o love that will not let me go
i rest my weary soul in thee
i give thee back the life i owe
that in thine ocean's depths its flow
may richer, fuller be
o joy that seekest me through pain
i cannot close my heart to thee
i trace the rainbow through the rain
and feel the promise is not vain
that morn shall tearless be
Monday, June 8, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
roast beef dinner
I backed the van out of the ice-covered parking spot, and headed for the highway that would take me downtown. Saying goodbye to Nana, as she headed back out west, was a sad occasion, but roast beef dinner at my parents' would be warm and joy-filled. Janelle would be there with her husband, Patrick. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too disappointed to be the only son-in-law there. My husband was too tired, after a 50-plus work week; even for roast beef. I was tired too, but I really wanted to see Nana one more time, and my girlies needed to see her too. The three of them were discussing Pokemon in the back of the van. "Uxie EX is my favorite card," Ashlin gushed. Laurie, always wanting to be like her big sister, tried to follow the maze of pokemon facts, "That's the rarest one you have, isn't it?" she remembered. She did a better job of it than I ever could - all that random data. We pulled up to the apartment building and found a parking spot on the little side-road. "Thankfully, there's no need for money in the parking meter on Sundays," I thought. "Don't forget the ice cream," Marcella said as she climbed out of the back of the van. Marcella was not distracted by the pokemon-talk. She was looking forward to mashed potatoes, gravy, roast beef, and then, ice cream!
"Sorry we took so long," I sang out as we came in the door, "I had to take Colin home and then stop to pick up the ice cream." Janelle was videoing us on her camera. "Look at you, skinny-minnie,"she said. I wished it was true. Nana was sitting on the couch, writing in a book for Janelle. It was called "Memories for my Granddaughter." I went into the kitchen to see if I could help. "Can you mash the potatoes, Joey," Mom asked as I gave her a hug. "Sure," I answered, and searched for the masher. Dad came to carve the roast. This was how it was always done. Mom cooked it and made the potatoes, veggies, and gravy, but Daddy always carved the meat. "Aaaahh! we have to eat soon before the yorkshire puddings fall," Mom panicked. We crowded around the table, the kids squabbling about where to sit. Nana took my hand as we waited for Dad to thank God for the food. "Here you go, JoJo," Nana gave me the beef. I took a tiny piece. Potatoes, gravy and lots of vegetables were my favorite, but the meat I could definately leave. As we ate, Nana gave us little tid-bits of memories of her childhood. She seemed to be back there in her mind, because of the memory book. "When my father would go to the market, he would get up about three in the morning and bring us bannock with jam, and tea in bed before he left. I remember watching for him to come home all day; we could see about a third of a mile down the road before it turned." "Did he bring you treats from the market?" I asked. "Yes," Nana remembered, "He would bring american apples, nice red ones, or sometimes dulce, or a sugar stick." There was a bit of table talk, as Nana pondered these memories - some "pass the potatoes" and a "c'mon just have a little more, then I can wash the bowl!" I scraped up the last of my peas - delicious! "A little way down the road," Nana said, between bites, "there was a hazelnut tree. And my father would go sometimes and bring us back hazelnuts. They were a real treat." "Did you roast them?" Dad asked. "No," Nana was surprised at the idea, "we just ate them." "Ooooh," Dad liked to tease Nana, "I don't think I'd-a-been eating them without roasting them, first." "No," Nana was serious, "they were really delicious. We ate them just as they were." Dad's eyes twinkled when he was being a tease. He winked at me and took the last bit of mashed potatoes. Nana was quiet for a bit. "My father used to tell us how his father..." she started, "well, this would have been in 1845 or '46 during the potato famine. He remembered walking and seeing people dead on the sides of the road with grass in their mouths." She sort-of choked out that last bit. I looked up, a bit startled. Nana was holding back tears. Here was an eighty-something year-old woman crying at the memory of something she had never even seen herself. I felt a lump in my throat. Mom had tears in her eyes, too. "There was just nothing to eat," she explained. We understood. Nana reached for my empty plate and stacked it on the others. I got up to carry them to the kitchen. Mom put the tea on, and I scooped out the ice cream.
"Sorry we took so long," I sang out as we came in the door, "I had to take Colin home and then stop to pick up the ice cream." Janelle was videoing us on her camera. "Look at you, skinny-minnie,"she said. I wished it was true. Nana was sitting on the couch, writing in a book for Janelle. It was called "Memories for my Granddaughter." I went into the kitchen to see if I could help. "Can you mash the potatoes, Joey," Mom asked as I gave her a hug. "Sure," I answered, and searched for the masher. Dad came to carve the roast. This was how it was always done. Mom cooked it and made the potatoes, veggies, and gravy, but Daddy always carved the meat. "Aaaahh! we have to eat soon before the yorkshire puddings fall," Mom panicked. We crowded around the table, the kids squabbling about where to sit. Nana took my hand as we waited for Dad to thank God for the food. "Here you go, JoJo," Nana gave me the beef. I took a tiny piece. Potatoes, gravy and lots of vegetables were my favorite, but the meat I could definately leave. As we ate, Nana gave us little tid-bits of memories of her childhood. She seemed to be back there in her mind, because of the memory book. "When my father would go to the market, he would get up about three in the morning and bring us bannock with jam, and tea in bed before he left. I remember watching for him to come home all day; we could see about a third of a mile down the road before it turned." "Did he bring you treats from the market?" I asked. "Yes," Nana remembered, "He would bring american apples, nice red ones, or sometimes dulce, or a sugar stick." There was a bit of table talk, as Nana pondered these memories - some "pass the potatoes" and a "c'mon just have a little more, then I can wash the bowl!" I scraped up the last of my peas - delicious! "A little way down the road," Nana said, between bites, "there was a hazelnut tree. And my father would go sometimes and bring us back hazelnuts. They were a real treat." "Did you roast them?" Dad asked. "No," Nana was surprised at the idea, "we just ate them." "Ooooh," Dad liked to tease Nana, "I don't think I'd-a-been eating them without roasting them, first." "No," Nana was serious, "they were really delicious. We ate them just as they were." Dad's eyes twinkled when he was being a tease. He winked at me and took the last bit of mashed potatoes. Nana was quiet for a bit. "My father used to tell us how his father..." she started, "well, this would have been in 1845 or '46 during the potato famine. He remembered walking and seeing people dead on the sides of the road with grass in their mouths." She sort-of choked out that last bit. I looked up, a bit startled. Nana was holding back tears. Here was an eighty-something year-old woman crying at the memory of something she had never even seen herself. I felt a lump in my throat. Mom had tears in her eyes, too. "There was just nothing to eat," she explained. We understood. Nana reached for my empty plate and stacked it on the others. I got up to carry them to the kitchen. Mom put the tea on, and I scooped out the ice cream.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
let me be a plant
For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground; Yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. Job 14: 7-9
I was struck with this small passage, not in the way Job intended as he wrote it, but with the idea of new life. If the tree of my life needs to be cut down - if it is rotton with sin or diseased with self, then let me be a plant to the glory of God. I feel that this is a promise from God. I may need to be cut down, and the result may look like nothing but a stump - I may be a fool! But beneath that stump will grow a bud, that will bring forth boughs like a plant. And, oh, to be a plant for God is greater than to be a tree, full of sin and self!!
I was struck with this small passage, not in the way Job intended as he wrote it, but with the idea of new life. If the tree of my life needs to be cut down - if it is rotton with sin or diseased with self, then let me be a plant to the glory of God. I feel that this is a promise from God. I may need to be cut down, and the result may look like nothing but a stump - I may be a fool! But beneath that stump will grow a bud, that will bring forth boughs like a plant. And, oh, to be a plant for God is greater than to be a tree, full of sin and self!!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
a new year
A new year, like a fresh clean page without any writing on it, always causes me to pause and take inventory of myself. Usually, I find I have allowed my mind, my habits and thoughts to become scattered. Living is messy. My house is proof of that. If I neglect my front entryway for even one day, it becomes a pile of coats, boots, hats and mittens; and the endless piles of "stuff," that seem to appear out of no where, take over. Mentally, I need to dust and organize regularly, too. And if I leave it too long, it becomes a gigantic mess that requires a few days to untangle. That's where I am now. I constantly find myself saying, "Where did this come from?" or "What should I do with this?" Re-evaluating takes alot of energy. My usual response to things that take too much energy is procrastination, which never helps! So, I'm trying to dive in and start by sorting through all of the clutter in my "house." I need to start with the basics, and answer some tough questions. "What is really important to me?" , "What have I allowed others to tell me is important, that isn't?" , "Who am I?, and Who do I want to be?" , "Who am I trying to please?"...the list is long. As I begin to sift, I find the answers are not easy. Sometimes, the answers aren't what I thought they would be, and so I realize I have been living "someone else's life," and holding myself to someone else's standards. These questions are intimate - between me and God. Only He can help me sort this mess! O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up. You understand my thoughts afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. There is not a word on my tongue, but O Lord, You know it altogether. You have beset me behind and before, and have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me..... Psalm 139
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
the sunglasses
The young girl skipped along happily.Her crisp white dress shone in the sunlight.
The chirping of birds mixed with the rustling of leaves in the wind.
As she looked around, the girl admired the freshly cut lawns and beautiful gardens.
She stopped to wipe a scuff mark off her shoe, aware that it might marr her gorgeous surroundings.
"God has given me this beautiful day, this beautiful world," she thought. "I must take extra care to keep myself beautiful for Him."
She stooped and pulled a weed that had been growing along the walkway, pleased that she could do something to help keep God's creation beautiful.
As she walked on a little further, she noticed a pair of sunglasses lying in the grass.
She picked them up, looking around to find their owner. Since no one was nearby, she decided to try them on.
Suddenly, the world around her changed. Oh, the manicured lawns were still there, and the flowers, but she noticed her dress was covered in stains. She hadn't noticed the rusty garbage bins overflowing with filthy garbage. The bird that had been singing was hopping along the ground with a badly mangled wing. The rustling leaves were the few remaining on the dying gnarled trees. Ahead, she could see the walkway simply fell off into a deep ravine. There were one or two other girls with stained dresses trying to put up signs of warning ahead of the ravine, but they kept getting taken down by the others who were busy pulling weeds and mowing the beautiful lawns - none of them paying any attention to the chasm. The girl began to remove the awful glasses, but then, determinedly pushed them back on and ran to help the other girls with the signs, amazed that she had never before seen that she was in the midst of Satan's territory.
The chirping of birds mixed with the rustling of leaves in the wind.
As she looked around, the girl admired the freshly cut lawns and beautiful gardens.
She stopped to wipe a scuff mark off her shoe, aware that it might marr her gorgeous surroundings.
"God has given me this beautiful day, this beautiful world," she thought. "I must take extra care to keep myself beautiful for Him."
She stooped and pulled a weed that had been growing along the walkway, pleased that she could do something to help keep God's creation beautiful.
As she walked on a little further, she noticed a pair of sunglasses lying in the grass.
She picked them up, looking around to find their owner. Since no one was nearby, she decided to try them on.
Suddenly, the world around her changed. Oh, the manicured lawns were still there, and the flowers, but she noticed her dress was covered in stains. She hadn't noticed the rusty garbage bins overflowing with filthy garbage. The bird that had been singing was hopping along the ground with a badly mangled wing. The rustling leaves were the few remaining on the dying gnarled trees. Ahead, she could see the walkway simply fell off into a deep ravine. There were one or two other girls with stained dresses trying to put up signs of warning ahead of the ravine, but they kept getting taken down by the others who were busy pulling weeds and mowing the beautiful lawns - none of them paying any attention to the chasm. The girl began to remove the awful glasses, but then, determinedly pushed them back on and ran to help the other girls with the signs, amazed that she had never before seen that she was in the midst of Satan's territory.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Limbo
Outside they are putting new siding on my house. It is very distracting to have people running past the windows and loud banging starting and stopping - mostly stopping: they are very slow! I just want them to be finished so I can clean up the mess and set up my backyard. I want to feel more separated from the world - safe inside my house. Right now it feels like a very thin wall between me and the windy, noisy, messy world. It is kind of the same feeling as when you are wearing an outfit that just isn't comfortable. Like a top that won't stay where it is supposed to, and you are constantly feeling exposed. I try to pretend they're not there, but my curtains aren't opaque, and the noise, the noise just comes in anyway. I am in limbo; just waiting until they are finished to tidy my world and put order back into my day.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Jeremiah 29:13
You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.
part 1
Peary breathes out a long cold breath of wonder.
It hangs heavy in the crisp, cold air.
Why has he not seen this before?
Beautiful snow-capped mountains, deep valleys.
A new land undiscovered? untouched by civilization?
Low provisions, a ship full of weary explorers - no time.
But beautiful Crockerland...what strange new peoples await?
The excitement fills his chest.
Back in America.
Lectures pleading for an expedition.
Who will uncover the mysteries of this new land?
MacMillan and Green head the conquest.
Inuit guides are secured.
A long difficult journey. Many dangers. Much personal pain.
Weary exporers, guided by locals trek across the ice.
"We must turn back," warn the guides.
Just a little further.
MacMillan enjoys the exhilaration of Peary's view so long ago.
Look at those mountains. Beautiful.
The destination will be reached before the sun goes down.
The guides shake their heads. They know something.
MacMillan fears they may be right.
He cannot come this far and not know for sure.
They press on.
Where are the mountains? the valleys?
Standing on an ice floe, surrounded by mist.
The Arctic is a cruel magician.
Defeated the expedition heads home. Its hopes and dreams dashed.
part 2
I sit in the field and gaze at the nature around me.
The field grass moves in perfect unison.
A bluejay mimics the hawk as she discovers food.
The bright, blue sky shines around the puffy clouds.
The gigantic trees sway in the breeze.
I must have a Creator. The Maker of this beautiful universe.
He seems but a mirage to me, but a tiny flame of hope is lit within me.
I try to go back to my everyday life.
The flame flickers and grows and refuses to go out.
I must know. How do I find Him?
I travel often back to where the flame was first ignited...searching.
I discover more and more beautiful intricacies in nature.
How could this be an accident?
A friend learns of my search. She says she knows Him.
She will be my guide.
I read from the Book and discover myself within the pages.
It is a long, difficult journey. The pain is powerful.
Am I full of such wickedness? Deep inside I know that I am.
Denying is not possible. I turn to my guide for help.
She shows me more in the Book. Who is this Jesus?
He is truly Divine. He is Love.
Hot tears cover my cheeks. Why are they killing Him?
"Father, forgive them. They know not what they do."
Truly, this is the Creator. The one for whom I have searched.
My wickedness laid on Him. I am free.
Here I discover no mirage. A solid Rock!
part 1
Peary breathes out a long cold breath of wonder.
It hangs heavy in the crisp, cold air.
Why has he not seen this before?
Beautiful snow-capped mountains, deep valleys.
A new land undiscovered? untouched by civilization?
Low provisions, a ship full of weary explorers - no time.
But beautiful Crockerland...what strange new peoples await?
The excitement fills his chest.
Back in America.
Lectures pleading for an expedition.
Who will uncover the mysteries of this new land?
MacMillan and Green head the conquest.
Inuit guides are secured.
A long difficult journey. Many dangers. Much personal pain.
Weary exporers, guided by locals trek across the ice.
"We must turn back," warn the guides.
Just a little further.
MacMillan enjoys the exhilaration of Peary's view so long ago.
Look at those mountains. Beautiful.
The destination will be reached before the sun goes down.
The guides shake their heads. They know something.
MacMillan fears they may be right.
He cannot come this far and not know for sure.
They press on.
Where are the mountains? the valleys?
Standing on an ice floe, surrounded by mist.
The Arctic is a cruel magician.
Defeated the expedition heads home. Its hopes and dreams dashed.
part 2
I sit in the field and gaze at the nature around me.
The field grass moves in perfect unison.
A bluejay mimics the hawk as she discovers food.
The bright, blue sky shines around the puffy clouds.
The gigantic trees sway in the breeze.
I must have a Creator. The Maker of this beautiful universe.
He seems but a mirage to me, but a tiny flame of hope is lit within me.
I try to go back to my everyday life.
The flame flickers and grows and refuses to go out.
I must know. How do I find Him?
I travel often back to where the flame was first ignited...searching.
I discover more and more beautiful intricacies in nature.
How could this be an accident?
A friend learns of my search. She says she knows Him.
She will be my guide.
I read from the Book and discover myself within the pages.
It is a long, difficult journey. The pain is powerful.
Am I full of such wickedness? Deep inside I know that I am.
Denying is not possible. I turn to my guide for help.
She shows me more in the Book. Who is this Jesus?
He is truly Divine. He is Love.
Hot tears cover my cheeks. Why are they killing Him?
"Father, forgive them. They know not what they do."
Truly, this is the Creator. The one for whom I have searched.
My wickedness laid on Him. I am free.
Here I discover no mirage. A solid Rock!
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