way right into my "nearest and dearest" circle. When I asked God to quickly send new friends in the area when I moved here, I had in mind NEW friends. As in people I hadn't yet met. I like His idea better. :)

*Prioritize people. Stuff will always be here. Your to-do list will always be here. People... they won't always be here and they're the only things that really matter anyway.

I already knew this, but I had a review lesson last month when my uncle was fine one day... gone the next. Death can come so suddenly and you'll never in this life have another chance to spend time together. So spend it while you can, and when you get bogged down with too much to do, remember: People come first.

*Just because there is a gaping hole in a cardboard box of crackers doesn't mean you have a mouse in your cupboards. It might just mean you have a really bad memory.

'Nough said.

If we only understood...

Hurt people hurt people. It's a saying I've heard for years but more recently I've really come to believe it. I don't believe that people who are mean or hateful to others are happy people. I don't see how they can be. That nastiness they show on the outside has got to be just the surface coating of what is lurking underneath.

So I've tried to remember this when people do not-so-nice things, and try to see things through their eyes. Give them the benefit of the doubt. I may not always be able to figure out what inner hurt is causing the outer behavior, but even if I can't, I just assume there is something there.

It's not about not holding people responsible for their actions, or making excuses for them, or allowing them to be as mean and nasty as they want to be and just being a doormat. It's about understanding and forgiving.

I've had a developing situation over the last couple of weeks that really gave me some insight into my own theory -- proved it, actually.

Many many years ago, I was in a situation where a number of people were very hateful to me, without cause. One of those people re-entered my life recently and I will admit to being very hesitant at first, though she was being quite friendly. I was friendly back, but inside, I was thinking, "Okay... why are you acting like we were great friends and you're so glad to be back in touch... you HATED me when we knew each other..."

She continued with the friendliness, and it really seemed genuine, so I finally brought it up. I'd already started putting together what happened from some of the things she had shared with me, but when I asked about it, she shared even more. It seems that she herself was very insecure at the time, and felt friendless. (I never in a million years would have guessed it, from her tough exterior. But it was an act to cover up the hurt inside.) She had been through a recent trauma and was thrust into a situation she had no control over, with people who didn't want her. She wanted desperately to be wanted and accepted by these people, and it just so happens that the girl she wanted most to be accepted by was my childhood Nellie Oleson.

She seriously was. She had the golden ringlets and the storebought dresses and the snooty attitude to go with it. She was the perfect Nellie. And she despised me in much the same way the real Nellie despised Laura.

So... this girl recognized this and was intentionally nasty to me thinking it would please Nellie and make Nellie accept her. All the while the girl actually liked me and wished we could be friends, but thought that I was "too smart" to ever want to be friends with someone like her. And there I was desperately wishing for someone, ANYONE, to just be NICE.

We really could have used each other back then, she and I. She later realized what Nellie was really like and decided she never EVER wanted to be like that, but by that time we were no longer at the same school, and until quite recently had never seen each other since those days of our youth. :)

We've discovered we actually have quite a bit in common and are quickly becoming friends now. A shame we couldn't have found this out then, when we both really needed a friend, but better late than never, right?

And it just reminds me yet again that you just never know what's really going on with someone inside. I totally thought all these years that this girl hated me. I also thought she was confident and assertive. Turns out none of those things were true. Just goes to show we can't judge others based on their actions alone -- there's so much going on under the surface that we just can't know about. Maybe it's time to dig a little deeper, take a few risks, and show that we care enough to find out what's going on inside, rather than just rejecting based on what goes on outside.

After all, "We would love each other better, if we only understood." ~Rudyard Kipling

Not Your Typical New Year's Post

Time. It's a concept that has always intrigued me. It's something we focus so heavily upon, a fact that is never clearer than at the start of a new year.

I did nothing to celebrate New Year's. I never do. It just isn't a big deal to me for some reason. I didn't make any New Year's resolutions. Again, I just don't see the point. If I want to make a resolution, I'll make it when I think that it's something I need to do, not wait around until January 1, nor think something up just to have one for the new year.

But all the posts I've read on blogs, newsgroups, message boards, email lists, etc. have got me thinking about time and its significance. And it's hard to think about time without thinking of eternity... and thinking of eternity is -- well, it's mind-boggling.

I'd like to share some thoughts about time, and timelessness, that I've put together over the years.

It started when I was eleven years old. My grandfather had just died, and as I lay that first night in bed trying to go to sleep, he was of course all I could think about. It wasn't the first death of someone I knew, but it was the first death of someone I truly loved, so coping with death and trying to wrap my mind around it was all new to me.

Then suddenly, the thought struck me that I didn't even know for sure where he was... was he a Christian? Was he now in heaven? Or wasn't he? I had no idea, and I felt incredible guilt that I had no idea. I began to think back... did he go to church? I didn't even know that. He didn't go to my church... and he never talked about church... maybe he didn't. Most of my family members talked about God a lot, especially in teaching us kids, but I couldn't remember a time when he ever had. I panicked. Maybe he wasn't -- and now it was too late. There was nothing I could do.

I don't know that an adult brain would ever even think to do something like this, but you know what they say about having faith like a child -- I did the only thing I could think of to do. I prayed that he was saved. I prayed over something that had already happened.

Can you do that? Certainly you can pray about things that are happening. And you can pray about things that are going to happen. But isn't it too late to pray about something that has already happened? It's too late to change anything now -- what good can it possibly do to pray about it?

Stick with me. I have an answer to that now. The question, of course, never even occurred to my 11 year old self. And I prayed not only that he was saved, but that somehow God would reveal to me that he was without me having to ask. Because that was a question I absolutely did not want to ask anyone.

Well, during the visitation, I was standing by the coffin with my dearly beloved great-aunt, my grandfather's sister. Because my grandmother had died when my father was a baby, she had raised my father and was therefore like a grandmother to me herself. I therefore spent those visitation hours glued to her side, and overheard every word she spoke to all the people that came to the visitation. And one of those comments I overheard was, in response to someone's comment that he looked so peaceful, she said, "Yes, he's in heaven now... how well I remember the day ten years ago when he accepted the gift of salvation and changed his life."

Prayer answered! Yes, he was saved; and yes, I got to find out without asking.

Many years later, when I was in college, I found myself dwelling on that grandmother that I had never known, my dad's mother who died when he was a baby as I mentioned, because of some information I had discovered about her that I won't go into here. :) I found myself wondering the same thing about her -- was she in heaven? Because based on the information I found, and the knowledge that my grandfather wasn't saved until decades after her death, I was thinking it pretty unlikely that she was. And while I never knew her, that thought really disturbed me. After all, she was part of me, somehow... and it became very important to me that her eternity was being spent in heaven.

Remembering the answered prayer of my youth, I threw logic to the wind and prayed again. I prayed that my grandmother, who by this time had died over forty years earlier, was a Christian -- and again, I prayed that somehow I could know that she was. This seemed very unlikely, as nobody EVER talked about her -- and as I said, she had already been gone for over forty years! And once more... can you really pray about the past? Yes, it had worked for me before, but this seemed like a really huge request.

This prayer wasn't answered quite as immediately, but it wasn't more than a couple months later that we got a Christmas letter from that great-aunt, the very one I mentioned before. Never before in my life had we gotten one of these from her. She told me afterward (out of the blue, unquestioned) that she doesn't even know why she sent us that letter, she never does, she writes one every year but only sends it out to people she doesn't see much of, so they will know what's going on with her -- but we already know it all so there's no reason to send us the letter. But for some reason, she just thought she would that year.

For some reason, eh? You won't believe what that letter contained. It mentioned my aunt's move to California, and she explained for the sake of her recipients that this aunt was the daughter of her brother and her brother's wife, who had died when my aunt was but a little girl. She then wrote an entire paragraph about this brother's wife -- my grandmother -- including the fact that THE VERY SUNDAY before she died, she had come forward in the Chapel and given her life to the Lord.

Okay -- you might call the first time a coincidence, but the second time too? I puzzled over it quite a bit, but was convinced that yes, a prayer today could indeed affect something that had happened in the past. I didn't fully understand how, but I knew that God could do anything, even what seemed impossible to us. I thought at the time that of course God would have known back forty years ago that I was GOING to pray that prayer, and could have answered it then with the foreknowledge of what was going to happen.

I was close, and maybe even right, but there is a theological concept behind all of this that is absolutely amazing... mind-blowing... incredible. The concept is that God is the "I AM" over my "was."

This is a lesson title invented by Beth Moore, and I won't go into the full theological background of this truth, but it's really quite fascinating, and if you're interested, I encourage you to go watch it for yourself. Click here to view all of Beth's video teachings at Life Today and scroll down to find The 'I AM' Over Your 'Was'. The piece I'm talking about is explained in Part 4 but you really will want to watch the whole series because there is so much background to it that you won't want to miss. And for that matter, while you're there, watch all her other teachings too, because I'm telling you, this woman is inspired.

But back to my topic, the key verse that delves into this truth is John 8:58, where Jesus states, "Before Abraham was, I AM." Did you catch that? God doesn't live in time. He IS in the past, just as he IS in the present and the future. He's still back there working in my past. It's not over and done with, as we so often say! He's still there in it working!

He could answer my prayers about my grandfather because He existed simultaneously in 1985 when I prayed, and in 1975 when He answered the prayer. He could answer my prayers about my grandmother because he existed simultaneously in 1993 when I prayed, and in 1951 when He answered the prayer.

ISN'T THAT COOL?

So I encourage you in this "new year" to us to remember that God is still working in all of our old years. He's still there in our past. And if there's something regrettable in your past that is "over and done with" -- recognize that it's not. Pray for God, who is still back there in your "was", to redeem your was, which will in turn redeem your "is". How many of us have a less than stellar "is" because of something that happened in our "was"? It's time to give our "was" to the God who IS, the God who is present in our was, the God who is Almighty over our was, and pray for Him to do His mighty work in it.

Amen.

:)

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

My Christmas memories from my little girl days revolve around several things:

1) Family

We spent Christmas Eve at my grandparents' house. My grandmother cooked a big meal, and my "twin cousin" (we use that term because we're the same age, were always together, looked a lot alike, and dressed alike frequently so people always thought we were twins) and I ate in one of the bedrooms, and then played together in that bedroom all evening until it was time to open gifts. We each received one gift from our grandparents, and all nine of us cousins exchanged names so we got one cousin gift.

I have seen on a lot of blogs, people commenting that they don't really even remember any of their Christmas gifts their parents spent so much money on, implying the insignificance of gifting and focusing on family, Christmas traditions, etc. I do remember some of those gifts. The one that really stands out in my mind though was the year that my twin cousin and I received a large box full of Barbie clothes, handmade by my grandmother. Wow. They had everything, even down to bathing suits and TOWELS to go with the Barbie pools we didn't know we were getting the next day for Christmas. :) I can't imagine how much time she must have spent making all those little clothes, but I know how much time we spent playing with them! It was one of the best gifts ever!

On Christmas Day, our own little family opened gifts at home, very early in the morning. And it wasn't because we kids couldn't wait and awoke extra early -- oh, no, Christmas morning typically began with my dad shaking me awake and telling me I was the bear who slept through Christmas. At like 5 or 6 am. HE couldn't wait!

My grandparents, who lived next door, always came down to see what we got later that morning. Then for the noon meal, we headed over to my other grandparents' home across town, and spent the rest of the day with my dad's side of the family.

Every Christmas was a glorious one, and those cozy rooms filled with family are one of my fondest Christmas memories.


2) Songs

We had a record called "The Living Christmas Tree" that my mother always played in the week leading up to Christmas. I remember "helping" her bake cookies and make candy, listening to that record over and over. The most fascinating thing about it was the picture on the cover, of the choir dressed in colors and standing in such a fashion as to make them look like a Christmas tree. I must have spent hours just gazing at and studying that picture. It's an important Christmas memory to me, and any time I hear any of the songs that were on that album, it takes me back to those days of baking with my mother.

One of my favorite Christmas songs is "O Little Town of Bethlehem", not because of anything about the actual song, I think, but because I remember when I first learned it. I was in kindergarten, and it was part of our Christmas play. I loved it the moment I heard it, and whenever I hear that song, I'm five years old again, standing in the aisle of that church (the one I still attend when I go home).

We had a Disney Christmas tape that has long since been lost or torn up, I'm sure, as I haven't seen it since childhood. It was orange. I wish we still had it, but I think I've found most of the songs online, at least. Those songs are part of my memories of Christmas.

And lastly, there's "Wee Sing for Christmas." When I was a little older, maybe 8-12ish, I was very into making Christmas presents. After all, I had no money to speak of, so making them was the only way I was going to get any. And I loved crafty things. Funny how that didn't carry over into adulthood -- I guess it did, I still enjoy doing those things, I just never seem to have time anymore. Anyhow, my grandmother has a room in her basement that she just used for storage, and a good couple months before Christmas, that was my workshop. I would go down there every day for hours (since she lived next door) and work away, and I had a tape player in there playing Wee Sing for Christmas the whole time. Nobody else was allowed in that room while it was my workshop, so no worries about anyone stumbling upon my Christmas surprises. It was a wonderful wonderful experience, and I'm very grateful to my grandmother for allowing me to clutter up her garage every Christmas with all my junk. :)

3) Stories

My mother had two little booklets with Christmas stories. I still have them. She used to read one every night in the weeks leading up to Christmas, year after year, and those stories remind me of Christmases past. I also remember curling up under the tree or behind it, because somehow it seemed so magical back there, enclosed and surrounded by all those twinkling lights, and reading those stories over and over, and reading Luke 2, as well. The stories spoke of the true meaning of Christmas in various ways, some old-fashioned stories, others modern (for the time period in which they were written), and I loved every one of them. They ranged from the story of a little shepherd boy in Bethlehem at the time of Jesus' birth, to children in an orphanage who prayed for specific things for Christmas when the workers had nothing and those items miraculously appeared at the last minute, to a little orphan girl in a foreign country who told her big brother that she would believe in Jesus if only He would bring her chocolate, like she had tasted once from a missionary -- and when gifts from overseas arrived and were handed out, her box indeed a chocolate bar in it. I always think of this story when preparing boxes for Operation Christmas Child, and wish I could include a chocolate bar, but know that whatever the little girl who receives my box truly needs to have will be in it instead.

Those stories bring back Christmas to me.


4) Gifts. Because it isn't Christmas without gifts, now is it? We didn't have a ton of gifts, like children seem to have now, but we did have several each and Christmas certainly wasn't lacking in the gifts department. My favorite gift ever, and I still have it, is a large dollhouse that my dad built and my mother and grandmother made all the little curtains and bedspreads. One of my favorite pasttimes as a child was to go shopping with my dad on Saturday mornings, to the little miniature shops downtown, to pick out a tiny can of Campbell's soup, or a little kitty cat, to add to my dollhouse. That gift became a gift of quality time.

Other favorites are dolls that were very special to me, and again, I still have. Books are also special, and I have kept most of my childhood books to be passed along. I think Little Girl is about ready to start some of them, she is avidly devouring short storybooks now, and I'm giving her a "big girl" chapter book for Christmas to see if she's ready for it. She can definitely read it, but my mother thinks she won't because she likes to read the whole story RIGHT THEN, and not a bit at a time as she would have to do with a chapter book. But I say, give her the chance and we'll see. If she does, wow, do I ever have a ton of books for that child to dig into. :)

So in summary, I'm not going to say that gifts aren't important, and it's all about family and traditions, as I've read in many other places. People keep bringing up "Little House on the Prairie" and how excited those girls were over a doll, or mittens, or a penny and a stick of candy, or a tin cup. Yes, they were, but those were gifts, now weren't they?

I think gifts are important because they are a way to show love. I think many people have gone over the top showering their children with too many gifts, but I definitely think gifts are an important part of Christmas, and a part their children will remember. But instead of purchasing the latest junky fads from the store, maybe next year you might consider what gifts are going to stand out in your child's memory when they are grown. Gifts that involve your time rather than just your money are probably going to be more meaningful.

And don't forget the family and the traditions, or make Christmas so stressful, that those things aren't even fun anymore.

And above all, have a very merry Christmas. God bless us, everyone. :)

God, What Are You Doing?

That's a question I've been asking a lot. Not in the sense that I think there is no answer, but in the sense that I know there is and I've been dying to figure it out. Like I could figure out the mind of God... yeah, I know, funny. :)

So anyhow, the reason for this question is multifold, but all boils down to one big issue: THE HOUSE.

Now, mind you, I definitely keep this in perspective. I know there are many people out there dealing with BIG problems. In comparison, this is pretty small. But for me, in my life right this moment, it looms above everything else and therefore, it's a question that pops up a LOT in my prayers -- God, PLEASE, tell me what on earth You're doing here? Because I know there's a plan, and it's a good plan, but I'd really like to know what it is!!! And, by the way, would you PLEASE sell my house?? :)

The reason the house not selling is such a big deal is not financial, and I actually realize I'm very blessed as many people waiting for their house to sell are trying to deal with two mortgages, or are facing foreclosure and just hoping someone will come along and rescue them at the last moment with a buy, so that I don't HAVE to sell my house for any financial reasons is definitely a wonderful thing, and greatly reduces the stress that would likely be there otherwise.

But I do have two pretty important reasons to want this house to sell, and to be so tired of waiting: Little Girl and Baby Boy.

Now Little Girl -- she's not as big of a deal, because she just WANTS me. It's an issue, for sure. About six months ago, I was on the brink of a sale and so I went to look at a house I was thinking of buying if my sale went through. My sister wanted to see it too, and Little Girl came along, and the whole thing about how I might be buying that house was explained to her. Well, that sale didn't work out and I didn't buy the house, but Little Girl has acted differently ever since.

When she was a toddler, she used to just cry and cry when I would leave. It was heartbreaking, but she eventually outgrew it as she came to understand that it was just a part of life; I didn't live nearby, and that was all there was to it. So she hasn't done that in years. Until a few months ago. Now every time I go in, when it's time to leave again she clings and she cries and she begs me not to go. I guess it's because she knows I'm supposed to be moving nearby, and it's not happening. So I have to wrench myself away and drive hours home, asking God WHY He's keeping me so far away from her. It just seems so wrong.

But as I said, she's the minor issue... because she only WANTS me.

Baby Boy NEEDS me. As anyone who has read here for long has probably figured out just from the subtle things mentioned about him from time to time, he has a disability. It's neurological in nature, and prognosis isn't great... when caught in older children, that is. I am specially trained in this particular disability and have learned to identify it in its early stages, and have known for months that Baby Boy's delays are caused by this particular issue. How ironic that the disability I have the most expertise in ends up being what my own nephew has... (and no, it's not autism). The thing is, I have learned through treating many little ones that prognosis is actually quite good when it's caught this young, when given intensive treatment before the age of 3. (There's a lot of brain growth through age 3, then things slow down a bit till about 5, and then they slow down dramatically, so if you catch neurological things that early, you can actually make changes to how the brain works through proper treatment and FIX, to a large extent, the problems. Thus the reason for early intervention...)

But Baby Boy, he's several months past two now. And I can't give him intensive treatment when I live three hours away. His window of opportunity is rapidly closing, and he is the primary reason that I have been SO frustrated in recent months at the wait to sell my house. I can't afford to sit around here for months and let him miss out on the treatment he needs! He needs me, and I need to live near him so I can go over and work with him EVERY DAY. He does receive therapy and his parents do work with him all the time the best they can, but it's not enough. He's making progress but not as much as I know he could be if only I lived there!

So that is the reason for my constant questioning of God, in asking why I'm stuck out here hours away from Baby Boy who needs me. When Baby Boy's family was going to move to Florida earlier this year, and then when those plans were suddenly and miraculously altered by a job that just dropped out of nowhere into my brother's lap, I thought to myself, "Ahh, God is keeping him here, and pretty soon I'll be moving there too, and all is going to work out splendidly." And then month after month went by, and here I am, still stuck.

Now, I'd made some plans. I signed on with the realtor for six months. The six months ended in late October, and when nothing was happening, and the economy was failing, and the real estate market just kept sinking, I decided I was going to take the house off the market for the winter. Winter isn't a good time for me to move anyhow, due to all the things I'm going to have to do to transfer my job from here to there which is going to entail several months of weekly trips back and forth, which isn't going to be fun at any time of year, but especially not winter. Winter's a bad time for real estate anyway, and I could relist in the spring and it would look like a new listing instead of a house that has sat on the market for the year. These were my plans, and they seemed like good ones.

And then, two days before the listing was to expire, I got an interested buyer. They made an offer, way too low for me to accept. I countered. And we waited, and we waited. And they called and said they didn't have enough money for the downpayment if they go any higher, but they really want the house, so they're trying to get their parents to help them out, and they need a few days. Okay, but the listing was expiring and I'd already informed my realtor that I was pulling it off the market till spring.

So we renewed the listing for a 30 day period so that this sale could hopefully go through. And after we did that, they got back with us and said they couldn't get the money and therefore weren't going to be able to continue negotiations.

"Okay, God... why did you have me renew this thing for nothing??? Now I'm stuck with another month of people trekking through, and getting kicked out of my house, and having to keep the place looking like nobody lives in it day in and day out in case someone wants to see it, for another month." I'm quite tired of living like that.

The month passed and nothing happened. Then a couple days before it was due to expire again, my realtor called. It seems a local company had just contacted her because they were bringing in 80 people from another city, and those 80 people are required to live within ten minutes of this company, so they could be there quickly for emergencies that could arise while they're on call. My house is within the range.

So we talked, and we debated, and I came to the discouraging conclusion (because I was really looking forward to having the winter off from showing the house, despite my desire to move, plus as I said, winter is NOT a good time for me to move anyway) that I should leave the house on the market. After all, 80 folks coming through wanting a house... mine's already on the market BEFORE the spring people all list theirs, and there aren't even 80 houses within ten minutes of that company for sale anyway, so I'm almost SURE to sell it now. So THAT'S what God was doing with that deal... keeping me on the market long enough to find out this information. Right?

So we relist for six months. And the weeks begin to pass, and my realtor then informs me that those people are coming in, but they can't do anything yet. Why? Because they have to sell their houses before they can buy here. And not only were 80 of them sent here, but hundreds of employees from their city were moved to various locations around the country. That means there are hundreds of houses suddenly on the market in that city. Think they're going to sell anytime soon?

So again. "God, WHAT are You doing? WHY did You make me relist this thing for NOTHING??? WHAT is going on here? I know something's up, I know You have a reason for this, but WHAT? And will you PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE sell my house?" (I've said that line a LOT in the past few months, feeling like a little kid begging for a candy bar or something.)

The other day I got a letter in the mail from a lady at church, a lady I barely know, I met her once at a party and that's about the extent of it. She knows virtually nothing about me.

She writes, "I don't know what I'm supposed to write here, but I know I've felt a desire to reach out to you this Christmas. God placed you on my heart, or in my inward vision? Whatever your desire from Him, I pray you'll sense He is completely aware of your heart's cry."

"Okay," I think. "Thanks, God... thanks for letting me know You're listening. I knew You were, but confirmation is nice. I know You know what's best and have a plan and I need to just be patient and let You work that plan out, but thanks for reminding me that yeah, You're listening."

Ten minutes later my realtor was at my door with an offer.

I'm not kidding.

It was a wretched offer. Insulting really. Much much much below anything I could ever consider taking. It was discouraging.

"He is completely aware of your heart's cry."

I countered. He came back again. I countered again. He came back again with a message that he was getting agitated because he had come WAY up and I had barely come down at all, and I'd best be more cooperative or he was going to walk.

Uh, well maybe if you'd started at a reasonable price to begin with, you wouldn't have that problem... I've gotten a lot of REALLY low offers, it seems that people think everybody is on the brink of foreclosure and they can take advantage of that and dash in and "steal" their house for WAY under the market value as a result. Well that wasn't my problem and I wasn't interested in GIVING away my house.

I countered again with a response that I was pretty much at rock bottom and he was going to have to come up significantly if he wanted the house.

He countered again. Do you know how exhausting this process was? And it dragged on for several days too. I reread that letter a time or twelve, I tell you. "He is completely aware of your heart's cry." Anyhow, I countered once more and he AGREED. (Actually he wanted to counter AGAIN but his realtor told him to stop playing games and take it before he loses this house. Thank you, Realtor.)

The house is SOLD. Well, under contract anyway, but he's approved for the amount so all should be fine from here on out.

So, I see He did have a plan after all. (Duh.) But all the "HUH? WHY did You do that?" questions fall into place now. Why the offer two days before the listing expired that then didn't go through? To keep it listed. Why the announcement about the company, only to then learn all those people had to sell first so it could be months before they were ready to buy anyway? To keep it listed. Why to keep it listed? Because if I'd done things my way, the house would have been off the market two months ago and this buyer never would have seen it.

And I'd be stuck here all winter, and who knows how many more months might have gone by before I finally found a buyer who was actually qualified to buy?

Now I can go. And Baby Boy's window is still pretty open. We have nine months to get him on track. I think we can do it. Pack all those treatment sessions with prayer, and I know we can. :)

There has been a lot of rejoicing in this house over the last couple days, let me tell you. A LOT.

Now to just figure out where I'm going to live... ;)

I'm Not Who I Was

This post gets a little more personal than I usually get. Sharing innermost feelings with close friends is one thing, but with perfect strangers is another altogether. However, I've been feeling like it's time I started to share some of this, in the hopes of being able to help others. So here's a start.

I've enjoyed Brandon Heath's song "I'm Not Who I Was" since it first came out. It resonates with me because it reminds me of situations from my past. Tonight on the radio I heard the coolest story behind that song.

I tried to find it online to make sure I remembered it all accurately, but could not, so I'll do my best to get it right but there's my disclaimer. :) Brandon wrote the song about a friendship that dissolved years ago. He said that he had a problem with unforgiveness, but was finally able to forgive this friend and then he sat down and wrote this song about it.

The really neat thing is, since writing this song, he's heard from old girlfriends and such wondering if that song was written about them. No. It was about this friend. And it just so happens that this friend heard the song on the radio and really liked it. He had no idea that he knew the artist, nor that the song was about him. But he learned through a mutual friend that Brandon -- whose MIDDLE name is Heath which is why the friend didn't realize it was him -- was indeed the Brandon he used to know, and that the song had been written about him. He contacted Brandon and the two men are going to meet in a couple of weeks. They haven't spoken in, I think the lady on the radio said 11 years. Won't that be interesting?

I won't post the entire song's lyrics, but here are a few bits that pull me back in time a bit and make me think. And here also are my thoughts on those lyrics...

I wish you could see me now.
I wish I could show you how
I'm not who I was.

We'll start right there. I have felt that way many times before, in thinking about relationships from the past that have been broken, or even relationships that were just drift-aways. I think the reason this thought comes to mind so much is that I really do feel like a completely different person than I used to be.

You see, I used to struggle greatly with insecurity and self-esteem, for starters. Add to that extreme social anxiety, and fear of rejection, then mix in some dependency issues. Compound the whole works with depression and generalized anxiety, and you have a mess. I don't like that person and I don't know how anyone else did. Friends that I have now who were also friends during those years, I have asked that question -- how on earth could you have liked me? They assure me that they did, but I didn't like myself even then, and I especially don't like the self that I was, NOW.

I've thought about writing a post -- or it would probably have to be a series of posts, actually -- on how I overcame all of those issues (a great big dose of God, obviously, but the process He used is what I'm referring to here) and became who I am today (completely healthy physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually) but whenever I sit down to do it, I really can't piece together just how it happened. I know so many people struggle with depression and anxiety disorders and if my story could help even one other person overcome them as I did, all those miserable years would be worth it. So hopefully one of these days, this post will come. But for now... back to the song. :)

I have that thought, about wishing that the people who knew me then who are no longer in my life today, could see how I've changed, could see what a different person I am today, whenever I reflect on any part of my past, actually.

The song continues:

I used to be mad at you,
A little on the hurt side too,
But I'm not who I was.

Knowing now that Brandon was writing about his own issue of unforgiveness, his meaning for the song is a little different than my perception for my own life experiences, but that's okay. I always think of two people in particular during this part of the song, two terribly broken relationships from years ago. I didn't deal greatly with the anger aspect, a bit of anger from time to time when the breaks first occurred perhaps, but hurt more than anything else. They say that time heals all wounds, and it does. I've felt neither anger nor hurt over either of these relationships for a long time now, but I do feel remorse. I wish that I could go back into the beginning of those relationships and be the me of today rather than the me of the past, and redo those relationships the right way. Obviously, that can never happen. And there really isn't a thing in the world I can do to rectify those long-past situations either, and so as I said, I simply feel remorse and remind myself not to screw up any future relationships like I did the past ones. :)

Another line I like,

I found us in a photograph,
I saw me and I had to laugh,
You know, I'm not who I was.

That's such a me thing to do. I don't look through old photographs from these two friendships, don't even know where they are, it's been so long, but Angie of Bring the Rain wrote a couple months or so ago about how she views life moments in snapshots, and I can identify with that. I see snapshots of memories from events with those people in my mind, and those are my photographs. And just like Brandon, I sometimes just have to shake my head and laugh at myself, at who I was then. Because as my grandmother says, sometimes you just have to laugh to keep from crying. ;)

And finally, the last bit of the song that I'll quote,

I wish I could see you now,
I wish I could show you how
I'm not who I was.

And to this, I just have to repeat that I think that it's really cool that Brandon is going to be doing exactly that in a couple of weeks, with this friend from eleven years past that he obviously thought he would never have the opportunity to do this with.

God does some pretty cool things, and if God would put all of that together for Brandon, I suppose it's possible He just might do it someday for me too. He's still in the miracle business after all. I'm reminded of that every time I think about how "I'm not who I was."

Lessons from a Six Year Old

This morning, I went to church, filed into our family's usual row, and sat down. My sister's purse and Little Girl's Webkinz were already there on the pew, as well as a tithing envelope. I picked up the envelope and saw written across the front in Little Girl's handwriting, surrounded by hearts and a cross:

"I love everybuty."

Me too, Little Girl, me too... if only everyone in the world could be six again and have that mindset, what a happier place it would be.

The Library

I spend a lot of time at the library. Always have. Time was when the library was used for reading, studying, researching. There were card catalogs with actual cards, and the Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature. Technology has really changed the way the library works today, as all of that information is now at our fingertips through computerized card catalogs and the internet.

But shouldn't the library still be a place for reading, studying, and researching? It no longer seems to be, and that both amazes and saddens me.

Our public library, for example, has two long tables filled with computers, with internet access. This makes sense to me -- the internet contains a wealth of information, and for people who don't have access at home or at work, the library provides a wonderful opportunity for people to take advantage of the internet to obtain desired information.

What disturbs me is that this doesn't seem to be what those computers are used for at all.

I literally spend several hours at a time, several days a week at the library. I use the library for what I perceive its purpose to be: researching. Interlibrary loan is my friend. I've always got a box of microfilm of some sort being held for me at the desk, and every librarian there runs to get it the moment I walk in.

(What this tells me is... I'm the only one. I'm instantly recognizable because this is different from how other people use the library.)

To my surprise, they've never asked just what I'm doing, though I'm sure it must puzzle them. Since I'm simultaneously working on two completely different projects, the dates, locations, and types of information would seemingly have no correlation with each other. But if they're curious, they've never asked.

The microfilm machine sits right next to all of these computers, so I see exactly what goes on. These computers are not being used to research topics of interest... to locate journal articles... to access online encylopedias. There are three primary uses that I have observed: 1) to play games; 2) to listen to music and watch videos (thank goodness for headphones, though the sound is still audible); and 3) social networking, such as Myspace and Facebook.

Game-playing is by far the most popular use.

What I really find astounding is the number of adults that bring infants and small children to the library and make them sit there for hours while they -- the adults -- play computer games. They scold these children, who have absolutely nothing to do (good grief, could the adult not at least go down to the children's room and get them a book to look at? This IS a library...), because they're talking or wanting to get up and run around. If you HAD to bring your small child to the library because you had work you needed to do and nobody to watch them, okay -- but to play games? For hours? Leaving your child bored to tears with nothing to do? And then you want to blame the child for "misbehaving"? I don't understand these people, and if you are reading this and are one of those people, then perhaps you could explain your end of things, because I am really trying to understand this mindset but it's just out of my realm of comprehension.

It also surprises me that the library doesn't discourage this at all. Folks ask the reference librarian for assistance all the time with these non-learning computer tasks, and he/she never says a word to indicate that perhaps library computers should be used for learning. Maybe they found it was a losing battle. Maybe they've discovered that nobody uses the computers for research anyway, so there's no need to try to keep them freed up for those nonexistent people.

One day as I was leaving, the librarian who had been supervising the computer area told me that I won the prize for the only person who came to the library that day to do serious work. I responded that I think I win that prize every day. He sadly agreed.

One day a few weeks back I went to a talk given at the library -- on a topic that should have been of great interest to local people. However, I had a feeling that there would not be a good turnout. I was surprised to discover there were actually four other people who showed up for it (all elderly, I might add), and I wasn't the only one surprised. The presentation was made possible through a humanities grant, and the speaker began by saying that she has been doing these presentations all over the state and frequently has had only one person show up, so she was actually thrilled with the turnout. How sad is that!?

How can we turn libraries back into a center for learning? Do adults who are no longer in any type of school setting stop learning new things nowadays? I think about all the clubs that Laura Ingalls Wilder was in during her adult life -- before she ever penned a single novel. Those small-town women sat around at their regular club meetings and discussed current events, they learned about the geography and cultures of areas around the globe, they were always interested in learning and self-educating. Just imagine what they could have done with all the information we have available today.

Has this become a thing of the past for most people? I know there are others out there like me who keep learning long past their school days, but are we becoming the minority? How do we teach today's children that learning is something that should be pursued throughout one's lifetime?

Edited to add: Based on an emailed comment that I received regarding the post, I wanted to clarify something. I was not in any way implying that everyone should be using microfilm readers and spending hours doing research. I was simply explaining that this is the reason I have spent so much time at the library to observe what other people are doing on the computers. To explain that this was not a one-time pass-by but a consistent phenomenon that I have observed. Libraries are most certainly for getting books. Reading books is a good way to learn new things. It is a perfectly good use of a library. My rant was not in any way belittling people who only use the library to get books, because that is indeed its purpose. My rant was about people who use the library to, essentially, waste time. There are so many good useful productive ways to use the library's computers: job searches, researching or making travel plans, getting maps and directions, locating local businesses or finding products that you can't find at local businesses, reading or learning more about topics of personal interest. I am simply saying that these are things that I assumed the library computers were intended for, and my surprise was that the primary use seems instead to be playing games. Not even puzzle games, logic games, something that at least exercises your brain, but those role-playing games, adventure games, etc. seems to be the order of the day. 'Nuff said.

33 Miles

On the eve of 33 Miles' new release, I thought I'd reflect a bit... on their music, and their name.

33 miles... it represents the 33 years Jesus walked on this earth. The significance of what He accomplished in those 33 years and its continued effect on us a couple thousand years later is nothing short of miraculous.

That number has special meaning to me right now. Why?

I'm 33 years old.

Obviously there's no comparison -- He's God, of course He made a huge impact. But if I'm to be Christ-like, shouldn't my life be having some great impact, as well? I think it should. And now I've had the same amount of time on earth as He has.

That's a little frightening.

I mean, I can look back on my life and see some good things. The good decisions I made. The good effects I've had on some people.

Unfortunately, though, looking back also drudges up so not-so-great things that I'd rather not remember. But I must remember them, so the next time I'm faced with similar choices, I don't make the same mistakes.

I love the chorus of 33 Miles' new song "One Life to Love". I like the whole song, but the verses don't really apply to me... but the chorus applies to us all.

"We only get just one time around... one life to love."

You can listen to it below -- you can hear it on their website linked above too but the traffic seems to be a little high tonight and it's not always loading well.

The way I see it, I can't change what I've done with the 33 years of my life that I've lived so far -- but I can do something about however much time I have left.

I've been wrestling with some decisions lately over how best to handle some situations with some different people, and I think this just answered my question. I'm simply going to choose to love... and I think the rest will take care of itself.

The Last Time

Little Girl is growing up, and that fact has really become clear to me this summer. For some reason, starting first grade seems like such a bigger deal than starting kindergarten was. She just seems so old, so grown up these days. It's like she turned six, and aged ten years in the process. She's not a baby anymore, that's for certain.

She's only six, and yet I'm already thinking of all the things she's outgrown and outgrowing. Things she's done for the last time.

A few years ago, a friend lost her little boy to brain cancer. Just a couple of weeks before his diagnosis, when nobody had any idea that anything was wrong with him, she and I were watching Little Girl and her son play together, and we teased that maybe someday they'd marry each other and we would be related. :)

And then came his devastating diagnosis, the months of treatment and hope, and then those final weeks when we knew there was no more hope. One concept his parents reiterated again and again during those months was summed up in three words: Hug your kids. Essentially they were reminding everyone else through their own experience that every moment with the ones you love is precious and shouldn't be wasted, because you never know how many more you have.

I remember when the end was nearing, and they talked about his last good day. They didn't know when it was until it was over. We can celebrate our child's firsts, but often we don't have a chance to celebrate the lasts because we don't usually know when the last time is occurring until after the fact.

I think part of why I treasure every moment spent with Little Girl is because of this little boy. Every time I see her, I think of him. I wonder what he would be like at this age. What would he be doing? What kind of person would he have turned out to be? And I recognize what a treasure every day we are given with Little Girl truly is.

Little Girl has a habit... an annoying habit, really, but one I cling to nonetheless. Ever since she was a baby, maybe 18 months or so, she has cried out, "Uppy, uppy!", wanting to be carried.

I'm telling you, the child is L-A-Z-Y. :) She wants to be carried everywhere. It can be particularly bothersome when you're tired yourself, or when the distance she wants to be carried is quite far, because it was one thing to carry her everywhere at 18 months -- at age 6, she is getting HEAVY!

My sister has become particularly impatient with this. "Uppy, uppy!" Little Girl will cry, retaining the word of her babyhood, and my sister has stopped paying her any heed. When she tells her no, she turns to me. "Uppy, uppy", and if there's any way possible to do it, I pick her up and carry her.

My sister says I shouldn't, that she's plenty old enough to walk, and to just make her walk and she will.

But she's six years old. She's not going to want to be carried forever. And every time she reaches for me and says, "Uppy, uppy," I am reminded that this time just might be the last.

And I'm not willing to risk forfeiting my last opportunity ever to carry her in my arms.

Because I won't know it's the last time until it's too late.

My "Itching Foot"

I have a vision of what I want my life to look like. It involves foster-adopting two or three little ones and being a stay-at-home homeschooling mom, while living out in the country, close enough to family that my children build strong family relationships. Several acres of land, with poison ivy free woods. A few fruit trees and a nice big vegetable garden so that we could survive if the economy crashes. We'd have to be vegan, as animals do NOT fit the vision, but I've done that before, and I could handle it again.

I know, I know, it's a vision that is very unlikely to come to pass, and if it did come to pass, it probably wouldn't be as sweet and idyllic as it is in my mind. The kids would fight, I would despair of ever teaching them anything and would be desperate for some time to myself, and the deer would eat the garden. But it's fun to dream, isn't it?

The funny thing is, although I've been faced with challenge after challenge in trying to make my dream come to pass, I'm actually quite content with my life just the way it is. I'm still trying to fulfill some, if not all, of those dreams, but I'm not at all unhappy in the meantime.

But lately, as I search for the perfect house (or even the acceptable house!) to buy if this one ever sells, I'm beginning to understand a bit how Pa Ingalls felt when he experienced his "itching foot."

He was thin and tired from all the hard work he had done, in town and in the fields, and he was restless because people were settling the country so thickly.

"I would like to go West," he told Ma one day. "A fellow doesn't have room to breathe here any more." ....

Laura knew how he felt for she saw the look in his blue eyes as he gazed over the rolling prairie westward from the open door where he stood.

~Laura Ingalls Wilder, These Happy Golden Years

Laura expands on this in The First Four Years with a beautifully poetic analogy:

The incurable optimism of the farmer who throws his seed on the ground every spring, betting it and his time against the elements, seemed inextricably to blend with the creed of her pioneer forefathers that "it is better farther on" -- only instead of farther on in space, it was farther on in time, over the horizon of the years ahead instead of the far horizon of the west.

Lately, I've been feeling crowded in. Everywhere you go, there are houses, stores, people. Everything seems smaller and closer together than it used to.

Take my childhood home, for example. When I was a little girl, we had a big yard surrounded by woods. My grandparents lived just up the hill. There was only one other neighboring house visible from anywhere in either of our yards, and nothing but woods and empty land all around.

I considered buying the two acres of woods adjoining their property and building a home there. A log cabin, I visualized, dreaming of how lovely it would be to have my own little house in the big woods -- well, big house in the little woods, anyway. :) And with my parents' and grandparents' couple of acres adjoining it, it works out to be a pretty nice-sized lot all together, and my kids could definitely build those family ties that way!

But when I went to look over the land and actually think about living there, I realized something. The big yard with wide open spaces all around is gone. The yard is still the same size, of course, but it seems smaller to me now. The open spaces are all gone. Other than that two acres of woods I was considering buying, everything else is all built up. There are three houses now in front of my grandparents' home. Two more just across the road. Five houses where before there were none. And it feels crowded. And I don't want to live there.

I want to live in the country. I want room to breathe, without neighbors crowding in around me. And yet, I still need to live close enough to civilization that I don't spend a fortune in gas just getting to work each day. That used to be possible, but I'm beginning to wonder if such a thing exists anymore.

There exists in my mind an idyllic spot -- the farm where my grandmother grew up. We visited there earlier this summer, and while it would be a bit more of a drive than I'd like, it's manageable. The entire region is still very rural, with just a farmhouse scattered here and there along the creek and lots of empty land in between. And my roots are in that land. My ancestors lived there and farmed that land for generations. When I walked that land, I felt as if I belonged there.

And then the other day I made the innocent comment that I was going to drive out there and take a look around, and was faced with great consternation on the part of the older relatives at the very idea. "We'd never see you again!" they warned. "There are murders out there all the time! Drugs are rampant!"

What? In that sweet little farming community? I pictured nice salt-of-the-earth farm families, a place where everybody knew everyone else and looked out for them, the perfect place to raise a family. And to be told that instead, it's such a dangerous place that to even drive out there for a look around on my own would get me killed??

Pa thought it would be better farther west. Laura thought it would be better farther on in time.

I began to think to go back in time is the only way to make it better. To a time when the land was less crowded. When the people were friendlier. When it was safe to let your kids run around and play.

But I've decided that wouldn't work either, even if it were possible. Just like my vision of the future is idealistic, so are our visions of the past. The "good ole days" that weren't so good when people were living in them, but are treasured now that they're gone.

So maybe it IS better farther on, and maybe it's not. But despite its faults and occasional disappointments, I'm discovering that life is really pretty good right now.

So I'm going to enjoy each moment to the fullest, and if or when any part of the vision comes to pass, I'll enjoy those moments to their fullest too, instead of wasting them yearning for something better farther on that may never come to pass.

Faith or Stupidity?

Where is the line between the two? It's something I've been thinking about a lot lately.

I go into children's homes to work with them as part of my job. When I first considered taking this job, I wondered if that was really safe. After all, there are good homes, and then there are not so good homes. But my fears were quickly allayed once I got started. I discovered that even in the not so great homes, I was welcomed.

Sure, I was occasionally cussed out when calling someone, or when appearing on the doorstep for the first time, because they'd think at first I was a bill collector or a welfare officer or CPS coming after them. But always, their entire demeanor changed the moment I told them who I was, and they were apologetic and very welcoming. After all, I was there to help their child (and not by taking him away from them!) And I discovered that there is something universal about parenthood. I'm sure there are some exceptions, but I've not met an exception yet: Parents love their kids. Even bad parents, even abusive or neglectful parents... they still love their kids. They don't always know the right way to show it due to their own issues, but they do love them. And once I figured that out and saw how I was treated at these homes, I've never been afraid.

However, a recent event has shaken me a little and caused me to wonder if perhaps I should be afraid. A woman doing a very similar job to mine was killed on a visit by the parents of the child she was working with. She had been there several times and was not afraid. Yes, those parents were mentally ill, but I have lots of families that I work with where one or both parents suffer from mental illness. It makes for some really interesting stories sometimes, but I never thought about how it might be dangerous for me.

The early intervention community is all abuzz over this, of course. There is discussion about not returning to any home where you feel unsafe. Okay, but then that begs the question -- what makes you feel unsafe? As I said, I've never felt unsafe at a family's home, though looking back with this event in mind, I can think of some that perhaps I should have felt unsafe at. And this woman didn't feel unsafe at the home where she was killed.

There has been talk about pepper spray. Others have stated you wouldn't have time to get it out and release the trigger and it's pointless, but it seems to me that you might have the chance depending on how the dangerous situation would come about, and better to have it just in case. And yet, I've not purchased any. I guess I feel silly carrying it, though I know I shouldn't.

And this is where the issue of faith comes into play. God has protected me through all my home visits. As I said, there are probably some that really were quite dangerous. There was one home where I felt very uncomfortable, but not frightened, due to repeated sexual remarks from the father of the child. After this happened with this other lady, it occurred to me to look at the sex offender registry to see if any of my families were on it, and there were several that I've had in the past, and this particular father apparently spent ten years in prison for rape. Splendid. I can't tell you the number of times I was in the house alone with him and his toddler. But God protected me. (And fortunately I discovered this information a week after we had exited the child from the program, so I never had to go back!)

So. Do I trust God to protect me from these dangerous situations and go about my job as I have for the past few years, or do I take added precautions due to the situation with this other woman? Where is the balance between trusting God and taking precautions? Just how cautious should a Christian be? Obviously we don't throw caution to the wind and just do any stupid thing we take a notion to do and expect God to protect us -- so where's the balance? Do I stop going into homes altogether and take a different job? Do I limit myself to homes of a certain caliber (and where even is the measuring point with that?)? Not take any child whose parent has a mental illness (and while most of them come right out and tell us, we don't always know!) or who has a criminal record involving battery, rape, or murder (we definitely don't usually know that)? None of that seems right to me.

And so I plod along, doing what I've always done, and trusting God to keep protecting me, and yet wondering if doing what I've always done is the right thing.

Historical Assumptions Based on Unreliable Evidence

When trying to research the past, photographs can be extremely useful tools. But a point driven home to me this week is that while we can make many guesses about the facts based on photos, we also must be careful to remember that our guesses are just that -- guesses. Which may or may not be accurate.

Case in point. I was doing research for a book I am working on. I had access to a hundred-year-old photograph of a church that the main subject of my book attended, and fortunately several decades ago, someone had enough foresight to get the photo labeled before everyone in it was gone and it would be a virtually useless photograph.

I carefully studied the photograph looking for clues. I made some guesses. I compiled from all sources available to me a list of everyone I thought attended this church. And then I showed my list to the last living member of that church (from a later time period than the photo, but as her parents were in the photo, she knew the history...) and asked her if there was anyone she knew of that should be on the list and wasn't.

She looked over my list, and pointed out one family I had listed as attendees. "Why, they never went to church!" she exclaimed.

"But they must have -- they were in the photo!" I argued.

"Yes, but they only went to church that one day because they wanted to be in the picture."

Wow. It really opened my eyes to just HOW WRONG our guesses can be, and when there are no sources still living... we could state things as fact based on our assumptions, albeit very good ones with lots of supporting evidence, and we could be dead wrong. (I have to admit, it gave me a good laugh too. "Hey, I know we've never set foot in the door before but we heard you were having a picture made today and we wanted to be in it!")

Another example I stumbled across online when researching this particular family... genealogists frequently listed a family (living in the mid 1800s) as having seven children. I knew from my living source, however -- whose grandmother was the daughter of the family -- that this family only had three children. Yet, the genealogists insisted on their accuracy, they had compiled this list from historical sources such as census records. Well, we all know census records aren't terribly reliable, but this was a huge error. My source has no idea who these additional "siblings" are, but is quite confident her grandmother had two brothers only. Further investigation revealed her as correct, and those confident genealogists quite mistaken. The extra children belonged to a neighboring family with the same last name.

So I beg of you, if you do historical or genealogical research, make your best assumptions based on the evidence you have, but never state those assumptions as definite fact. Things are not always as they appear.

It just makes me wonder what else I trust as fact that has been based on false assumptions.